Chapter 12
Zyla
True vengeance is best served at knifepoint.”
— ZYLA BASHKIRIA
Bael’s breathing comes soft and slow in the quiet night.
One in. One out. The rhythm a soft cadence that keeps my nerves stretched tight as I lie there staring at the pillow wall between us.
My hair is bound in a plait in order to keep the oils in, and the scent of it makes me restless for it reminds me of home. Not my aunt’s home. Not the refuge Aylin and I found when we’d run from the city…
But home.
A distant memory now. Merely the rumble of my father’s deep voice, even if I can barely recall his face.
The warmth of my mother’s hands and the sound of her laughter.
The smell of coconut oil, and camel’s milk, and spiced cinnamon.
And Mother’s hum, a murmured lullaby as her soft hand strokes the hair from my face, whilst I lie safe and protected in my once distant bed.
Something hot and wet leaks down my cheek, but I dash it from my face, forcing those memories away.
I’m not that little girl anymore.
I’m no longer safe. I’m no longer loved.
I know nightmares exist now.
I’m alone, and alive, and the only thing that sustains me after everything I’ve suffered is the promise of fury and vengeance.
The knights took my sister from me.
But it had been the Beast of Kerawan who claimed her, his insatiable appetites bringing about Aylin’s ruin.
I will have my revenge.
Or I’ll have the sweet kiss of death.
You know the truth…
Moving so slowly the sheets barely rustle, I slide my hand under the pillow where I stashed my dagger.
The hilt of the dagger fits into my hand only too well.
But I’ve seen Bael move, know his reflexes…
I’ll only get one chance at this.
Easing one of the pillows out of the way, I crawl across the silk sheets toward him.
Bael stirs, firelight gilding the exaggerated curve of his muscled shoulder.
I didn’t notice last night, but there are glints of gold tattoos traced into the slab of his bare chest, as if someone used molten gold as ink.
A long sinuous serpent of some description curves around another, with thicker, ritualistic runes I don’t recognize.
The sight of the scales on the creature ignites the smoldering embers of my rage.
He’s been right here in front of me the whole time and I didn’t see it.
And worst still are those traitorous memories of his hands gliding through my hair. Just what sort of game is he playing?
Thick dark lashes create half-moon crescents against his cheeks, fluttering as if he senses me moving.
I freeze, heart pounding. Maybe Amara’s water has worn off.
I’ll never get close enough. Not with bared steel. Not unless he thinks my motives lie in another direction entirely.
“Zyla?” he murmurs, turning his face toward me.
“Shhh.” Sliding my hand across the softened line of his cheek in a caress, I close the gap between us.
His face turns into my palm, perfect lips grazing across the pad of my thumb. The rasp of his stubble stirs things deep inside me, even as I fight to keep my mission at the forefront.
He took Aylin.
It has to be him.
It all fits. The way he singled me out, the way I haven’t seen the Beast in the skies ever since, the tattoo, the fact this isn’t his first hunt, the drei warrior who wants to kill him, the way they all fear him…
I move like a snake, sinuous and graceful as I slide my thigh over his waist, seating myself firmly in his lap, one hand sliding up the smooth planes of his chest. His skin feels like it holds an inferno within it.
Bael blinks, coming awake swiftly, his hands gripping my thighs then easing as he realizes what I’m doing.
Fool.
Instantly, the steel of my blade kisses the pulsing throb of his carotid. “Who are you?”
The night becomes stillness.
Not a breath is consumed between us.
And then Bael bares his teeth in a slow smile as if he can’t even feel the press of the steel. Instead, his thumbs dig into my inner thighs, stroking along the muscle there. “Someone who is very surprised at this new development. I thought you weren’t interested in being a bride?”
The water has clearly worn off.
His touch ignites sensations within me that only my own fingers have ever wrought.
It’s hard to ignore the thick press of his cock driving into my thigh, the gentle stroke of those thumbs.
I have a mission. A mission… “You took her. I know you took her. You’re him, aren’t you?
You’re that wretched, black-hearted beast—”
Bael’s eyes narrowed. “Took who? And you’ll have to be a little bit more specific. There are numerous monsters in this maze, my little lioness. I’ve never denied being one of them, but you’ll need to clarify.”
“Don’t play fucking games! You think this is funny?” I curl my lip. “You think I haven’t been putting the pieces together? I know who you are. I know what you are. Tell me the truth. Reveal yourself, you fucking coward.”
