Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

THE JINGLING OF HIS belt buckle cuts through my resolve like a knife. This is really happening. Tides, he’s going to—

He shoves his pants down over his hips.

Everything falls quiet—my heartbeat, the camp. Even the wind.

Bile rises in my throat.

I refuse to look at him.

He doesn’t like that.

My scalp burns when he fists my hair in his meaty hand, wrenching my head back. Hot tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision, dripping down my cheeks. They mingle with the blood coating my face from my bruised nose and split lip.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful, Princess,” he whispers, jabbing a rough thumb into my lower lip until fresh blood gushes out. His large hands grope me, squeezing every part of me he can reach.

I can’t contain the whimper that escapes me, can’t cage it inside with my fury. Fresh tears fall from my eyes, hatred and rage and pure terror splintering my heart into pieces.

He straightens, angling himself toward my face. He forces two fingers between my lips, prying my jaw open. I try to bite down as hard as I can, but he’s too strong. My bleeding mouth is stretched wide, and still he bears down harder—

The air shifts.

I can sense it, like an electric charge that makes every hair on my body stand at attention.

A distant rumbling sounds—this time in the sky—and Sulon freezes. He yanks his hand from my mouth and pulls up his trousers.

But he’s too late.

Heavy footsteps thunder closer.

“What the fuck are you doing to my wife?!” Zev roars, emerging through the trees. His face is cut from stone, a wrathful god. Cold fury blazes in his eyes, his muscles tight with tension.

“I… sire, I—”

Zev raises a hand. All six men freeze, their bodies unnaturally still.

I hold my breath.

When I release it, the men begin to jerk, stiff and erratic. The stench of burning metal permeates my nostrils. Their screams cut off like a snapped wire—soundless and sudden.

Daak. The vision of his body writhing the same way batters my mind.

A chorus of heavy thuds echoes as the men drop to the ground one by one, but it’s muffled over the sound of my wails.

I’m sobbing, tears streaming down my face.

Grief and fear and relief and humiliation and fury take turns raging inside me, fighting for dominance.

Zev falls to his knees. He reaches for me, and I recoil, nearly tumbling backward if not for the roots still holding me prisoner.

“Skies, Mayah,” he whispers, eyes brimming with remorse. With so much pain. And another emotion, one I know as well as my name—guilt.

He reaches out again slowly, like I’m a skittish animal, cradling my battered face. “What did they do to you?”

“You did this to me,” I hiss through tears, jerking away from him. “You left me with them. Did you know he’d try to—” My mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

Just a sob. Just shame.

“I swear I didn’t. He said he’d keep wat—”

“You left me here alone! Bound and helpless! A Tundrayni woman with six Arbinji soldiers!” I scream in his face. Fresh sobs tear out of me, and I curl in on myself, shoulders shaking.

“Fuck, Mayah. I—”

Zev unsheathes his dagger. His hands are gentle as he saws through the roots binding my wrists, then my ankles. I wince as the thorns are pulled from my skin, bright wounds weeping blood where they pierced my flesh. With a deft swipe, he slices through the rope that binds my hands.

My wrists are chafed beneath the iron bracelets still encasing them. My tears flow harder, violent shudders wracking my body.

Escape. I need to escape.

“Mayah…” He sounds uncertain, hand poised over my shoulder, seemingly unsure if he should touch me.

I snatch the dagger from his grip.

He lets me.

“Off, off, I want them off,” I pant. “I can still feel his hands.” I wedge the sharp blade between my bruised skin and the iron cuff, digging in, trying to unlock it.

“Wait, I have the key—”

“Don’t touch me!” I shout, scrambling backwards. I work the blade harder into my flesh, gritting my teeth at the pain.

“Mayah, stop, let me—”

My hands are shaking.

My heart is racing.

One hard yank and—

–the dagger opens a violent gash down the length of my arm.

Zev swears, loud and panicked.

Hot blood gushes from the wound, coating my clothes, seeping into the wet earth. Zev scrambles over to me, knocking the dagger from my hands. He holds out my wrist, and the blood flows faster.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses. “You need to heal yourself.” With two quick clicks, he uncuffs me, the iron bracelets falling to the ground with a dull thud.

My eyes flutter closed.

