9
Quiet voices wafted up from the lower floor, and with one hand on my nape, the captain paused on the upper landing. Inspecting the bloody imprint of my teeth sunk deep into the flesh of his wrist. Above the ring of matte black that apparently controlled his weapon.
He flexed, scowling at the damage.
And with a tiny crease between his brows, his attention shifted… inside.
I felt it turn.
The crackle of searing elite energy grew soft, the edges smoothed. Tempered by something cool and soothing. A change of the tides that lapped at the damage I’d wrought and made it whole. Knitting broken flesh, mending a lacerated tendon.
“That’s not possible,” I breathed, head spinning with the implications of an elite wielding the gifts of a priestess. Healing himself with a talent he had no rights to possess.
The captain grinned, clenching his fist just to watch the smooth glide of his now-undamaged wrist work the way it should. “Sweet, innocent Mila,” he drawled, and rolled his sleeve into place. Fixing the buttons with a twist of nimble fingers that had my cheeks heating in sordid memory. “So ignorant. So blind.”
Head still spinning—thighs wet and legs wobbly—I couldn’t muster the will to argue.
Because there was no denying what I’d just seen him do.
I simply went where he guided, one hand firm on my nape. Careful on the stairs, my head in a fog of shocked numbness.
“Good morning, captain,” Alicia murmured, offering a demure dip of her chin. Eyes downcast.
A shiver ignited in my blood at the sight.
Something angry and tense that longed to lash out and inflict damage.
“Alicia,” the captain returned with a nod, his dark eyes flicking over her shoulder to land on the two soldiers at her back. Marco with his long legs crossed at the ankle, lounging in the kitchen picking at a platter of fruits and vegetables, and Gabe, standing rigid as the captain entered.
The captain jerked his chin, and without a word the soldiers followed. Moving to the opposite side of the kitchen to have a quiet conversation.
“Good morning, priestess,” Alicia said.
Jaw tight, I scowled at the floor. Ignoring the traitor standing before me. My fists clenched, knuckles white.
She cleared her throat. “You should have something to eat before we go. Beau said—”
I scoffed, marching toward the door to wait where I wouldn’t be plagued by the sight of her face. The sound of her voice laced with the tender lies of someone who’d learned to mimic true concern or affection.
“Mila”—she kept pace with me, daring to touch my shoulder—“wait. Please.”
“Get your hand off me,” I spat, forcing the words through the points of my modified canines. Trembling, my cheeks hot. Heart pounding away at the backside of my ribs.
She jerked her hand back, cheeks blanched a satisfying shade of waxy white. “Eat something,” she said, and showed me the apple clenched in her free hand.
For a moment, I merely continued to glare. Letting her see the truth, that her every breath was an insult I wished to extinguish, but couldn’t because she’d sold me to my enemy for nothing more than a pat on the head. A scratch behind the ears.
And then I turned. Giving up my back to an insignificant threat. An advantage I knew she’d never take, lest she disobey her precious master. The rumble of my stomach an easy thing to ignore for spite.
Her breath caught, and with no small amount of forged concern, she said, “Was he rough?”
My spine stiffened.
Delicate fingers found a sore spot on my shoulder, prodding a distinct ring of bruises I’d forgotten to hide.
I jerked as if scalded, my back thumping to hit the door as I spun. One hand pressed over the imprint of the captain’s teeth. His mark on my skin.
Alicia’s keen gaze flicked over my face. Taking note of high, flushed cheeks. Tangled hair. Swollen, puffy eyes rimmed in red. Every detail that screamed the truth of what had happened to one who knew just what to look for.
