I’ve got one job: find the Princess. Something I will achieve. Their shortcomings don’t belong to me, the useless fucks.
“I’ve got a warm mouth waiting for me in my sleep space, so unless you want to drop to your knees and choke on me while I tell you everything you want to know, you can practice some fucking patience.” I snatch my cloak and key from the barmaid who comes to clear my plate. “We’ll do it with the rise before we part ways.”
If I can be bothered, that is.
Ipull the door open, a smile cutting across my face when I see the shapely piece of ass stoking the large fireplace at the back of the room.
Warm satisfaction spreads through me at the sight of her clothed in scraps of lace visible through the sheer dark-green cloak she’s draped in, black hair piled on the top of her head. Her legs are long, hips round, waist tight—a curvy elegance to her that shoots straight to my hardening cock.
“Fuck,” I grind out, kicking the door shut behind me, tossing my cloak and gloves on the ground. I stalk forward, lifting loose tendrils of hair off her elegant neck, wrapping my hand around the back of it and gripping hard.
Perfect fit.
I pinch the edge of her cloak, easing it off her pale shoulder.
“Aren’t you a treat,” I groan, unbuttoning my leather pants. I reach in and fist my solid cock in slow, tight drags.
Just my type.
She stuffs the metal poker deeper into the flames, making the sizzling logs crumble and hiss. “You know,” she murmurs in a smooth voice that pumps more blood into my loins, “I’m not really a fan of fire.”
Weird thing to say to the male who just bought your body for the slumber.
“Why not?”
She makes a soft humming sound. “Might have something to do with the time I spent in the Pits.”
“Fighting pits?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Ahh, role-play. Not what I ordered, but fuck it. I’ll bite.
“Which ones?” I ask, easing her cloak off her other shoulder, feeling it drop to the floor at our feet.
“The Pits of Khindard …”
I chuckle against her warm flesh. “Sweetheart, nobody makes it out of those pits alive. That’s half the fun.” I use the tip of my finger to paint a slithering line down her spine. “Unless you’re trying to tell me you’re Fire Lark.”
This time, my chuckle is met with her own lilting laugh.
“Glei te ah no veirie,” she whispers, and all the breath escapes my lungs in the same instance her hand swings back.
Something sharp impales my thigh before she tosses a wooden handle into the fire, dispersing a blast of sparks as a chilling, nulling silence settles within me.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I stumble back, cradling my throat, my chest jerking for breath I can’t catch. My other hand drops to my thigh, sweeping through the warm, wet liquid leaking from the wound, fingers coming up so I can see the—
Blood.
The bitch stabbed me with an iron pin.
I reach for the daggers stuffed in my bandolier, finding both empty, looking up in the same instant she tosses them in the fire, too.
My lungs squeeze so tight I’m certain they’re about to collapse as all the blood drains from my face, realization kicking me in the gut.
She’s been hunting me. The bitch has been fucking hunting me.
I stumble toward the door, clawing at the spot where the handle’s supposed to be, but all that’s there is a fucking hole I shove my fingers down, whipping them away when they slice against something sharp.
Razors.
The cunt.
My bulging eyes threaten to burst from my sockets as I bash the door with my bloody fist.
The air displaces to my right, and something smashes against my temple, a burst of sharp pain pitching through my skull—
Gone.
The Other straddles Rekk Zharos while studying him with overt curiosity, wondering where she should start. Which part of him she should burn first.
Difficult decision, given there’s so much of him to play with. And an entire slumber to have her fun.
The tips of her fingers tingle with bloodlusting anticipation …
She reaches for his left wrist, making sure the bind is as well secured to him as it is to the palletpost, then repeats the process with his other hand and both feet, all the while musing over the silence inside her. Not even a flicker of presence seeping up.
The one she loves did not fall easily into the watery den. She battled and slashed, kicked and screamed, then only went still and quiet once The Other packed her in a tomb of ice.
To protect her.
This Rekk must suffer a similar fate to the one he bestowed upon his dragon, something her precious Raeve would’ve struggled with. Much as she acts fierce and impervious to pain, it’s mostly because she tosses the hurtful things down to gather like tombstones within The Other’s den.
The Other understands loss, death, and pain differently from Raeve, who is but a hatchling in her eyes. But Raeve will grow. Adapt. Embrace, and therefore conquer—if she is open to it.
But first …
The Other slaps Rekk’s cheek, probably a little too hard considering the way his head cracks to the side so fast his neck almost snaps and ruins all the fun.
He groans, opening his eyes—blue like the glaciers in The Shade. A nostalgic color that doesn’t fit in his vile face.
No matter. She will scoop them out and rid him of them before the end.
His pupils tighten, his face turning a sickly shade of gray.
A sharp smile stretches across The Other’s face.
Rekk thrashes, lifting his hips, trying to buck her off, bellowing, “Hoar heg!” over and over again.
She can’t be certain, but she wonders if he’s trying to say “You’re dead” through the material she stuffed in his mouth.
The Other chuffs.
Strictly speaking, he’s not incorrect.
She pushes off and sways toward the fire with animalistic grace, gripping the end of a stoker roasting in the flames, poking at embers that glint off her black, glitter-kissed eyes. She pulls it out, the space alive with Rekk’s panicked grunting sounds as he jerks and wrestles against his restraints.
Then he stills, eyes widening on the sharp tip of the metal tool blazing with a hot, radiant beat.
She prowls toward him in long-legged strides. “You know, I saw what you did to that Moonplume,” she muses, climbing onto the pallet again. “I heard how she wailed.” She brings the poker’s fiery tip to his left eye, sizzling the ends of his lashes, lacing the air with the potent musk of burning hair.
His bloodshot eyes water.
The Other clicks her tongue, whipping the weapon away. “No, you protected her eyes, didn’t you? That was nice.”
A small mercy that was not bestowed upon herself many cycles ago.
“I’ll deal with them in a different way.”
She drops the blazing poker to his naked chest and draws a jagged line.
Rekk screams, his muffled cries of pain turning to whittled whimpers, his tendons taut and risen. He begins to tremble beneath her—the room packing so full of the smell of roasted flesh that The Other realizes how hungry she is. Not that she intends to eat him.
No.
Raeve was quite repulsed when she learned The Other had chewed off this male’s finger, leading The Other to spend some time pondering whether or not she should be more considerate with the way she uses her host’s pliant, precious body.
Eating this Rekk is probably a step too far. Unfortunate, considering how delicious his fried flesh smells—
No.
Must not.
Shoving down her natural urges, The Other lifts the weapon from the line of sizzled flesh. “Though you may not have understood Líri’s pained sounds, I did.”
His eyes bulge, and he looks at The Other like she’s utterly mad, his nostrils flared, chest bucking with the violent beat of his panicked breaths.
“Unlucky for you,” she sneers, tipping her head to the side, “I’m here to show you exactly how she felt.”
The acrid smell of his urine fills the room.