“Skies, Mayah—focus.” He shakes my shoulders. “You’re bleeding too fast. Heal yourself. Now.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

THE MOMENT THE IRON drops, my power surges back like water breaking through a dam. It’s hot, it’s cold, it’s everything at once—slamming into me like a second heartbeat.

My blood drips onto the ground in a steady stream.

The air thickens, until it’s difficult to draw breath. With every inhale, my eyelids stay closed just a second longer.

“Mayah.” Zev’s panicked voice is in my ear. He shakes my shoulders again. “Heal yourself. Please.”

I close my eyes, searching for my power. A soft, whimpering moan escapes me.

“What? There’s nothing in your bloodstream. The iron is gone. You should—” His voice cracks as I slump against him. My eyes are closed. His panicked breath flutters through my hair, and his chest rises and falls rapidly against my cheek.

Blood still seeps from my wrist.

“Fuck, Mayah. Just—Lightning strike me, just hold on.” He falls silent, palms pressed on either side of my neck.

At first, there’s nothing. Not a single sound, not a whisper, not even a breeze, as if the entire forest is holding its breath along with him.

Then it hits.

A familiar rush, hot and heady and him. Zev’s power surges through me, mingling and twisting with my own.

His power revitalizes me. Invigorates me.

He cradles my face. “Try now,” he urges. “Quickly.”

I call to my power. My hand glows with soft, white light, and I pass it over the weeping gash in my arm. My skin mends, the edges of the deep cut knitting together.

Zev breathes a sigh of relief, sitting on his heels as the deep wound knits back together.

Until it doesn’t.

The light from my hand stutters, the white glow flickering gently at first, then faster, until it vanishes completely.

The cut is only half healed. Fresh blood still oozes out steadily. Slowly, I meet Zev’s wide eyes with my own. I swallow hard, breath escaping in sharp pants.

Without a word, he returns his hands to my neck, channeling yet more of his power into me. It crackles through my body like lightning trapped in bone.

I’ve never felt this way—invincible.

Like I could do anything. Everything.

My healing power thrums inside me, and my hands glow once more. This time, it doesn’t waver. I heal the gash on my wrist, then my bloodied ankles and split lip.

Zev watches in silence.

When my body is whole, I meet his gaze.

He opens his mouth and—

–I attack.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

IDRINK IN THE SHOCK on Zev’s face like zinfadelan.

It had been a risky move—purposefully slitting my own wrist, then pretending I couldn’t heal myself. My reserves were low, but even the weakest healer could’ve still sealed a flesh wound, deep as it were. It was a foolish, reckless gamble, betting that he wouldn’t let me bleed out in his arms.

But one that paid off.

His borrowed power surges through my veins. I’ve never felt such strength, such awareness. My body senses every drop of water in the vicinity—every tiny molecule. In the ground, coating the leaves, in the air.

The wave that hits him isn’t planned—it’s instinct.

With a twist of my hand, I send another one crashing into his chest. He flies backward, head knocking against the ground. I don’t stop. My arms glide through the air. The water responds. Zev struggles to his feet, but another massive wave waits for him. They crash into him again and again.

The sky tears open, and it begins to rain.

I freeze.

Waiting. Listening.

Except there’s no thunder. No lightning.

He must be too weak—how much of his power did he give me? I study him, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts, sweat beading on his brow. He looks half-drained, like he poured everything into me without hesitation.

My heart lurches. Why would he do that? I betrayed him. I revealed myself as his enemy. Why would—

I don’t have time to dwell on it. A slow, molten heat is already unfurling in my belly, hot and insistent. My skin tingles. My breath saws through my lungs. Tides damn me—I don’t have much time before the aphrodisiac effects overwhelm me.

I hadn’t thought my plan through. Not all the way. Not to this part.

I need to move. Now. Before this burning want drowns out everything else.

I close my fist. Raindrops merge into a sloshing ball. It floats over to where Zev has risen again, submerging his head. With my other hand, I guide thick streams of water over his legs, then freeze them up to his hips. Another wave. Another layer of ice, frozen solid.

Bubbles escape from his mouth, rising to the surface of the watery orb.

I’d expected him to claw at his face, to try to escape. But even through the fog of the water, his gaze is fixed on me.

But his eyes aren’t blazing with hatred.

His fingers slow. He doesn’t move.

A shrill ringing blares in my ears.

