“No to all of this,” I try again, grinding against Riall’s leathers in a way that very much doesn’t align with my words. I run my hands down his back, reveling in the hard planes one last time before I shake off the need to lick every inch of him. “No, Riall,” I get out with a little more bite, and Riall pulls back to look at me.
I want to whimper with objection at the distance now between our mouths while simultaneously thanking him for stopping, and it needed to stop. Things have already gone altogether too far.
“Tell meyes,” Riall commands, his tone a passionate plea and a delicious order all rolled into one, but he doesn’t claim my mouth again. He waits and watches as a myriad of mucked up emotions flash across my face.
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he argues warmly, his hands still cupping my cheeks as his stare sears into me.
“I won’t,” I counter, and he studies me for a beat before dropping his palms from my face and stepping back.
Riall runs his hands over his shorn head and down his face as he starts to pace.
“What are you so afraid of?” he finally asks, but it feels less like a whip of accusation and more like a riddle he’s trying to work out.
Good luck. I don’t even have all the pieces to that puzzle myself.
I throw my hands up in exasperation as I try to catch my breath. “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything maybe. But that’s the fucking problem. I’ve been free for no time at all, and it’s all wrong. How I feel. What I want…”
“It’s not wrong to embrace what the ludere showed you about yourself,” Riall interjects.
“Showed me, tortured into me. I guess it’s all the same to you, isn’t it,Bones, or should I call you master?” I jeer.
“Don’t do that,” Riall snaps. “Don’t tally me in yourbadcolumn when you know it’s not that simple.”
“You want to know whatIknow, you pompous prick?” I lob back, jumping off of the counter so I can get in his face.
I won’t sit here a second longer with my tunic riding up my thighs and the taste of him on my lips as he preaches at me like he has any right to. I kissed him, I didn’t hand over my soul. He has no idea what I’m dealing with right now. He can pretend otherwise, butIdon’t even fucking know, so who in the shithole of all the realms does he think he is?
Pain slices through my foot as I hop down. I remember too late about the dish that shattered on the ground when Riall lifted me up on the counter. I hiss as I reach for my foot and try to back away from the shattered platter sprinkling the wood floor. I step on another shard with my other foot, but before I can even cry out, Riall is gripping my waist and lifting me away from the broken porcelain. Quickly he sets me on the long prep table in the center of the kitchen. Warm blood drips down the pads of my feet as Riall pulls some towels from a drawer and rushes back over.
I notice that even though he forgot his shirt when he came down here to meet me, he didn’t forget his boots. The heel of his unlaced footwear comes down on a piece of plate and crushes the sliver of porcelain underneath the sole. Riall lifts my foot, eyeing the bottom of it for a few beats before plucking a large shard and dropping it to the ground. He examines the rest of my heel, arch, and toes for a moment more before wrapping everything in a towel and reaching for my other foot to repeat his fussing.
“I’m fine,” I grumble as I reach for the foot he just wrapped.
He slaps my hand away as I pull at the corner of the towel so I can inspect things myself.
“Excuse you,” I snarl, but he pulls the wrapped appendage away and tucks it under his arm while he pulls pieces of plate from my other foot.
“Do you like killing?” he demands out of nowhere, the question stopping me from kicking him in the face and instead making me pause.
“What?” I ask, taken aback.
“Do you like killing?”
“I’m good at it,” I answer without missing a beat, holding back a wince as he pulls out another small sliver from my heel.
“That’s not what I asked,” Riall counters, giving me a pointed look as he finishes with my other foot and starts to wrap itin a towel too.
I anchor my arms behind me and lean back on the long prep table, studying Riall while trying to suss out the point of this question. Streaks of moonlight gently dance across his long lashes, and his eyes look dark and fathomless as he inspects the wrapped towels to make sure I’m not bleeding through them already.
“Does anyonelikekilling?” I query as I struggle to source my own answer to his odd question.
“I do,” he answers bluntly.
Riall looks up from my legs, his intense eyes once again settling on mine like he wants to gauge my reaction. I stare back measuredly, refusing to give anything away. A heart-stopping smile slowly stretches across his face, like he’s seeing something in my eyes anyway.
“I love the smell of fresh blood. Relish the look in someone’s eyes when they realize you’re the last thing they’ll ever see.” He closes his eyes as though he’s savoring that thought. “The hush of a last breath. A final plea from lips that have never granted mercy. I love it all,” he impenitently confesses, a fervent fire flickering through his features as he speaks. “From planning a hunt with my brothers to feeling my blade sink through skin and muscle to find that sweet spot that will end it all”—he pauses and levels me with a molten look—“it’s my second favorite thing to do ever.”
