It seemed the more she tried to get away, the faster he advanced, intent on crowding her. Already the broad span of his shoulders blocked out most of the sky.
“It’s not. I’ve been baiting you since the beginning, pulling out all the stops, and you still have yet to cry. In fact, quite the opposite seems to happen every time I attempt to push you too far. You don’t cower like you used to; you actually flourish. Our arguments bring out the heat in you.” He tipped her chin up with a single yet firm finger. “Secretly, you’re a wild thing.”
She pulled back sharply, coming up against the table hard enough to rattle it. She hadn’t been aware he’d moved her so far back, and she heard the mug that Lura had placed there shatter against the glass surface.
She was in the process of turning to assess the mess when Trystan yanked her away so hard, she let out a cry of pain. It was a wonder he hadn’t dislocated her shoulder with the amount of force he’d used. And he didn’t let go, his grip tightening as if he thought she was going to try to pull away from him.
Which he’d be right about, but she couldn’t so much as budge.
“Who brought you that?”
It was the tone of his voice had that her stilling her struggles. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him, though, with how closely he had her pinned to his chest, all she could really see was the bottom of his chin. Still, she could make out the tightness of his jaw and the direction of his intense gaze.
With a frown, she turned to see why a little spilled teekee bothered him so much, then gasped all over again.
Smoky tendrils rose from the once slick surface. There were gaping craters and holes that burrowed straight through the three-inch-thick glass. Everywhere the teekee had touched was melted, a charred smell rising in the air along with the burning tendrils of whatever had actually been in the mug. The pieces of the cup remained oddly unaffected.
“Olena.” He shook her, snapping her attention back his way. His eyes were as hard as ice on her. “Who. Brought. You. That?” It was the slow way he said it that hinted at how angry he was.
She blinked, trying to understand his odd behavior in relation to yet another attempt on her life. He’d killed that soldier, Dreadus, but part of her had assumed it was to save face. He’d even just brought up how important keeping up appearances was. But this … He was five times more pissed than he’d been that night in the bunker. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone so angry before in her entire life.
Which didn’t add up, and she really did hate when puzzle pieces refused to fit.
“My atteta,” she answered before he could shake her again. She wasn’t sure her arm could take it. “Lura. Right before you got here.”
He let her go so suddenly, she stumbled. With a curse, he grabbed her again, righting her and then dragging her along with him through the balcony doors and back into her bedroom. He shoved her onto the bed, though a tad bit more gently, and without pausing, went straight to the door, tossing it open so hard, it almost came off the hinges.
“Get me the atteta,” he demanded of Pettus, who stood guard outside. “Now, Teller!”
“I’m under orders not to leave the Lissa alone,” Pettus informed him, holding his own despite how terrifying Trystan currently looked.
Bringing himself to his entire scary height, the Zane loomed over him in a much more threatening way than he just had with Delaney. It was good to note the difference, so that next time she’d be able to gauge how upset he was.
“Does it look like the Lissa is alone?” he growled so low, she barely caught it from where she still sat on the edge of the bed. “Do as I order, Teller, or I promise you, the atteta won’t be the only one who pays in blood today.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but Delaney stopped him.
“Pettus.” She waited until he met her gaze, and then shook her head. “It’s all right.”
He could tell it wasn’t—that was probably pretty obvious by the way she was shaking—but smartly, he didn’t press her. Waiting for a moment to see if she’d change her mind, he consented and glared Trystan’s way.
“I’ll be back with the Ander soon,” he stated.
“Be back with the atteta like I’ve instructed,” Trystan hissed, “or the next murder attempt won’t be against the Lissa; it’ll be against you. And it will be a successful one.”
Pettus’s eyes widened, and he took off without more prompting. He must not have realized what had taken place out on the balcony, had only seen how pissed the Zane was and hadn’t wanted to leave her alone with him.
She didn’t really want that, either. Right now the Zane was the scariest thing she’d ever encountered, but she knew Trystan hadn’t been lying. He would have hurt Pettus without hesitation, and she liked the Teller enough to spare him suffering at the risk of gaining a little of her own.
Trystan slammed the door shut and paced back toward her, running furious hands through his hair. She’d thought the room was big, but now, seeing him in it, prowling like a caged beast, she was forced to reassess.
Her hands clenched the comforter beneath her tightly, eyes locked on to his every movement. She couldn’t help the fear in her chest, the cold chill in her veins, or the blood rushing through her head so loudly, she couldn’t make out the words he was mumbling under his breath.
Okay, she thought to herself, don’t freak out.
The sweet, timid girl who’d been helping her get dressed every morning since her arrival had just tried to murder her. No big. Assuming that it actually had been Lura. There was a chance it hadn’t. She could have gone to the kitchens or whatever they called them and gotten it from someone else.
That had to be it, right? There was no way Lura would have done something like this. The way the liquid in that mug had eaten through the glass table … How could anyone do that to another person? Ever?
Her stomach tightened painfully, and she clasped a hand over it. Part of her wanted to throw up, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut in order to bank the sensation. Three. Three times someone had tried to kill her. And the attempts had all been different.
An explosion, a beatdown, and now poisoning … The Tars were seriously pulling all the stops to get her out of the way. She wasn’t safe there, no matter what Ruckus and the Basileus believed. She wasn’t safe.
She needed to go home.
“Hey.” Trystan dropped before her, cupping her cheeks firmly. Once she’d opened her eyes again, he went on. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t cave in on yourself. Not when I’m just starting to be impressed with you. I’ll find who did this and I’ll make them suffer—you have my word. There’s nothing to fear, Olena. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Why?” she said on a shaky breath. Out of all the attacks, this one messed with her the most. She guessed everyone had their limits, and she’d merely hit hers.