His black eyebrows lowered in a heavy frown. “What?”
“On the full moon.” Lifting her chin farther, she bared her throat to him. “Do you see? No scar. I’ve not yet had my moon night.”
And man or woman, a virgin’s blood belonged to Vela, and only could be offered when she looked fully upon them.
He shoved the band of her cloak aside, searching beneath the thick material fastened across the hollow of her throat where the ritual scar was usually placed. “Krimatheans don’t prize virginity.”
“No.” Most enjoyed fucking, and enjoyed it often. “But other houses do, and I am High Daughter. It might come to pass that an alliance depends upon a marriage and my acceptability to the person I wed.”
“Yet you’ll take my cock in a half turn? What of that alliance?”
It had never been certain, anyway. She’d only abstained because of the possibility—and this was just as important. “This is my quest,” she said simply. “If you believe that being tamed means being fucked, then I will submit to you. Only to you. But I prefer to honor the goddess when I do.” When he didn’t immediately respond, but only looked at her as if to determine whether she spoke true, her gaze fell to his strong throat. “You are not marked, either.”
His body stiffened. “My moon blood scars are on the back of my neck.”
Scars. Not one, but many. And Mala suspected that not one of them counted. Blood by rape was not an offering; it was an offense of the worst sort, to the human who suffered it and the goddess who witnessed it. But this time Mala was the one who was silent, because his rage had turned cold again, and now he would decide—to honor her preference, or not. To bend her over this table, or not. But no matter what he did to her, it would not be the same as had been done to him. Because this submission would be her choice. No one forced her.
His gaze like ice, he gathered up the long leash and tossed it up over a ceiling beam. He hauled back on the leather, dragging Mala’s arms up over her head, until she was pulled up onto her toes. The sleeves of her cloak slipped down over her leather bracers, bunching at her elbows. He tied off the leash at her bound wrists.
“Now stay,” he said softly and sat at the table again.
Like a dog. Or a horse. Mala almost laughed, but hearing the same reaction coming from the soldiers kept her quiet. With her back to the common room, she hung from the ceiling beam, suspended with most of her weight on her arms and the rest supported by her toes. Uncomfortable, though not terribly. As punishment, it wasn’t the worst she’d ever suffered.
She glanced down at Kavik. Pewter scraped over wood as he dragged her flagon to his side of the table and drank. Cooling his anger, perhaps. She still couldn’t see how he needed to be tamed.
And she liked him just as well as she had while tending to him after the revenants’ attack. Even better now. She’d taken him for an honorable warrior when he’d stood his ground against the creatures, despite the overwhelming risk. Nothing he’d done since had dissuaded her of that opinion. Instead he’d only cemented it.
She would not regret spending her moon night beneath him. There would be no mere submitting to his attentions. She looked forward to them and fully intended to take her pleasure.
Mala hoped to give him pleasure, too. It would be no hardship. His hair was thick and dark, and his mouth so fine. She liked his teeth, so even and white, and imagining their bite sent a hot shiver racing through her. He no longer smelled like death, but soap and smoke, and she wondered if the taut skin of his neck would taste the same as the skin over his sinewy thigh. Soon she would find out, and trace every rigid muscle with her tongue.
She had always loved strength. All her life, she had fought to increase her own. She wasn’t like her cousin Laina, the first High Daughter and heir to the Ivory Throne, whose line had been blessed by Hanan’s seed and who could defeat a dozen warriors with barely an effort. Mala could never equal that—and if the worst happened, if Mala ever had to take Laina’s place, she would never be as strong. But she had trained and practiced, so that ever if it did occur, she would have as much strength to offer her people as possible.
Now she recognized the same dedication within Kavik, who had not defeated the revenants because his ancestor had been fucked by a god but because he constantly fought to keep himself strong. To protect others. Perhaps to protect himself, too. His path had obviously not been an easy one.
Whatever came of this quest, Mala hoped it made his path less painful to walk. As he tipped his head back to drain the last of the ale, she wondered, “So this is what a taming consists of? I merely have to make you wait for me to finish a meal.”