Tides, why do his eyes look so damned soft? He looks resigned. Almost … peaceful.

Bile rises in my throat.

Something sharp clamps my heart in a vise.

His eyes begin to bulge.

By the Tides, he’s not even trying to fight for his life.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The water drops with a splash.

Zev sputters, coughing violently, water spilling from his lips as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air.

I should kill him. End this.

But I can’t.

My hands fall uselessly to my sides.

I just stand there, staring at him, each shallow breath punishing my lungs.

He blinks in confusion, as if he can’t believe the water is gone. And then his steel-gray eyes finally blaze with the cold, unyielding fury I’d been waiting for.

“Run, Mayah,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Run.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

BRANCHES CUT INTO THE soft flesh of my arms as I bolt through the forest, the ground slick and slippery beneath my feet. My heart beats in my ears. I chance a look backwards, certain I’ll find Zev thundering behind me, face contorted with wrath.

I should have killed him.

Now he’s going to kill me. He’s going to—

Focus. Focus, Mayah. I only have limited time before the aphrodisiac takes effect. Before I turn and run toward Zev, instead of away from him. I need to put as much distance between us as possible, then figure out some way to restrain myself before he catches—

Thunder rumbles so violently, the ground quakes beneath my boots. The air prickles, heavy with his storm.

Shit.

My husband is free. And he’s coming after me.

I force my feet to move faster, darting through the trees. Rain drizzles steadily, icy droplets chilling my skin where my tunic is torn in half. A sharp ache splinters my lungs, a searing pain in one calf. I veer right, breath stuttering as lightning rips through the sky.

Desire lights a fire in my core.

Shit, shit, shit. My blood thrums in my veins. Desperate. Eager.

I need to run faster.

In the silence between rumbling thunderclaps, angry footsteps slam behind me, growing louder with each second.

He’s going to catch me.

My footsteps slow, just by a fraction. The warmth in my chest simmers in a low, burning heat. My body wants to stop, wants to turn back, but my mind screams at me to keep going.

The footsteps pound louder, in time with the beat of my frantic heart. I crane my neck again, expecting to see Zev bearing down on me, a mask of fury etched on his face.

He’s not there.

But he’s close.

I turn back and—

–promptly collide with an armored chest. Large hands grip my upper arms, bracing me from the impact. I recoil, head spinning, heat curling through my veins. My thoughts fray at the edges, pulled tight by panic and heat.

I crane my head, staring into a worried, deep blue gaze.

My heart stops.

I know those eyes.

“Daak?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

“PRINCESS?” THE URGENT VOICE is low, familiar.

Wrong.

My vision blurs even as unwanted desire coils inside me. I grip his shoulders tighter.

“Where’s Daak?” the voice asks.

His words snap me out of my haze, and I focus on the man before me with the intimately familiar blue eyes.

Sorka.

Daak’s father.

My heart splinters.

I clutch his shoulders, slumping into him. He looks me over, not as a general assessing his soldier, but with the tenderness of a concerned father. His eyes widen as he notes my flushed cheeks. My torn tunic.

“Princess.” His voice is grave. “What happened to you?”

“The Dark Commander is chasing me,” I pant, clutching the shredded fabric of my tunic together. “Do you have more men?”

Sorka straightens, face drawn. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he eyes my ripped tunic again. “Yes. Our camp is nearby. Come, quickly.”

I follow him through the woods, struggling to ignore the heat in my belly or the way my eyes linger on the contracting muscles in Sorka’s back, the curl of gray-streaked hair against the nape of his neck.

“How many men does he have?” Sorka asks, slicing through wayward branches with his longsword.

“None.”

“None?”

“He, uh, killed them.”

The general shoots me a confused look over his shoulder. My eyes trace his full, parted lips and the white stubble covering his strong jaw.

Tides, I need to get a hold of myself.

This is Daak’s father. And I haven’t even told him Daak is dead.

A broken, hysterical laugh bubbles from my lips.

Sorka’s strong brows knit with concern. “You’re safe, Princess,” he soothes. “He can’t harm you now.”

We dart through the trees for another few minutes when Sorka stops. He raises a hand in the air and snaps his fingers.

A dozen warriors emerge from the underbrush.