More stillness.
It exudes from him as if he’s carved of stone.
And then he smiles again.
Shadowy batlike wings spread across the walls, unfurling as if some monstrous, invisible creature holds sway. I stare in horror, heart starting to pound. Some part of me hadn’t believed. Some part of me hadn’t wanted to believe.
“So, you know who I am.” His gravelly voice brings my attention back to his face, where his amber eyes glint with an unnatural, serpent-like gold.
“Say it,” I hiss, a trickle of blood sliding from where the press of the knife bites in. My hands shake with suppressed fury.
Dark lashes flutter as he looks at me, and then he eases out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “You are going to be the ruin of me.”
“Good.” I trace the tip of the knife down his throat. “I’ve spent the last nine years hoping to be exactly that.”
Bael tilts his chin a little, not to ease the threat, but almost as if he’s baring his throat in a taunt.
Those fucking thumbs never stop tracing their devastating little circles on my skin.
“My name is Baelfyre the Black. Some call me the Beast of Kerawan.” Hot flames flare to life in his eyes as his voice drops to a whisper.
“Some call me Death. And some… some call me Master.”
The world drops out from under me.
With a scream of rage I lift the knife high and plunge it low, right toward his ruthless heart.
And then I realize my mistake.
Hard hands lock around my wrists. With a thrust of his hips, he flips us both, the hard press of his body driving mine into the mattress. I fight in a frenzy of flesh and bared steel, wiggling and writhing, trying to strike—
“Enough,” he hisses, pinning my wrists to the bed. “Drop the knife, Zyla.”
“Never.” I bare my teeth at him.
“Why are you hunting me?” he demands.
I squirm beneath him, desperate for escape, only to feel the full impact of his weight between my thighs.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls, “stop doing that.”
“Never.”
“Zyla.” This time my name is a breath of frustration.
And that’s when I feel it.
Every hard inch of him. Despite the situation—despite everything—he’s still hard for me.
It sets off a cataclysm of fury within me.
“You took my sister,” I yell. “You kidnapped her and claimed her as yours, and forced her through your fucking portal.”
The roughness of his gravelly voice drops several octaves. “Your sister?”
Slamming a palm to the inside of his forearm, I oomph out a breath as his body weight collapses atop me. Locking my thighs around his waist, I throw us into a roll, straddling him once more with the knife to his throat.
“Aylin,” he breathes, as if seeing her in my face. “You’re Aylin’s sister.”
I press the blade tighter, a sound of pure pain erupting from my throat. “What did you do to her? I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
“Then do it,” he growls. “My life is yours. So take it.”
It’s everything I’ve dreamed of for years, but his words send me spiraling into a mess of want and confusion.
Because the creature that I created in my mind—the one that fueled all my rage—cannot be the same male who oiled my hair so gently, or who helped me climb the cliff when I fell, or fed me from his own hand.
The one who kissed me so gently.
I stab the knife into the pillow beside his head. “Fuck.” It’s a primal scream, coming from deep within me. Because I have him. I have him. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and yet, from the moment I met him he’s been getting under my skin, twisting my desires, making me question everything.
How do I reconcile his gentleness with the monster Mariam and Serissa spoke of?
I need the truth. I need to know what happened to Aylin.
The rage within me wants to fight its way free, but it’s the hot glide of a tear down my cheek that catches me by surprise.
“Zyla.” Bael captures my face in his palm, but I pull away from him, fighting against the temptation to submit to the touch and the comfort it offers. “Zyla, wait.”
“Is she… alive?” I can barely say it.
His expression softens. “Of course, she’s alive.”
Shoving away from the bed, I turn blindly and pace.
The pain within me is so real, so strong, it’s all I can do not to buckle.
If I just keep moving, maybe I can stop the world from spinning on its axis the way it is now.
Clutching at the silk nightrobe, I curl my fingers into it, nails digging through the silk into my palms, gasping for breath.
I need it to hurt. I need it all to hurt.
Soft footsteps stalk me. “Zyla.”
The way he says my name…
Turning, I drive my fist toward him with another scream. Maybe he senses my need for he meets it, palm capturing the punch and absorbing the shock of it.
“What did you do to her?”
His expression firms. “Your sister is safe. She resides at my keep—”
Nine years. Nine fucking years.