“I will be crueller still before I am through with you,” he murmured. His face drew closer. Their breath mingled.
“Do your worst,” she hissed.
Estevan examined her face, his darting pupils taking in every little detail. In his indecipherable expression, Semras imagined regret and yearning.
“Oh,” he breathed. “I will.”
His lips captured hers suddenly, aggressively, hungrily. Estevan kissed her like a desperate man. A jolt of adrenaline speared through her, and she bit down on his lip. Her tongue tasted blood.
He retreated with a pained hiss. Mere inches away from her, she could see the heady desire clouding his gaze. “Wicked witch …” Pressing his thumb on her lips, he languidly spread the blood over her mouth. “You too are cruel.”
She beheld him. “We’ll destroy each other, won’t we?”
“Without a doubt.”
Grabbing his collar, Semras brought his lips back onto hers. He groaned, and a thrill shot through her as he leaned her down to the ground. His hands cupped her face, angling it to deepen their kiss.
Estevan Velten tasted like sin, like a forbidden fruit. Like partaking in a taboo. He was all that and so much more. She craved it all.
Among the ruins of a bygone era, soaked in blood and sweat, they kissed. Fists grabbed hair. Nails dug into skin. Limbstangled with limbs as they rolled over the ground, refusing to submit to the other. They kissed with anger, with fear, with hate. High from volatile emotions, they used each other to expunge them all.
Her breath hitched as a cool, gloved hand slid down the curve of her breast. By reflex, she pushed the source of cold away from her heated skin.
Semras felt out of breath—and out of her mind. A part of her hadn’t wanted to stop him. To stopthis, whatever it was.
Wincing, Estevan retreated from her. His hand hovered between them, then clamped around the golden Elumenra star fastened on his cloak. Eyes bright with lust and hunger, he watched her silently. His jaw twitched, lips vacillating between a snarl and a smirk.
She had been wrong—the inquisitor wasn’t a prudish man. He was a beast chained back by the insignia pinned on his cloak.
Estevan stood and stumbled a few steps away. As soon as her shaking legs let her, she followed him up, dusting dirt off her dress as best as she could.
He eyed her, and his hunger vanished behind a veil of impassivity. “This was a mistake,” he declared.
Semras stepped closer, looked him up and down, and then slapped him. Red lines formed on his cheek, courtesy of her nails. Pearls of blood oozed out of her handiwork.
“We agree on something at long last,” she replied, sneering.
The inquisitor stood still. Raising his hand slowly, he swept the blood on his face into thin crimson streaks, then looked down at his fingers. Against the red leather, only a glister betrayed the presence of blood. Estevan lifted his eyes to her, and Semras slowly stepped backward, grinning in provocation. Baiting him.
Do something, beast, she thought. Snap the chain.
Be wild.
Be free.
Her bare back hit a standing stone. She pressed her hands against it, eyes still fixed on the inquisitor. This was a mistake, yes—and this was revenge. She’d show him just how fallible he was.
Estevan snapped. In mere seconds, he caught up to her and buried his hand in her hair. He tugged on a fistful of her strands, and she lifted her chin, exposing her neck to his silent demand. Their bodies melted together, pinning her against the menhir. All rational thoughts had fled from her mind.
His lips attacked her neck, devouring her skin with kisses and nips.
Semras submitted to the onslaught with a smirk on her lips. He was just like her: feral, untamed. He had no pedestal to stand upon now.
Then his teeth sank into the crook of her neck, and she cried out. He broke skin. Drew blood. The pain abated, but Estevan held on until she stopped squirming. An appreciative groan welcomed her obedience, and he peppered light kisses onto the wound.
Her oversensitive skin could endure no more. She shoved him away.
Lips drawn back into a satisfied leer, Estevan stepped back. “Blood for blood,” he drawled.
