Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

ADULL, THROBBING ACHE PULLS me from the depths of slumber. My eyes flutter open. Nausea churns in my gut. I’m moving—and my hands are bound. Sunlight glints sharply off the iron encasing my wrists and mocks me.

Tides drown me, how many times can I wake this way?

My other senses trickle in—the hard press of a firm chest against my back, muscled thighs bracketing my own, a thickly veined arm securing my waist. We’re on a horse.

Each hoofbeat drums through my tailbone and into my skull. My wrists sting beneath the iron. There’s an ache in my shoulders from being held upright.

A deep inhale—Tides freeze my veins—smoke and pine.

I whirl in the saddle and glare at Zev. His face is a mess of yellowing and purple bruises, but both his eyes are open.

“Oh, good,” he drawls. “You’re awake.”

“You hit me,” I accuse, baring my teeth. “Hard.”

“I did.” He smirks, cruel and sharp. “Want me to kiss the pain away?”

Well, he’s certainly feeling better.

Flooding water.

Rumbling thunder.

Blinding lightning.

I swallow thickly. “W-were all the men … dead?”

Zev’s gaze is sharper than his blade. “Yes.”

A hollow, broken laugh wrenches from my chest. I killed my own people.

“It was you or them,” Zev says, his voice rough. “And since when has killing bothered you? You were plotting to murder hundreds in Arbinj.”

Right.

He still hates me.

We may have massacred an entire Tundrayni camp together, but that apparently doesn’t change anything between us.

“Where are we going?” I huff, turning in the saddle. Blistering guilt sears my heart, bitter ash coating my tongue. My arms tremble, and I try to fold them over my chest before remembering my wrists are bound.

Zev doesn’t respond.

“Were we followed?”

“No.” The word is forced through gritted teeth. “Everyone was dead, remember?”

Another excruciating pang of guilt.

“Where are we?”

When he doesn’t answer, I shift just enough to “accidentally” jab my elbow into his ribs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and I remember—some of them might still be broken. I only feel slightly bad about it.

“In Rebellion territory.” His teeth clack together violently.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’ll have to wait until we stop.”

“Tell me where we’re going.”

He doesn’t answer, like I’m not worth his breath.

“Did the Tides take your tongue, or have you taken a vow of silence?” I snap.

His grip around my waist becomes punishing, and my breath stutters. I hate the way my body responds to him, knows him, craves him. He struck me across the head, tied me up again, and is taking me Tides-knows-where. I should be quaking with fear, demanding he release me. Instead, the hair prickles along the back of my neck where his breath fans against my skin.

I have no idea where we stand—it was my father I was supposed to hate all along.

My heart twists painfully in my chest.

Father. It had been him.

And all those men I helped murder—they had been innocent.

And still, I killed them. We killed them.

My throat tightens, and I take a shaky, weak breath.

I don’t have the desire to annoy Zev anymore.

We ride in stiff, painful silence for nearly two hours before Zev brings the horse to a halt in a shady clearing, framed with tall, leafy trees. He dismounts, then hoists me off the mare before I can protest. I follow him wordlessly as he lowers himself to the ground and retrieves food from a satchel he likely stole from the camp.

With a sharp jerk of his chin, he gestures to the patch of grass beside him. It’s a practice in all my patience not to roll my eyes. At least his silence is an improvement over ordering me around like a dog.

I plop onto the ground and hold up my bound wrists. He stares at them, mouth twisted with displeasure. Then, with a heavy sigh, he slices the rope with his dagger.

He doesn’t remove the iron cuffs.

I eat in silence, barely tasting the food, intrusive thoughts crushing my lungs like a massive boulder. Breathing becomes a luxury.

I have no home.

No family.

No people.

My father lied. Manipulated. Murdered.

I did the same.

It’s strange when a person loses everything in a single day. Everything I worked toward was a lie. Everything I believed was a lie. A sense of numbness envelops me, a slow expanding hollow inside my chest. In the span of hours, I went from princess of my people to murderer of my people.