They’re clad in the dark browns and greens of the forest, but their eyes are unmistakably Tundrayani—icy, clear, shimmering, deep, blue.

Unbidden, my heated gaze drinks them in.

Braided hair, sharp jawlines, scarred brows.

Shifting muscle, corded veins, curious eyes.

I avert my gaze with a startled gasp. Tides ravage me.

“Stoat maneuver,” Daak’s father calls. “Quickly.”

The men disappear into the underbrush like wraiths.

Sorka turns to me. “He’s after you?” I nod stiffly. “Stand in the middle here. Do not be afraid, Princess. We won’t let him touch you.”

But can they keep me from touching him?

I hope so.

Sorka vanishes into the forest, too. I swallow hard, facing the dark woods. My heart hammers frantically in my chest, my skin burning up. Ghosts of rough, calloused hands glide over me. How would their long braids feel dragged against my skin?

My skin prickles, every nerve alert.

Minutes later, and there—he strides through the trees.

Every thought evaporates from my mind. My body thrums with need, all interest in the Tundrayni warriors swept away by the violent tide that is my husband.

He sees me. His fingers flex, as if resisting the urge to reach for me.

His full lips curve into a sensuous smirk. My heart stutters.

Why was I running from him again?

His stride slows as he nears, molten steel eyes fixed on my face.

I take a step toward him.

Then, another.

And another.

Before I know it, I’m bolting through the trees in a desperate bid to reach him.

I need to reach him.

But I never do.

A low clinking rattle is the only warning before an iron chain whips through the air, slinging around Zev’s neck. His hand flies up, two fingers wedging beneath the chain just before it tightens into a noose. Six men leap out from behind trees. Two grab Zev’s arms while the other four anchor his legs.

My husband doesn’t even try to fight.

Thick iron cuffs, three times the width he’d suppressed me with, shackle his wrists with resounding clicks.

But he keeps his eyes on me. The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh. Almost like he thinks this is a joke. Like I’m a joke.

I have to force my feet to stay rooted to the ground. Beads of sweat dot my forehead, and my heart pummels my ribcage as if it means to escape.

“The Dark Commander himself,” Sorka drawls, coming to stand beside me. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about this day.”

Zev’s grin is razor sharp. “I haven’t thought about you at all. You are?”

Daak’s father scowls. “Sorka. General of the Tundrayni army.”

“Ah. Then, it’s my honor. I’d bow but”—he shrugs, or tries to—“I can’t move.” His hard gaze cuts to me. “Are you feeling all right, wife? You look a little … flushed.”

My hands are clenched into tight fists, breath stuttering.

Sorka shoots me an inquisitive glance. “Princess?”

I swallow hard. “I—I need a tent. Alone. He … he channeled his power into me. A lot of it.”

Sorka’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut as he connects the dots—my torn tunic, the channeled power—and arrives at the wrong conclusion. His cold blue gaze flits to Zev. “Tidesdamned bastard,” he spits, face twisted with fury.

Some of the warriors look confused, while others won’t look at me at all.

“String him up in camp,” Sorka orders before turning to me. “Let’s find you a tent.”

Fifteen minutes later, my body is on fire.

I can’t think. I can’t focus.

I just need.

My thighs press together as the warriors secure Zev to two large posts set into a raised rectangular platform—thick iron chains nailed into wooden posts lock his wrists, a heavy iron collar fastened around his neck. Two warriors take their places in front of the posts, standing vigil against the storm that is the Dark Commander.

Zev doesn’t take his eyes off me.

He knows I’m burning—aching for him.

“Princess,” Sorka says, urgency lacing his voice. There’s a young woman beside him, with large doe-like eyes and a thick braid slung over her shoulder. I’d guess she’s probably around my age. “That one”—he gestures to a small tent—“is yours. Vykiss will stay with you. I’ve assigned two guards to stand watch.”

“Eight guards,” Zev calls out. He smirks at me, cruel and sharp. “I’ve seen you feral, wife. Two men won’t stop you from getting your hands on me.” He levels Sorka with a cool glare. “And if I get loose? This entire camp won’t stop me from getting my hands on her.”

Zev’s face snaps to the side as one of the warriors backhands him. Spit and blood fly through the air, but Zev just grins, his teeth painted a gruesome red. His chest rises and falls too fast, but his mouth never stops smirking.

