Chapter 17 #2
My pulse fluttered against my neck, pounding in my chest, sending a thrill through my body. Need pulsed between my thighs, the craving to be feral and ruthless, forgetting everything I had been through. The need to tear through someone’s skin, rolling in the blood we spilled.
He stepped up to me still on my knees, his hand gripping my chin, tugging it up to look at him, his eyes so dark I couldn’t even see his pupils. His cock thickened, outlining massively against his trousers. The sudden need to tug them down, drive this menacing man to his knees.
My frame trembled at my thoughts, my breath struggling to reach my head. His hold on my jaw pinched down, as though he sensed what I wanted to do. As if he was fighting the need to command my mouth to part for him.
His chest heaved, his eyes searching mine, looking for any sign of what I wanted.
I didn’t want to think about the right or wrong, the regret and shame I’d find later. The deep hate and mistrust between us. I wanted to live in this suspended world, where we weren’t enemies, forbidden, and depraved.
His nose flared, seeing something in my eyes, his grip letting go of my chin. His hand skated through my newly cut locks, playing with the ends before gripping the back of my head. The slight tug went straight to my core, my nipples hardening.
My hand reached up, the tips of my fingers grazing his protruding outline. A small huff of air heaved through his nose, his fingers curling in, drawing me closer, until my mouth brushed against him.
“Well, well . . . what do we have here?” A deep northern accent boomed through the air.
Onyx jerked away, his frame swinging away from me, his hand reaching for the scythe on his back.
Before fear could even reach my brain, I saw four shadowy figures stride into our campsite, swords at their sides and bow and arrows strapped to their backs. I scrambled up to my feet, reaching for the small blade in my boot, standing next to him in defense.
A huge man, almost equal to Onyx in height but even wider, stepped forward. “About time you showed up, my ass is getting sick of sleeping on the cold ground.”
“Bj?rn?” Onyx lowered his weapon.
The man yanked down his hood, displaying a heavily bearded face, braided down his chin, matching the braids in his tied-back, wavy dark hair. His arms opened, a joyous smile dimpling his cheeks, changing his scary demeanor like night and day. “We’ve been waiting forever for you, fucker.”
“Fy faen . . .” Onyx let out a huge breath, slipping the scythe back into the sheathe on his back.
“Onyx!” A woman’s northern brogue came from the group, the first to move to him. Her toned, tall frame was enveloped by Onyx’s. His shoulders lowered in their embrace, as if he could finally let down his walls.
“Brynn,” he muttered against the beautiful woman’s temple.
Her dark hair was braided on the sides and pulled back into a ponytail, tattoos inking down her neck and covering her hands.
The rest of the group huddled around him, his hands clasping and half hugging the rest of them. “Fuck, it’s good to see you guys.”
“You too, man.” Bj?rn pounded his back. “We’ve been out here waiting for you for weeks, thinking the worst.”
“Bj?rn and Renyx took bets on if you guys would show up by the full moon or not.” It was a younger man, looking around my age, with half his hair pulled back and a goatee.
“Makin’ bets on me?” Onyx curved his brow at the two other men.
The big man grinned. “I won.”
Onyx wagged his head, turning back to the youth. “Brynn kept you all in line?”
“Yes, Hersir.” The young man nodded, peering at Onyx like he was a deity come to life. Hersir? That was what the commander of the Night army was called. It was comparable to General Backe’s position in my father’s forces.
“Where the hell have you been? And fuck you for making me lose my wallet,” the man I assumed to be Renyx said, returning the bow he held to his back and gripping Onyx’s shoulder like an old friend.
He was a tiny bit shorter compared to Onyx and Bj?rn, but in incredible shape, and extremely handsome.
Dark brown hair braided back on top, shaved on the sides, short beard, and tattoos running down his neck and arms. There was something very familiar about him I couldn’t exactly place.
“Long story,” Onyx replied.
“I can see.” Bj?rn’s eyes slid to me, a bushy eyebrow lifting, sharing a look with Onyx.
Onyx shook his head, answering an unsaid question.
“Where is Raelis?” Brynn’s sharp gaze scanned the area around Onyx. “You guys have to split up?”
The mood shifted instantly, Onyx’s head lowering, his throat bobbing. It was something we had never discussed. We had both lost a friend the same night. The one who took Sarina from me was taken from him.
The entire group went silent, reading Onyx’s body language.
“Very funny.” Renyx shook his head, stepping back, his expression twisting. “Stop fucking joking, Raelis!” he called out, peering around, searching for the missing man. “I know this is just one of your pranks, brother! Come out now!”
The familiarity hit me with a punch, why Renyx looked so familiar. If I took all this man’s hair away, he would be identical to the thrall who killed Sarina.
When no one appeared, Renyx’s head snapped back to Onyx, really taking him in, seeing truth and grief in Onyx’s eyes.
“No!” Anger flared from him.
“I’m sorry,” Onyx muttered.
“Noooo!” He shook his head forcefully, glaring at Onyx. “You are lying to me.”
“Ren . . .” Onyx reached out.
“no!” Renyx whirled around, striding away.
“Renyx!” Onyx called after his friend as he disappeared into the woods.
Bj?rn stepped in front, blocking Onyx. “Give him a moment.”
Onyx dipped his head, turning to the woman. “Brynn . . . I’m sorry.”
The woman blinked, emotion fluttering into her eyes before it disappeared.
“He knew the risks.” She swallowed roughly, setting her shoulders back. “I’m glad you are safe, Hersir.”
Neither expression nor tone gave anything away, but my gut twisted, sensing something beyond friendship in her words, prickling the back of my neck.
“When we return to the Night, we will honor our fallen brother.” Bj?rn moved to the fire in pensive thought, his hands going to his hips, parting his cloak.
I gasped, my knuckles clenching around the blade in my hand, my focus on the emblem printed in his leathers.
The symbol of a raven carrying a skull with a sword stabbing through the eye marked the left side of his chest. It was a symbol I was taught to hate and fear. My father made sure I could recognize the death squad coming for me.
The insignia of the northern king’s personal assassins.
The Night Hunters.