When I glance at Zev, he’s already watching me, brows drawn together. When our eyes meet, he schools his expression into impassivity, turning his face away.

“If you keep blaming yourself, you’ll never move forward,” he says without looking at me. His jaw clenches tight. “You helped me kill them. To save yourself. Make your peace with it.”

I blink away the tears burning my eyes.

“Where do we go from here?” I whisper, tracing idle patterns in the grass.

Zev doesn’t respond immediately.

“I’m not going back to Arbinj,” he says at last. His back is ramrod straight. “My father will assume either Tormik or the rebels killed me.”

“Where will you go?”

He shrugs. “Volca, maybe. Or beyond.”

What about me? I don’t say the words, but he hears them anyway.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he admits, his fingers tapping a pattern on his knee. “But I’ll figure it out.”

“So I’m your prisoner again?” I scoff. “What about what I want?”

He doesn’t answer, so I barrel on. “Why did you knock me out? We worked together. We—” I cut off. I can’t bring myself to voice what we did aloud.

“I didn’t trust you not to attack me when I was weakened.” He gestures to my iron cuffs. “I still don’t.”

“I healed you every night,” I protest.

“I still don’t know why.” His voice grows hard. His eyes become stone. “And I don’t care.”

I grit my teeth. He does care. I know he does.

“It’s stupid to leave me cuffed. What if rebels attack us?”

He eyes me closely, likely remembering the last time I tricked him into uncuffing me.

Mouth twisted into a grimace, Zev scoots closer. His scent hits me like a warm, welcoming wave. Safe, safe, safe, some idiot voice in my mind croons. I am anything but safe with my husband whose eyes glitter with hatred.

He proves it to me when his hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back, forcing a small gasp from my lips.

“If you attack me,” he murmurs, his voice a silky threat, “I will kill you. If you betray me, I will kill you. And if you try to run…” His gaze drops to my lips before he drags it back up. He reaches for my cheek—then grabs my jaw instead.

“I’ll let you go.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

“I’LL LET YOU GO.”

He says it like a promise. Or a punishment. I can’t decide which.

He uncuffs the iron shackles all the same, his fingers brushing over my wrists. Lightning skates across my skin wherever he touches me.

The cuffs were loose—my skin isn’t rubbed raw. There’s only a slight indentation where the iron sat, and still, Zev’s eyes are glued to the faint lines on my skin.

My power floods through me in a surging tide. I close my eyes as its familiar thrum grounds me. So much has changed—my world has shifted on its axis—but my power remains.

I am a healer and a waterwielder

I can harm—have harmed.

But I can also heal.

I eye Zev’s injuries. Some are fresh, some are days old and scarred.

“I’ll heal you. As a truce.”

The words settle between us, uncomfortable and thick. A reminder of an identical moment a lifetime ago.

A different Mayah and a different Zev.

Not who we are now, with an insurmountable chasm of betrayal and mistrust and hurt between us.

“Heal yourself first,” he says gruffly. “I’ve survived this long.”

Because of my healing, you ungrateful ass. I swallow down my irritation.

Instead, I set my palms aglow and gingerly press them to the dull pulsing behind my head. Zev looks away, hands clenched in his lap.

Next, I heal the minor scrapes and bruises from the battle with my people. My eyes burn. Fuck.

I inhale shakily, then inch closer to Zev. His eyes are stony as he watches me. I hesitate for a second, then press my palms to the bare skin of his neck, my thumbs gently brushing its masculine slant. He swallows, his throat bobbing beneath my fingers.

Our eyes meet, and Tides, I lose myself in his gray gaze. His eyes soften, and for a heartbeat, I see my Zev, the one who looked at me with such warmth and affection and care. As if he were in awe of me. As if I were the answer to his every question. As if he—

“Zev…” I whisper, a hushed plea. I don’t know for what.

I wish I hadn’t.

My voice shatters whatever spell was cast over us. In the space between heartbeats, his eyes frost over, chasing away any warmth that might have lit them from within.

