As if I wasn’t wearing his mark, his clothes, his… seed. Stained throat to pussy to ankles in all things Captain Asher Rawlings.
But I took his hand anyway, unable to resist. Drawn in by the hunger, the tantalizing whisper of energy laced in his every lingering, covetous touch.
Marco had taken us to the edge of a well manicured park. A public place overlooking a pristine marble fountain, the park was well kept and centrally located to several shops all flying Caledonian colors. Shops that may have been the heart of a thriving Eloran economy, once. But now it was now the lifeblood of the Northern front of the empire’s efforts to assimilate every last whisper of competition on the continent.
“Carina,” Marco said, and took her basket in hand with a ridiculous flourish. Doting on her, he took the time to send me a seething glare before he shook out the blanket with a snap, saying, “Allow me,” as the blanket fluttered onto the grass.
She tossed a coil of gleaming ebon hair over her shoulder and set one glittering hand on Marco’s chest. “Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a nod of thanks. And with a graceful curl, folded her long legs, then glanced up from beneath her lashes to posture for the captain. The gems of her rings caught the sun as she patted the blanket next to her, lips twisting around a coy, inviting smirk that reeked of wealth and privilege.
“For the groom,” Marco said, and folded a second blanket into a bundle, and invited Asher to sit on it with an absurd little bow. “A nice cushy seat for his plump, royal hindquarters.”
Kicking the fold job aside, the captain followed Carina down to the picnic blanket, and hissed, “Fuck off, you ingrate,” under his breath.
“Manners, dear,” Carina hummed, pinning him with a shrewd glare as she rummaged in her basket. And when the captain continued to scowl, she tilted her crown of dark hair toward the public milling about in the beautiful afternoon sunlight.
Her meaning was clear.
This was theatre.
Our audience a horde of bloodthirsty Caledonians all fighting to climb the same ladder, to occupy the highest rank they could, regardless of who was left crumpled and broken in their wake.
And Asher’s tarnished reputation was corroded enough to make him vulnerable. Weak in the eyes of his people.
For a few long seconds, the captain wrestled with his temper as Marco laughed and played the jester for Carina. Amusing her just long enough to irritate the captain before the soldier tossed a lewd gesture over his shoulder and went to stand by the coach, affording the couple the illusion of privacy.
With a weary sigh, Asher stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, then turned his face into the sun. Settling back, he lounged with arms braced behind his back. Palms turned out, elbows locked, affecting the airs of someone utterly unconcerned by the dozens of eyes and the scent of blood in the water.
And then, without bothering to glance my way, he said, “Mila,” in a tone that held nothing of the man I was beginning to see beneath the mask. The cruel slave master, once more—until his fingers curled around my ankle. And with his touch, a hypnotic swirl of dark flames licked through my blood.
Enticing. Soothing my ire with a liberal dose of pulsing, magneticwant.
I went to him with a liquid spine and half-lidded eyes growing glassy in the glare of the sun. Numb to the aching burn of an empty stomach, I nursed at the measured sips of pure, elite power. Watching him without a blink, desperate for more. Scarcely able to hear Carina, I felt nothing but the warm glow of a fire that was no longer mine.
“Asher, darling,” Carina said, an artful frown pinching her dark brows as she scoured the depths of her basket. “Ah, there it is. Here, try some of this.” Producing a jar, a napkin folded around a stack of flat breads, and a spreading knife, she loaded a cracker with a black gelatinous sludge and extended her offering. “It’s a delicacy in Letta,” she explained. “Well known for its ability to increase a man’s virility.”
Lip curled, Asher watched the offensive snack from slitted glare, and said, “I couldn’t possibly, no.”
Carina tisked and raised one artfully precise brow. “I’m not entirely sure I was asking.”
“And I’m absolutely positive I don’t need a foreign delicacy to increase my appetites,” Asher retorted.
Red lips spread over a viper’s grin and her eyes flicked to me—a foreign delicacy—and her sly hum was comment enough. Without a word, she placed the cracker on her tongue.
“Keep pushing, Carina,” Asher warned, and my chains surged to life as he commanded me closer without a word. “Let’s all find out how far my patience extends, shall we?”
Gold pulsed and swirled in my veins, visible even in the bright, morning sunlight—and from the audience of Caledonians watching with coy glances, audible gasps at the sight of my skin gleaming with raw power.
He beckoned me closer with a flick I felt tug at my every muscle. Wound much deeper than ever before, it was a command that possessed me.
Utterly.
Written in an ancient script that had been burned into my very bones, I was ensnared. Made to crawl between his thighs, hips rolling, seduction in my every insignificant twitch. Snuggling down into his lap, I watched him. Hanging on his every breath, cradled in his warmth. Nipples tight where they poked at the fabric of my borrowed dress.
Rough fingers smoothed over my hair, traced my jaw, and cupped my face. Guiding me to rest my cheek against his thigh…
… and feast.
Gulping down everything he offered, I was left to indulge as he made a spectacle of me. No thought to anything beyond the next, desperate swallow as I basked in his excess. All but purring as his fingers traced from my temple back into my hair.