Sorka mutters a low string of curses.

But when he runs out of ways to malign Zev’s parentage, he assigns eight guards to my tent.

Heat curls through my veins like thick tendrils of smoke. It permeates my lungs with hazy desire, blankets my senses with a fog of pure need. I take a deep breath and inhale phantom smoke and pine.

My eyes are locked on Zev’s—he’s chained up. I just need to wait for the camp to settle in for the night, for the guards to change shifts. He’d be willing. I’m pretty sure. I could—

“Princess,” a soft voice murmurs, jolting me out of my indecent, immoral spiral. It’s Vykiss. “Come. It’ll be getting worse soon. Let’s get you inside.” She rests a gentle hand on my shoulder and guides me into the tent.

“Vykiss. Listen,” I pant, shrugging off my torn tunic, leaving just the white bindings that cover my chest. A fine sheen of sweat coats my skin. The need is unbearable. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do. There’s no dignity left in me.

Just need. Just hunger.

And it belongs to him.

“Bring me valerian root.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

S TOLEN KISSES BENEATH FUR blankets.

Blue eyes—warm, affectionate. Familiar.

Gentle hands skimming bare skin. Snow and spruce and safety.

Loved.

Content.

A large hand splayed across my back, pulling me closer.

Exploring fingers—too soft, too shallow. Too afraid.

“Just … please.”

Too still. Too cold.

A stuttered breath.

An electric charge.

A final thud.

The ashes of first love forced down my throat.

The room splinters around me.

Drops of darkness trickle from the sky, drenching the world in night.

It’s quiet, save for the soft beating of my heart.

Rough bark at my back, damp ground beneath my legs.

Cold metal around my wrists.

No. No, no, no.

Hate-filled hands on my skin, twisting my ankle, shoving down my tunic.

No. No.

NO.

Hot breath in my ear. A malicious grin.

The promise of pain.

“Bow.”

No. Never. No, no, no, nononono.

A sharp crack. My brain rattles in my skull. Humiliation blooms across my face, drips down my chin.

Jagged rocks bite into scraped knees.

Rough, thorny roots shackling my wrists.

The sinister rattle of an unbuckling belt.

No. No. Stop. No.

Wet cheeks, pounding heart, whispered prayer.

A beat.

Silence.

A crackle in the air. A menacing growl.

It’s—

–my salvation.

“…my wife?!”

A relieved gasp.

Then, nothing.

The night splinters around me.

Darkness surrounds me, caresses me, soothes me.

Gentle patter of rain against glass—safe, not threatening.

Rose petals pressed against oil-slicked skin.

I inhale deeply. Searching. Waiting.

Hoping.

And there it is—there he is—smoke and pine.

Stuttered heartbeats and bated breath.

Rough hands close around my wrists. A sharp gasp.

Darkness blinds me, but I don’t need to see.

I already know—rage consumes him.

It’s in the dig of his blunt nails in my soft skin, in the rough scrape of his stubble against my neck, in the finger-shaped bruises he’s searing into my thighs.

“Zev,” I whisper. I can’t move, can’t see, can’t think. Only feel. “Zev, please.”

He stills.

His massive body presses harder into mine, until my lungs won’t expand, but I don’t care. I just need him close. I need him mine.

“Zev.” A plea, a prayer. “Zev, Zev, Zev.”

No teasing laugh. No whispered promise. No gravelly voice.

He gives me only his silence.

And his anger.

The sharp bite of teeth tugging my earlobe.

Rough knees forcing my thighs apart.

A large hand fisted in my hair.

I don’t care. I’ll take it all.

I’ll take whatever he gives me.

“Zev, please. I-I need—”

“You need? You need?” A low growl in my ear. “What about what I need?” His hand tightens in my hair, wrenching my head back.

Hot breath against my lips. I arch up, a desperate mewl, but he pins me in place. He denies me his kiss.

“I needed you to love me, Mayah. But you killed me instead.”

“I do! I do lov—”

A rough hand clamps over my mouth.

“No. More. Lies.” He settles between my legs.

A muffled moan, a ragged breath.

“Quiet. I’m going to take what I want.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Take anything. Take everything.

Take me. Take all of me.

I’m yours.

Zev, Zev. I’m yours.

Zev, please. I’m sorry!

Zev.

Zev!