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But the worst memory by far is the satisfaction I felt while destroying everything.

The enjoyment I experienced from leveling an entire area into dust.

Unconsciously reacting to the ache, I pin her against the oak tree with enough force to rain leaves down onto our heads. “I know exactly what cruelty looks like. What it tastes like. What it costs.”

Esme’s eyes widen, but nothing in her body language conveys fear. She likes that I’m close, likes the feel of me against her, and the tongue wetting her lips suggests that she wants even more.

Time to change that.

I lean in and lower my voice to a dangerous caress. “Do you? Or did you grow up somewhere soft? With your silkworm-down pillows and pouches filled with gold? Somewhere you could pretend the world isn’t full of dying things that can’t be saved?”

Though she trembles, Esme grits her teeth, refusing to back down. “You don’t know anything about me⁠—”

I brush my fingers over her throat and collarbone, proving how tenuous her situation is right now, how easily I could snap her slim neck like I did that man’s. “I know you couldn’t kill that mare.” I squeeze her throat lightly to remind her of the threat. “You think that means you’re good, but all it does is show that you’re sheltered and naive, someone who never had to make the tough choices before. Someone who’s never experienced the consequences that prove you’re wrong.”

When she swallows, her pulse thrums beneath my thumb. “I choose to try. I choose to hope. I choose to believe there’s another way. Just because it failed this time doesn’t mean⁠—”

“It means you currently lack the strength.” I press her into the tree. “Maybe you’ll never have it. And if you keep making stupid decisions based on how you hope things will pan out, you won’t live long enough to grow any stronger.”

She shoves both hands into my chest with tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s not mad at me. She’s angry at herself. At the world. At every dying creature she couldn’t save. That failure breaks her apart inside. “Then what’s the point? If I can’t save them, what’s the point of any of this?”

Gods, she really is sheltered. Only a woman who spent most of her life hiding behind her mother’s skirts or daddy’s knees could think like this.

Part of me softens. Her desire to help is a pure trait that many people lack. She may be naive, but I can’t fault her heart.

Even so, it’s time to face the facts. “I have no fucking clue. No one has any clue. Not even the gods themselves. We’re all struggling to find who or what makes life worth living, and then once we do, grab hold with both hands. If we’re lucky, we’ll eventually wind up in the Endless Lands and can meet all those people who failed to keep us safe when we were young.”

The words hang between us. I didn’t mean to say that last part. It just came out. Esme’s eyes search mine, darting back and forth. What she’s hunting for, I’ve no idea, but we’re so close that she should be able to find it. If the mysterious entity exists. “If you’re hoping to discover something soft or comfortable in me…”

I trail off. Esme’s pulse races under my hand, and the air tautens between us. Our noses nearly touch, and her breath stirs my beard.

I log the exact moment she comes to a decision.

Her hands fist in my shirt, and she yanks me down to meet her.

Our mouths crash together without hesitation.

She kisses me with teeth and fury, like she wants to hurt me. Like she wants to rip me open and peek inside.

That’s a feeling I can get behind.

I tangle my hand in her braid, dragging her head back to give myself better access. She makes a sound that’s half a gasp and half a moan and spears me straight to my core. Her nails dig into my back through my shirt. My other hand clutches her waist, tugging her against me so there’s no space left between us. Gods. Her small body fits perfectly in my arms.

She struggles like a wildcat that needs to be tamed as I steal the control she tried to establish.

“You want to hate me?” I twist her head back even more, exposing her tender throat. What would it look like if I marked her with bruises and bite marks? Would she squirm against me, begging for more? “Go ahead. Hate me.” I drag my teeth down the column of her throat, tasting salt, dirt, and iron.

“I do.” Despite her statement, her hands in my hair haul me even closer. Her hips roll against mine, seeking friction. “I hate you.”

“Show me how much.” I nip the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and her broken gasp shoots straight to my cock.

This is wrong. So wrong. We stand next to a rotting corpse with some unknown creature hunting us, and I’m touching her like I’m not the monster who killed the beautiful alicorn she tried to save.

I trap her against the tree, and her legs come up to encase my waist. If she were wearing a dress, this would be over already. My brain turns to mush and travels south, all thought abandoned when she begins chewing on my earlobe.

Esme’s back arches, and I know what she wants because I want it myself. Yanking her shirt up, I trail my hand up her ribs to her breast. She fits in the palm of my hand. I drag my thumb over her pebbled nipple, and she pants into my mouth. Her skin is impossibly hot and soft under my callouses.

Her body shakes with need, and her legs tighten around my waist as she rides me. Only our clothes keep us apart at this point.