His eyes narrowed. Might makes—
I bulleted into the slipstream again, cutting him off. That was it, I was not listening to a single word of his condescending “might makes right” or “possession is nine-tenths of the law” crap, or any of his other immortal philosophy. Sometimes there’s only one way to resolve things: get down and dirty and brawl. And, by God, he was going to brawl with me and I was going to vent my outrage on his unbreakable body over the many things he’d done to prick and offend me.
I exploded into him again, hitting him so hard we erupted into the air, carrying him backward with my body to lam him into another column with such intensity the pillar cracked from ceiling to floor. We slid down it together, me gripping his collar with both hands.
He’d left me for two years. Never once texted me. Never called. Left Lor here, hidden from me, beyond my reach. It didn’t appease me at all to think Lor might have kept him apprised of my well-being. That didn’t count in my book.
Then he’d come back, let me save his life, and stalked off without a word.
Called me kid.
As I was about to slam my fist into his face and drive his head back into the column to see if I could collapse it with my next blow—the column not his face—Ryodan yanked me out of the slipstream, plucked me by a sleeve and smoothly dragged me down into the real world with real world consequences where the painful things are and forced me to stay still, one big hand manacled around my wrist.
“What,” he said very softly, “is your problem, Dani?”
My problem? I wasn’t the one with problems. I glared at him. Our faces were so close I could see the tiny crimson sparks glittering in his ice-gray eyes. Ancient, inhuman eyes, clear and cool.
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
I was panting.
I drew my free hand back to smash my fist into his infuriatingly composed face but my clearly possessed hand grabbed a fistful of his short dark hair instead and yanked his face to mine while my clearly insane mouth ground itself against his.
A frenzy of lust exploded inside me. Years of loneliness, years of frustrated hunger, years of missing him.
I kissed him like he was the battlefield I was born to wage all my wars on. I kissed him like he was the only king this Amazon warrior might ever take her army into combat for. I kissed him like we were primal, lethal beasts, fearlessly stalking those violent, killing no-man’s-lands where angels feared to tread, and I kissed him with a hunger that’s never once been slaked, as I unleashed all the fire and fury and savagery in my soul—and there is one fuck of a lot of it.
He groaned roughly, hands slipping to my ass, yanking me closer, if closer were even possible when I was already plastered to him like a second skin. Then my kiss changed and I kissed him with every ounce of raw, aching loneliness in my all-too-human flesh and bones, every haunted, painfully bared shred of me that was tired of reaching with the intensity and intent of life and touching nothing because I can’t fuck normal men, they don’t get me any more than I get them and I walk away, colder and lonelier than before. I kissed him with the rainbow-colored shattered hopes and dreams of a child betrayed in ways too damaging and numerous to count, and I kissed him with the yearning to be the one making joy blaze from his eyes.
I ground my body against his and kissed him like he was the only man I deemed complex, brilliant, and strong enough to be worth kissing, and I kissed him as if he were made of bone china, a man who’d known little tenderness in his life because he always had to be strong, like me, because he could, like me, and the world needed him, like me, and that’s what you do when you fit the bill.
I kissed him with devotion, with raw sexual reverence, starved to cut loose like this. I offered him my prayer, my challenge, the one that had gone eternally unanswered: Are you there? Are you as painfully alive and aware as me? Can you feel how much I’m giving you when I touch you like this? Are you worth me?
In other words, to my complete and utter horror, I kissed Ryodan with my whole heart. And that fuck so did not deserve it.
I exploded backward, scrabbling away from him.
Stopped.
Stood.
He stared at me, eyes full crimson, lust burning in them with such intensity I gasped raggedly and took another step back. I’d woken a beast and, at that moment, wasn’t entirely certain it could be returned to slumber. He lunged forward, checked himself and stopped, hands fisted at his sides.
I dragged my gaze from his. Looked around. Every eye in the room was on me.
I don’t even know why I just did that, I thought. Then I realized, to my complete and utter horror, I’d said the words aloud.
“Well, if you’re feeling the need for another moment, hour, or even year like that,” said one of the strapping laborers in a husky voice, “I’d be happy to volunteer.”
“You’re fired,” Ryodan snarled, without bothering to look at the man. He inhaled slow and deep, crossed his arms again and leaned back against the cracked marble column, staring at me with blazing crimson eyes. Not sparks. Pure, undiluted beast flamed in his gaze, fangs glinted at his mouth.
I hissed, “No, he’s not. You don’t fire people just because you don’t like what they said. You fire people if they don’t do the job right. He needs the work. You’re not firing him.”
“Ah, Dani,” he said tightly, “you beat me. You tell me what to do. I seem to have forgotten which of us is the man. Perhaps you need a reminder.”
I had no doubt what kind of reminder he had in mind.
You opened this door, bloodred eyes fired.
And I’m closing it, I shot back.
Try, woman. His lips curved with a dark smile, full of promise that he’d heard every word I’d said with my body and wasn’t about to let me forget a single one of them.
My emotions were all over the place, every blasted one of them lit up, sparking. While he was gone I’d had countless conversations with him, enumerating with elaborate, scathing details the many grievances I held against him. I’d lambasted him with witty, brilliant, incisive remarks. I’d reduced him to an apologizing, contrite male, eager to get back in my good graces.
I couldn’t come up with a thingle sing—I mean, single thing—to say. Bloody hell, someone had extracted my brain from my skull and stuffed cotton balls in the empty compartment.
I hefted the titanic weight of my humiliation and embarrassment up into the slipstream, blasted up the stairs, and exploded out the door with it.
“Goddamn,” Lor said roughly. He cleared his throat and said again, “Goddamn. Boss, that musta been worth every ounce of the beating she gave you plus a shit-ton more. Think I need a cold shower. Nah, five blondes.”
Men laughed, murmuring agreement.
Face hot, cheeks flaming, I didn’t linger to hear Ryodan’s reply.
A soul in tension is learning to fly, condition grounded
THE KISS WENT IN a box.