That segment of rope unravels, allowing me to pull my first deep breath since I was bound to the Creators-forsaken stake.
My eyes must express my level of shock, because a glint of humor sparks in his ember orbs. “Did you think I was going to stab you, Prisoner Seventy-Three?”
“Of course. You saw how many skin slabs they slapped on the ground at my trial, and I’d be lying if I said that was all of them. You’re obviously all heft and no brain.”
He chuffs, severing another rope. Another.
Another.
I roll off the stake, promptly face-planting in the sand again.
He heaves me to a wobbly stand and brushes me off, then leans close, sniffing. “You’re right, you do smell bad.”
“Screw you,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow.
“You wanted to kill me a moment ago. I can’t keep up.”
I snort-laugh. “Don’t worry. Few can.”
“Is that a challenge?” he asks, stuffing his blade back down his boot.
“No. But I will issue one to let me go.”
“Heartily decline.”
Of course.
I hope he doesn’t mind when I heartily slit his throat.
He unpins his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders, giving me an up close view of the powerful way his broad, muscular body moves. My cheeks burn as he swathes me in the airy material, secures the pin beneath my chin, then flicks me on the nose. “Adorable.”
“I’m going to cut out your tongue with that blade in your boot.”
He whips the hood up over my head, shrouding me in shade. “I’d prefer you use your teeth, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
I frown, realization dawning slower than an aurora rise. An indignant scoff escapes me, though it quickly snips off when he crouches, grips my left ankle in one hand, clutches the chain in the other, and yanks, shoulders bulging. A link pops free and catapults through the air.
Well.
He repeats the process with my other ankle, severing the length of chain he flings to the side.
“You’re good at that.” I wave my hands at him, the metal tether draped between them jingling with the erratic motion. “This next.”
He gives me a dry look and plucks a bit of rope off the ground. Merging my hands together, he slides my shackles farther up my arms, then binds my wrists, knotting it off.
“That’s … not what I meant.”
He pries the remaining chain free from my manacles, popping more links like they’re made of clay. “I’m aware.”
Damn.
“Underachiever. I see. No judgment here.”
Releasing a hearty rumble, he begins to stand, then throws his weight forward, wrapping his large arms around me. He flops me onto his back and lifts me like a sack of grain.
“What are you doing?” I scream, hanging over his shoulder as he lumbers toward … his dragon.
My heart leaps so far up my throat I almost choke on it.
“Kaan, no. I did not agree to this!”
His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again …”
“What?”
“My name, Moonbeam. Say it again.”
If it’ll get me out of this saddle ride, I’ll scream it to the sky until my voice box ruptures.
“Kaan. Kaan. Kaan. Kaan. Kaan! Now put me down. Quick.”
He fills his lungs, his entire chest inflating—like he just took his first breath since he began a deep dive. “You didn’t say please,” he finally says, then kicks forward again.
Wha—
“Please!”
“Too late.”
I’m going to shatter his bones and use them for toothpicks.
He reaches the side of the heaving beast, to where lengths of knotted rope dangle from its saddle, garnished with an array of foot loops—one of which he threads his boot into.
“Put me back in his mouth!”
He heaves us up the ropes one jerking motion at a time, and I watch in wide-eyed horror as the ground drifts farther and farther away, giving up my wriggling struggle when I come to the gut-tumbling realization that I cannot squirm or slaughter my way out of this.
Reaching the drape of patched-together hides that saddles the mammoth beast, Kaan battles the final few loops, then tosses his leg over the saddle and thumps me into his lap.
Straddling him, I look up into his eyes, mouth dropping open, battered breathless by his immense presence. He looks down upon me, his rough exhale pouring over my upturned face —the air between us becoming charged with a static that makes my skin pebble.
Creators.
Drenched in the smell of leather and the heady blend of his intoxicating scent, this tightening feeling low in my belly yearns for something every other part of me is utterly opposed to, and I consider whether it’s prudent to ask this male if he’d like to fuck before I slit his throat …
Probably shouldn’t.
“You have until the count of ten to decide which way you want to sit, at which stage I’ll kick Rygun into the sky and you’ll be stuck that way,” Kaan grinds out past gritted teeth, my heart plummeting a little more with each condemning word.
I open my mouth, about to spit something sharp when he says, “One … Two …”
Shit.
I wiggle, heaving my right leg up, getting a foothold atop his thigh.
“Three … Four …”
I try wrestling to a stand but lose my balance and flop back down again, face-planting against his chest as he rumbles a deep “Five.”
“Count slower,” I growl, flattening my hands upon his abdomen, introducing myself to a stack of muscles that feel more like rocks …
My mouth dries.
“Six,” he says, his voice gravel against my pebbling skin. “Seven.”
Definitely need to move.
I kick my foot up again and shove to a wobbly stand.
“Eight …”
I turn so I’m facing forward, heart pounding hard and fast as I glance around us, my feet tingling with the sudden realization of how high up we are.
That this is our starting point.
“Nine …”
Creators, slay this male.
I let my feet slide either side of the saddle, landing perfectly between his legs so hard I garner a deep grunt from him that brings me a burst of satisfaction.
“Ten,” I chirp, and he clears his throat, reaching between us to readjust himself—no doubt throbbing with the wrong kind of ache.
I smile.
“Feel free to drop me off at the nearest village. I can find my way from there,” I say, deciding it’s a good time to strike now that the male’s cock is bruised. Figure I have two ways to relieve myself of his presence: kill him or make myself disposable.
“Like it or not,” he grinds out, gripping my waist and lifting me, settling me into a more comfortable position—so flush against him my cheeks burn for reasons other than the stifling heat. “You’re coming with me to Dhomm.”
My heart pitches.
Dhomm …
So few go to The Burn’s capital and return.
So fucking few.
Probably because they all end up inside the beast I’m currently seated atop. Either that or the city has jaws and claws and teeth much sharper than that of the one I just marginally escaped.
I open my mouth, about to spit a barbed rebuttal, when Kaan reaches past me and grips the tug-ropes. “Guthunda, Rygun. Guthunda!”
The beast heaves beneath us, blowing a steaming breath as he pushes up from his crouched position, making me feel as if the entire world is swaying side to side.
“Hold the leather strap,” Kaan rumbles near my ear, sending tingles down the side of my neck and making my breath hitch.
Snarling, I grip the damn strap. “You know what I hate?”
“Being told what to do?” he answers, quick as a blink.
“Exactly.”
“Well,” he says, giving the strip of leather a yank, like he’s testing my grip on the thing. Something I find deeply offensive, seeing as I don’t do anything by halves. “It’s a relief to know you possess a drip of self-preservation.”
“I’d rather possess that blade down the inside of your boot,” I grouse as the beast folds his wings flush against his body.
I sense the flow of energy building in Rygun’s bunched haunches before he leaps into the sky with a booming slash of his wings, gravity thrusting me into Kaan’s chest so hard all the breath bursts from my lungs.
We propel up …