Chapter Two #2
Killing you first. Then you. You, next. Timms, especially, was a despicable son of a bitch.
“We should get back inside,” Rowena said, stepping out of the alcove.
“Coming.”
She slid by him, close enough for him to feel her body heat, pausing to add, “That reminds me. It’ll be less suspicious if you act like we’re fucking. That’s the most plausible reason why two people would sneak off for alone time.”
Speechless, Slay watched her go. Suddenly, his head was full of filthy images.
Other prisoners would imagine that he’d taken her fast and hard up against the wall, and she seemed fine with that speculation.
It left him feeling off-kilter, not least because he’d heard Dom fucking Pru exactly that way as he passed by—fine, semi-stalked the two of them like a demented weirdo.
His head buzzed with unwanted memories; he was still stuck on Pru while she’d moved on.
Hell, she was the only person he’d ever been with, starting from when they were teenagers.
He’d been careful with their encounters, afraid of letting the mating bond kick in before he locked down his mother’s approval. In retrospect, life was too short.
I’m such a fuckup. Not this time, though. The stakes are too high.
Since Rowena was small, he caught up in a few strides. “That’s fine with me. You sure you’re good with how that pretense goes, though? Because I’m Animari, and cats are territorial.”
“You need to be possessive for the pretext to be convincing?” She tilted her head, appearing to consider the matter.
“It’s fine with me, but I’ll warn you that reports may get back to the tyrant, and that…
could be catastrophic for you. He claimed me when we were young, and I’ve never been able to convince him that my consent is required. ”
Slay’s breath went in a rush, leaving him sick to his stomach.
To him, it sounded like she’d been Tycho’s pet, entirely against her will.
And didn’t that fucking answer all his unspoken questions about how she knew that shit about her pain tolerance.
He’d only seen photos of the bastard, but Slay imagined Tycho Vega hurting her, and—the rage surprised him, a violent rush of it so powerful that his head crackled with it.
“Trust me,” he bit out. “If that asshole summons me, I’ll find a way to kill him, even if I die doing it. This is the right move.”
Rowena lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug.
“If you’re not afraid, so be it. To be honest, I wish I could see the expression on his face when he hears that I’ve taken an undercity lover when I never once caved to his overtures, whether it was pain or pleasure, offers of wealth or freedom.
More than once, I said I’d rather die than be his concubine, so he should get on with it.
” Her next words were hard as stone. “I might be the only person who’s ever refused him. ”
Slay heard what she left unspoken—that Vega hadn’t heeded that rejection. And he had no damn idea what to say. Words of comfort seemed wrong, so he settled for recognizing her warrior spirit.
“And you’re still standing. Something tells me you’ll be his downfall.”
In the flickering rushlight she met his gaze squarely. “I’m counting on that. And like you, I don’t much care if I die in the attempt.”
He bit back a protest. It was one thing for him to talk about throwing his life away, but he was a major screwup.
From the sound of it, she’d served Prince Alastor and fought in the war alongside him while Slay languished in this damn dungeon complex.
The world wouldn’t miss a fuckhead like him.
Somebody like her, on the other hand, that’d be a real loss.
But he didn’t know her well enough to ramble about all the reasons she should live on, and besides, whenever he tried to find the right words, he always sounded like an asshole.
Sometimes it seemed like he’d been given only two settings, angry and contrite.
At least that was how it always went with Pru.
“We got this,” he said, because confidence was the easy choice.
She smiled at that. “I think I like you.”
“Give it time, I’ll change your mind.” That wasn’t even a joke.
So he was dead shocked when she laughed, a full and throaty chuckle. “Yes, it’s official. I’m delighted to be fake-fucking you, Slay.”
“Uh, me too. For sure.”
In utter bemusement, he trailed her back to the bunkroom, where most of the other prisoners had already settled in.
There was no room for them to sleep next to each other, but also no way in hell that he’d allow anyone else to get near her, if she honestly belonged to him.
Time to make it look convincing. He nudged the man closest to the far wall with his foot.
“Shove over.” He jerked his head toward the archway. “Or I move you. And you do not want that because I’m not feeling friendly.”
With a muttered curse, the others shifted outward, leaving space for him and Rowena near the back. He put himself between her and everyone else while she studied him with evident amazement. Leaning close, she whispered, “Is that the sort of thing you meant? Because I rather enjoyed it.”
A shiver of surprise traveled up his spine. When was the last time anybody praised him for following his instincts? What the hell am I supposed to say?
“Good,” he finally got out. “Because there’s more where that came from.”