“Heal me quickly,” he snaps. “Then stop touching me.” His mouth turns down in a fierce scowl. “And don’t call me Zev.”

I try to mask the quiver of my chin.

Casting my power through him, I heal any new internal injuries first—including two cracked ribs. Then, with trembling fingers, I unbutton his stolen shirt. I wait for him to push my hands away, or insist he’ll do it himself, but he doesn’t—just keeps watching me with that cold, steely gaze.

My breath catches as his tanned skin comes into view. I’d seen the damage up close each night beneath the dim glow of the moon, but Tides, his injuries are horrific under the waning light of the setting sun. Ugly purpling contusions—faint, red indents of knuckles running across some of them—and deep, half-scabbed gashes.

It takes several minutes. For the wounds that have scabbed completely, I can’t erase the scars. I can only speed up the healing process—like the thick, straight lines carved across his chest.

I want to erase them. To pretend they were never there. But I can’t. After my first pass, he’s left with a smooth row of thick, pale scars. A reminder of his captivity. Of my betrayal.

I bite my lip, ready to try again when—

“Leave them,” he growls, batting my hands away. He shoots to his feet, dead leaves disintegrating beneath his boots as he crosses the clearing and busies himself with the horse. He doesn’t spare me another glance.

Hurt flares within me, though I have no right to it.

He’s still tending to the horse when the clouds gather overhead. My eyes cut to him in a panic. Did he…?

But then he looks at the sky, too, brows drawn together. When his gaze finds mine, Zev flinches and averts his eyes like I burned him.

I watch in stilted silence as he pitches a small tent. Thunder cracks above, and my heart misses a beat. It rumbles through my bones like judgment. The canopy of swollen clouds has thickened, dark and full to bursting with rain. My hands tremble.

Finally, he sits across from me. Moonlight silhouettes his massive body—we didn’t risk starting a fire.

“I told you my plan,” he says, shoulders taut with tension. “What do you want?”

“Revenge.” There is no hesitation. “I want to kill my father.”

He eyes me carefully. “You can barely cope with what happened at the camp.”

“That’s different. Those men were innocent. He murdered my mother. Tormented me with storms for twenty years. I was a tidesdamned child. And if that weren’t enough, he molded me into a weapon with his lies.”

A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Fine. And then?”

“I’ll rule Tundrayn.”

“You really believe your people will accept you as queen after you murder their king? After what we did to those warriors?”

I fold my arms over my chest, forcing down the suffocating guilt threatening to choke me. My voice quivers with uncertainty as I say, “They’ll have to.” It comes out as a question, though I meant to be firm. “Who knows what else my father has done? What other atrocities he’s committed? I can’t leave him to rule.”

“And how will you go about this?”

“I don’t know.” I hadn’t given it much thought after the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. “Maybe—maybe I’ll return to Arbinj. Make another deal with your father.”

Zev goes completely still. The muscle pulses in his jaw once, twice.

“I won’t tell him about you,” I rush to add. Even in the darkness, his eyes burn with rage. “I can say my father killed you. Or the rebels. Like you said.”

He scoffs. “So clever. So cunning. I was a fool not to see it before.”

His sharp words tear through me like a jagged, rusted blade—they’re true, yet truths often hurt the worst.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I snap. A brisk wind rustles my unbound hair, and I huddle tighter into myself. “But stop pretending I haven’t already proven I’m not your enemy.”

“What makes you think you have?” he growls.

“I healed you every night. I brought you food.”

He scoffs again like it means nothing, like I didn’t risk my life to ensure he survived.

“I didn’t have to. I could’ve let you rot.”

He looks away, but not before I catch the flicker in his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” I press, bracing my forearms on my knees. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re a manipulative liar with your own agenda.” Zev rises to his feet. “Save your breath. I’ll never make the mistake of trusting you again.”

A raindrop lands on my cheek. Then another. I’m grateful I can blame the blurriness in my vision on the rain.

Zev gestures to the tent. “Get in.”

