Page 123 of Lethal King

Brushing past her, I make my way toward the blood-splattered doorway. Crimson marks stain the walls. A thousand glass shards litter the ground. In the middle of it all sits our upturned lunch.

“It’s gone cold,” I note, picking up the rotisserie chicken. “But I keep the floors clean. And it’s the best you’re going to get.”

Ripping off a chicken leg, I toss it at my confused captive. Her reflexes are still sharp, and she easily catches it.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” she asks. But I can tell she’s just being stubborn.

My Black Cat is desperate to eat. She just needs an excuse.

I give it to her.

“This is how you know,” I grumble. Tearing off the other leg, I start to chow down. Savory juice dribbles down my chin, but I don’t give a shit. I’m starving. And I know Rozalia is too.

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t another one of your twisted tracking devices baked into the skin,” she sneers. “You could fit a billion nanobots into this piece of meat alone.”

“I’d only need a dozen to track you,” I taunt.

“And I’d only need one to end you.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t doubt it. That’s why I would never give you access to any kind of technology. Not in a million years. Hell, I left you alone for fifteen minutes with a pair of restraints and some bedsheet, and you nearly killed me.”

“I should have taken the time to unbuckle the chains,” Rozalia mutters.

Then, to my satisfaction, she finally bites down on her chicken leg. It eases my nerves a bit—especially as I fill my empty belly up right alongside her.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think I’d have the time. It looked like they were fastened to the bedposts with bolts.”

“They are. You made the right choice.”

“Obviously not,” Rozalia mumbles through a full mouth. “You’re still alive.”

“If you’d actually wanted to kill me, I’d be dead right now,” I note.

She lifts a curious eyebrow. “What makes you think I didn’t want you dead?”

“I never said you don’t want me dead. But I don’t quite believe you want to kill me yourself.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’d rather hear it come from your mouth.”

When I step forward, Rozalia instinctively retreats.

“Don’t fucking test me,” she hisses.

“Easy there, kitten,” I say. “I was just going to offer you some more chicken.”

Lifting what remains of our legless carcass, I silently urge her to eat—even if I’m not entirely sure why. She’d be so much easier to deal with if she were constantly on the brink of starvation.

But I don’t want to see her half-starved.

I want to see her satisfied.

“Toss it this way then,” Rozalia finally accepts. Like a true barbarian, she tosses her half-devoured bone onto the floor so she can hold the rest of the rotisserie in her hands.

For a moment, I just watch her snap away at the meal. The savagery of her appetite is almost impressive, and I can’t help but remember how good those glistening lips felt pressed against mine… or imagine how good they would feel wrapped around my cock.