“Pain is life,” he shouts.
Again, he punches his chest. And again, and again.
So hard that his chest plate caves, and I’m afraid of the damage he could do to himself.
Launching myself forward, I snatch hold of his fist on its outward swing, holding on with both hands as tightly as I can, a completely futile action that endangers my limbs.
His sharp movement drags me close, and he’s about to crush both of my hands between his fist and his chest, but he stops in the nick of time, his breathing audibly heaving, his eyes mere scrunched slits glaring down at me.
Slowly, he leans to his right, toward the wall. His shackled arm has enough leeway that he can close that hand over his helmet and slowly draw it off his head.
He drops it to the floor with a clatter and doesn’t seem to care that it rolls all the way to the side of the bed.
All his savagery is revealed to me. His jagged black hair. Tense jaw. Glittering green eyes. Ragged breaths rasping between perfect lips.
Quietly…a quiet that feels as if it could break me…he bends his head to mine, his bristles scraping my face, then my lips. “Donotwith your kindness.”
I stay perfectly still, daring only to whisper, “What part of chaining you to a wall is kind?”
His lips press to my injured cheek, right below the cut, becoming a sweeping contact as he drags his mouth from beneath my injury to the corner of my lips.
And stops.
I’m certain he’s smeared blood across my face because one side of his lips is now painted with my blood.
My breathing is rapid, but the tip of my tongue tingles with a different moisture.
Saltytears.
Not my own.
Tears of rage on his cheeks, dragged to my mouth, mingled with my blood.
I turn my lips to his, nearly touching, and once again, fluttering begins in my chest, wings unfurling, only to fold again and remain silent.
I’m so close to pressing my mouth to his, but his voice stops me.
“I can’t fight this.” His words are barely audible. “If you want to survive me, you should step away now.”
Again, an elusive fluttering tingles within my heart, and from a distance, an echo whispers.
It’s my own voice asking:What should I call you?
That same brief and incomplete vision I had when I first arrived in the Iron Kingdom. I don’t know why I would see it again now, especially when it’s too obscured to deliver any message to me.
“You’re convinced you’re going to hurt me,” I whisper.
“Yes.” His groan rushes across my lips, his body thrumming with visible tension as he maintains the painful distance between us. “If I break you, then I’ll break my future. I’ll destroy my kingdom. But my worst impulses tell me not to care.”
I should heed his warning. Even yesterday, I might have, but I’m far more aware of my capabilities today. Far more emboldened by the protective layer of Lethian silver around my body.
I draw a slow breath, inhaling the coppery scent of blood, tasting the salt of his angry tears, and I dare, with every shred of my soul, to challenge him. “Then put your impulses to the test.”
The slight widening of his eyes tells me I’ve surprised him.
“Whatever darkness you’re fighting, whatever memories you’re trying to forget, whatever violence you’ve experienced, test your control.” My voice grows stronger. “With me.”
He remains frozen, but he hasn’t refused, so I push on. “Prove to yourself, once and for all, that you won’t hurt me. That you will never hurt me.”