I stare at the small, unassuming canvas structure, barely standing upright. It doesn’t look big enough to fit him, let alone both of us. I don’t want to be in such close quarters with his hatred.

“I’m not sleeping in there with you,” I snap, trying to mask the waver in my voice.

“Why not? We’ve shared a bed before, wife.”

Tides ravage me, he makes that one word drip with poison.

“That was different! I was—”

“Pretending?” he cuts in. “You’re good at it. One more night won’t kill you.”

Without a second glance at me, he ducks into the tent.

Tides drown me.

Maybe I could sleep out here.

The sky rumbles, as if it’s laughing at me.

I bite my lip, then climb in after him.

Not because I want to be near him. I crawl in because the storm terrifies me. And because after everything, he’s the only safe place I have left.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

I’M SUFFOCATING IN SMOKE and pine.

We’re packed into this tent like dried logs, waiting for a spark to set us aflame. Zev, with his tidesdamned massive, muscled body, dominates the space, while I’m huddled against the side, curled in on myself.

Raindrops batter the canvas, steadily growing louder. Faster. I suck in deep, shuddering breaths, preparing myself for what is to come.

Thunder booms, angry and unforgiving. I bite my lip to contain my whimper. The coppery tang of blood blooms on my tongue. Zev is a marble statue behind me—I don’t think he’s even drawing breath. The rain pelts down harder, harsh, angry tap, tap, taps, against the thin fabric of the tent. If I close my eyes, maybe the rhythmic noise will lull me to sleep before the thunder gets worse.

Father’s icy gaze, lightning flashing behind it.

My eyes snap open, a sharp gasp bursting from my lips.

Lightning illuminates the tent for a heartbeat. My hands tremble.

Tides, not here. Not now.

Not with him to witness my weakness.

Another thunderclap rips across the sky, and I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle my whimper.

I clench my eyes shut. As if that might protect me.

It’s dark except for the sliver of light beneath the door.

“Mama?” My small voice is thick with tears.

I squeeze my hands tightly, my wooden reindeer digging into my palms. A gift from my father.

Father.

Thunder, angry and incessant, shakes the heavens.

Yet the beat of my heart booms louder in my ears.

Lightning flashes again, its threat flaring behind closed lids.

The distant rumble of voices. Of shouting. One of them is Father.

A loud cry—then, silence. The metallic stench of death.

It was my father.

Father.

Rough hands yank me from the closet.

A strangled gasp tears from my throat.

I can’t breathe. My lungs expand and contract, but something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. I can’t get enough air.

I try again, panting and gasping and wheezing—

Zev mutters a string of low curses behind me.

A soft rustling, and then his arm slings over my waist, tugging me flush against his chest.

My eyes fly open.

I’m in the tent. With him. Not in the closet. Not that night.

“Wh—what are you doing?” I rasp.

“Distracting you.” His voice is hard, but his hand is gentle as it skims over my belly. “Lift your head.”

I obey, and he nestles his other arm beneath me, my temple resting on his bicep. His firm chest presses against my back, his breath hot on my neck.

I should push him away. I should hate him. But the warmth of his body and the desperate need to feel safe consumes me. It obliterates any thought of protest.

Thunder booms again, and I jolt. Zev tightens his grip, pulling me back harder against him. His hand splays over my abdomen, his body taut with tension. Ragged exhales flutter the loose strands of my hair.

Lightning flashes, bright and angry.

Another humiliating, panicked yelp wrenches from my lips.

My eyes burn with tears.

Slowly, his hand begins to move. His fingers are hesitant as they inch higher, skating over my ribs, pausing just before the curve of my breasts.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, like he’s swallowed sand.

The storm melts away, and my focus sharpens on him.

Only him.

I remain completely still, afraid that if I move, if I speak, if I breathe, he’ll stop touching me. His long, graceful fingers edge higher, and then he’s cupping me in his large hand.

“Tell me to stop, Mayah,” he repeats desperately, even as his hand squeezes gently.

