Caged Dove #3
I can only imagine what she’s seeing—the skin of my cheek knitting itself back together. A small glimpse of what my body is capable of, which is mending itself from any injury. Even the most gruesome.
I tighten my grip and force her back beneath the spray. Water cascades down her shoulders, dampening her clothing that is now clinging to the shape of her collarbone. The water, too, traces and highlights the tension in the cords of her neck.
“Calm down,” I grit out, though it is not calm I feel. My body is responding in ways it hasn’t for some time. “I’m trying to warm you up. You’re an icicle.”
“I’m fine,” she bites back, her teeth chattering despite the fire in her eyes. Her body trembles against mine, but her chin remains lifted, defiant. Even shivering, she refuses to shrink. And that refusal—that damn refusal does something to me.
“No, you’re not.”
“You said I’d break. I didn’t.”
Her voice wavers only slightly, more from cold than weakness, but her gaze never leaves mine. There is a challenge in it. Accusation. A need to win at whatever cost, something she can not even reason out rationally in her mind.
“Is that the stupid point you're trying to prove?” I snap. “Brilliant strategy. Starve and freeze yourself to death to show me how strong you are.”
She minutely jerks her head back, affronted. “Stupid? You’re the one who put me down there.”
Frustration barrels through me. “Yes, with all the luxuries that many other prisoners would accept with open arms.”
“It was still a prison.”
“You stole my bloody horse.”
She has no retort for that. A deadly glare is all she graces me with.
A look that says she’d light me on fire at the soonest opportunity.
The fierceness there, even with her hair plastered to the sides of her face and her lashes bunched together and full of water droplets—Heaven’s Gate, she’s still the most fascinating thing I’ve beheld in quite some time.
A paradox of light and dark, hate and vulnerability lies here in my arms.
“Fine,” I press, though my voice is lower now. “You didn’t break. What does that prove? Nothing. You tortured yourself for no apparent reason. In my book, that qualifies as stupidity.”
The headbutt comes fast. She telegraphs it just enough that I manage to jerk back, and her forehead grazes my jaw instead of cracking into it. A growl rips from my chest as I shove her against the tile. The impact echoes through the shower, water splashing around us.
My hand slides to her throat. Not crushing. Not yet.
But firm.
The volcano bubbling up inside me needs an outlet, a target to focus on and pour out all of these emotions she’s stirred up within me.
Her pulse flutters wildly beneath my palm, heat finally beginning to return to her skin under the spray. She glares up at me, breath ragged, lips parted.
The pressure inside me surges, hot and violent and dangerously close to exploding.
“Bastard,” she forces out, the word warped beneath my tightening grip.
“Say that again.” It’s growled, not voiced.
“You’re a—”
Instinct takes over. I close the space between us and crash my mouth against hers before the word can finish forming on her devilish lips.
It is not gentle. Not sweet or slow. It’s raw and reckless.
A brutal kiss. Not really a kiss at all because she attempts to wrench her face away, hands shoving at my chest, nails scraping at my collar.
But my aim is achieved. I do silence her, and if I’m not mistaken, for barely a moment, her lips soften under mine.
Then a shiver rolls through her entire body. A zing charges the kiss like striking flint against steel, leaving a tingling sensation behind. The shock of it hits us both at once.
We pull apart in unison, breath tearing from our lungs.
Her eyes are wide—panicked. Her lips part as if to speak, but no sound emerges. Only another heavy breath.
My own breathing is deep and unsteady, my chest rising and falling as it does after a brutal sparring match with one of my brothers.
My fingers, one by one, slowly release from her throat.
“Why…why did you do that?”
I exhale once through my nose. “When I figure it out myself, I’ll let you know.”
She brings her hands up and vigorously wipes her mouth, as if to rid her lips of my flavor.
I take a cautious step back. “Erase that word from your vocabulary.”
“Why? It’s not like you had a mo—”
I hit her with the harsh reality. “Actually, I did.” My tone sharpens.
“And I’ll have you know, she was a remarkable woman, with more grace and honor in her little finger than most women spend a lifetime trying to acquire.
Don’t tarnish my good memories of her with sordid words when those memories and my thoughts of her are all that remain. ”
She listens, really listens, and if I’m reading her right, shame flashes over her face.
“I’m sorry,” she says, quieter now. “But how could you have had a mother?”
“I was human once, as you are now. Or perhaps not as you are now, but as you were before.” My gaze travels over the marks revealed along her arms as she struggles. “Whatever you've done to yourself that’s changed you.”
“Human?”
“Yes. A long, long time ago. I died, then was chosen for this task and remade.”
“How?”
“If you behave, perhaps we will have that conversation another time. For now, it is enough that I once lived as these people do.”
“Then how can you do this to them?” The fire returns to her voice. “How can you simply steal into their minds, command them against their will, and worse, lead them here to be slaughtered? How can you be okay with wiping them from the face of the earth, and still live with yourself?”
I plant my hands on my hips and peer down at my soaked-through clothing. “Because it must be done.” It’s time all God's creations here came to an end, and I know I, above the others God could have given this task to, will do it with compassion and care.
“It’s time,” she repeats bitterly. “That’s your answer? Time for humanity to die?”
I nod once, slow and certain. “Yes, these souls. This life cycle. It’s not what you think it is, and there’s an order to things that must be carried out.
Neither I, nor God, nor the other Harbingers have a choice in the matter.
From where you stand, I may seem heartless—or like the despicable Soul Serpent you claim me to be—but I’m doing what I do for a higher purpose. ”
“Just because you believe in it doesn’t make it right.”
“Well, you’d have to know the whole of it to truly make that distinction, wouldn’t you?” I hold her gaze. “And it’s obvious your belief system differs from mine.”
“So what?”
I give a slight shrug and step out of the shower.
Water drips from my clothes onto the tile as I reach for the shelf and grab several towels.
After dropping two to the floor, I unravel one and hold it out for her.
Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and slowly takes it from me.
She dries her face first, then her body.
However, there’s little she can do because every layer she’s clothed in is soaked through, clinging to her frame.
“I’ll get you something to change into,” I say. “Can you manage to behave yourself for five minutes while I do?”
No.
The answer is immediate. Firm. Unwavering.
I am halfway to the door when the force of it stops me cold.
I turn slowly and level her with a hard look. She stares right back, chin lifting despite the tremor still working through her body.
Without another word, I move into my bedroom and go straight for the curtains. The cord holding them back comes loose under my blade in one clean slice. I return to the bathroom.
By the time I step out again, she is secured to the sink, wrists bound, cursing my name loudly enough to echo through the suite. A dull throb pulses in my shin where she managed to kick me before I finished tying her up.
As I leave my room, I make a mental note to replace her pointed boots with slippers. Restraints will be necessary. And a gag, judging by the volume of her outrage.
I have a million other things to do. Kahill will arrive in three days, judging by the distance of his thoughts. Yet, here I am…giving my finite time…and all thoughts to this wild, defiant creature I know almost nothing about.
Yes, I’m intrigued by her, but it may very well be my undoing.