I can’t remember the last time he said my name.

My low, needy moan hums through the air. I arch back harder against him. His hand climbs higher, leaving a searing trail along the column of my throat. He traces my parted lips with the tip of his index finger, and it’s all I can do to stay still in his arms.

Desire coils low in my belly, tight and hungry, and I need more.

But I’m afraid to push him, to break this fragile moment.

Zev is tense behind me, each breath a soft pant. His hand skates back down over my chest, my abdomen, dipping just beneath the waistband of my leggings.

“Mayah.” His voice is gravel, and I want to roll in it, in him, until every rough, jagged edge scrapes my skin raw. “Mayah, tell me to stop.” His hands shake, like he’s battling something inside himself.

A keening whine escapes my parted lips, and I grind my ass against him. His hand delves beneath the waistband, and then he’s between my thighs. We both groan at the same time as his fingers swipe through slick wetness.

I can’t breathe.

He works his skillful fingers, quickly bringing me to the edge. His breath is hot against my ear, his body a wall of muscle at my back.

“Zev,” I whimper, biting my lip. I’m close, I’m so close, but I can’t fall over that edge.

The distant rumble of thunder.

Almost.

Lightning crashing into water.

Just—

Zev’s eyes, knifing me with hatred.

His fingers speed up, and I moan, loud and desperate. Close, close, so close. Not close enough.

I need—

What if—

Does he still—

“Stop thinking, baby,” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. “And come for me like a good girl.”

I shatter.

My body convulses against him, and he holds me tighter until the tide of pleasure recedes, setting hot kisses to my fluttering pulse.

I’m left limp in his arms. A soft, contented sigh escapes me.

His body tenses, and then slowly, ever so slowly, he removes his hand. I roll over and face him, breath shaky, fingers fumbling with his belt—

His hand snaps around my wrist like a vise.

“The storm’s died down. Go to sleep.” My brows knit, and when I find his eyes in the darkness, they’re cold and distant. Angry.

No.

No, he can’t do this.

He can’t touch me, give me pleasure, give me hope, and then push me away again. Like I’m nothing to him. Indignation burns hot in my veins, stoking the flames of a fast-burning rage. I shove him until he’s flat on his back. He lets me. Before he can move, I straddle his waist and bracket his jaw between my palms.

“Listen to me,” I grit out, glaring down at him. “I know I’ve hurt you. I—I never planned for any of this to happen. I wanted revenge on your father, on Arbinj, for killing my mother. But my purpose was driven by a lie.” My voice cracks. “Zev, everything between us—it was true. I swear by the Tides, it was real. The wormbark oil was for you. At the camp, I healed you every night because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. Not because I needed you for some agenda. Please, Zev. I care about you.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he scans my face. “And your captain? Did you care about him, too?”

“I—yes. I loved him. But never in the same way I feel about you. I know you’re hurt about what you saw … I don’t blame you. I don’t know how to make this right, Zev. I shouldn’t have let him touch me … I was trying to—” I break off. Tides, none of this is coming out right. “Zev, please. Give me another chance.”

His hands flex around my hips. He slowly sits up. My chest brushes against his with every inhale. Zev leans forward, achingly slow, until his breath fans my lips, barely a sliver left between us.

My eyes flutter closed, mouth parting.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers against my lips.

My eyes snap open.

A single breath lingers between us. And then he pushes me off, shifting to face away.

I stare at his back, a sharp, gutting pain lancing my chest.

“Why did you touch me, then?” Quiet hurt creeps into my voice.

A beat.

“I couldn’t sleep through your whimpering.”

He may as well have thrust his dagger through my heart.

“You … you called me baby.” My voice is thick with tears.

“My wrist was cramping. I needed you to finish quickly.”

I flinch. Somehow, I manage to contain my sob. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t say another word. He’s ended the conversation like he ended everything else between us.

Tears of humiliation drip down my cheeks.

I lie down as far away from him as I can manage.

It takes a long time before I fall asleep.