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She paled but found the strength to hold her ground. "Go ahead. Show me your worst, then. Make me hate you."
He arched a brow. "You don't already?"
"Not yet, but I'm close."
If she hated him, parting with her would be easier.
Very well. Puck faltered a split second before summoning a new layer of ice, different emotions fading from his awareness. First hope, then any semblance of tenderness. Finally, desire.
Merciless, he lifted his arm and extended his index finger. Best Gillian learned how things would be between them. Threaten his victory in any way and suffer the consequences.
"Oh no. Not the finger," she said, her tone as dry as the sand dunes.
With his free hand, he made a fist around the finger--and snapped the bone like a twig.
Gillian screamed and clutched her injured hand to her chest. Her knees buckled, and she fell, agony twisting her features, every breath now labored.
After a few minutes of pain, however, the wound healed, thanks to Puck's age and experience.
She glared up at him. "Congratulations," she said, her tone flat once again. "You exceeded my expectations. You have my hate, and bonus, you have my mistrust. You're a sociopath willing to break a girl's bone to make a point."
"You're right. I am a sociopath. I feel nothing, want nothing."
"Ice, baby, ice," she muttered.
Could she feel the ice through the bond? "I see we understand each other," he said.
"Want to know what makes this whole thing even more awful? Sometimes you're actually kind of warm."
Him? Warm?
Shockingly--yes. Deep inside, a tendril of heat stirred, an instinct to protect her, never hurt her.
But still he said, "If you delay me, I'll break another bone. If you run from me, I'll cut out one of my organs every minute until you return. Because of our bond, you will lose the organs, too. And just so you know, I never make threats. I make promises. I always follow through."
She sputtered for a response.
Wasting time. When he marched forward, she had a choice: pursue him or delay him and suffer the consequences.
Though reluctant, she pursued.
The warmth continued to stir, until relief and guilt seeped through the ice. He found himself saying, "You'll be well occupied while I'm gone. You'll cook, clean and sew, like all the other females in Amaranthia."
"Are we rich?" she demanded.
"Very much so. Why?"
"Then I'll be paying someone to cook, clean and sew for me. And when we get that divorce--because we will--I'll be taking half of your belongings with me."
Now he wanted to smile with genuine amusement? Impossible. "In Amaranthia, the doorways between realms constantly move. I told my men to wait with our transportation at a fixed location, every day, until my return, no matter how much time passed."
"How wonderful for you."
"You should rejoice. As soon as we reach camp, you'll be rid of me. For a little while, at least."
The barest hint of eagerness vibrated along their bond, and he jolted. Her eagerness? His impatience?
Irritation sparked. For centuries, he'd had no problem ignoring, burying and erasing emotions. Now he had to battle his own--and hers?
"Well. What are you waiting for?" Gillian jutted her chin. "Put a little pep in your step, Pucky, and try to keep up."
*
Marching around Puck, doing her best to ignore the demonic snarls in the back of her mind, Gillian struggled to maintain her composure. Within the hour, her husband--loathe that word!--would exit the realm and leave her behind. He would find William and strike some kind of bargain. Maybe. If William felt like bargaining.
If not, Puck would try to make William feel like bargaining. Ruthless man!
He expected William to go to war with his brother, Sin. If Puck couldn't defeat him, how could William? Her friend would get hurt.
Somehow, she had to follow Puck out of Amaranthia, without getting caught, and warn William.
"Tell me more about the realm," she said. The more she knew, the better. "And about magic."
To her surprise, Puck complied. "Our ancestors claim three Oracles created Amaranthia as a safe haven for magic-wielders."
"Even safe havens can become a war zone, eh?"
He shrugged. "Kill a man, acquire his magic. For centuries, clans have been slaughtered, just so their magic could be stolen. Greed rules too many hearts."
To acquire magic of her own, she'd have to commit murder? Ugh.
They crested another sand dune, two men and three camels coming into view. Had to be their ride to camp! She picked up the pace. Except, when she stood before the animals, she gasped.
The animals were some kind of cross between camel, rhinoceros and something beyond hideous and utterly frightening, with a row of horns that went from its forehead, along the back of its skull, to its nape. It also had a mouthful of saber teeth and a blend of fur and scales, layered in shades of black and white, like a zebra.
One of the creatures disliked her on sight--the one she was supposed to ride. It bucked her off the first time Puck seated her. Spitting sand, Gillian stood.
"Stop playing around," he commanded. All liquid grace and masculine assurance, he settled atop the creature's back and held out his hand.
Close proximity to Puck the Liar while sitting on a monster-dinosaur-thing? Welcome to my nightmare. But even though she would rather run away screaming, she accepted his help without protest. Why fight the inevitable?
He lifted her with ease, his bicep barely flexing, and she refused, absolutely refused, to be impressed. She expected to ride behind him. The women of A-man-ranneth-thine-life-ia who cooked, cleaned and sewed clearly had their place, after all. But Puck placed her in front of him, surprising her.
"What is this thing, anyway?" she grumbled.
"A chimera." One muscular, bronzed arm wrapped around her waist to prevent another spill, and she tensed. If he copped a feel...
She might melt. Her body was already tingling, warming. But then she would erupt in fury! Absolutely. Probably.
She could not, would not, desire this man. No way, no how.
As his other arm stretched forward, she prepared for battle...but his fingers bypassed her entirely to tangle in the creature's mane, sending the chimera into a gallop.
A screech of shock split her lips as her surroundings blurred. She clung to Puck's arm, pretty sure her nails were slicing and dicing skin and muscle. A necessity as well as a sadistic pleasure, despite the sting in her own arm.
They traveled at warp speed, reaching camp only a few minutes later. Puck hopped down, lifted her and set her on her feet. Nausea churned in her stomach. Light-headed, she swayed...fell.
Her jerk of a temporary husband watched, once again not even trying to help her.
Buck up. He's leaving, and you're following. You'll beat him at his own game.
The chimera trotted off, purposely stomping on Gillian's hand. As bones snapped, she screamed. Sharp pains shot up her arm and pooled in her shoulder.
Puck's hand broke, too, but his emotionless expression never wavered.
When the worst of the pain subsided, she whimpered and clutched the new injury against her chest. But she didn't cry. She would shed no more tears for her treatment here.
You can break my bones, but you won't break my spirit.
"You're already healing. Shake off the pain and stand. Seeing you on the ground makes me--" His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth. "Stand. Now."
Seeing her like this made him...what? Feel guilty for his poor treatment of her?
Not so icy after all, huh. "I'm fine, thanks. And oh yeah. Screw you," she muttered, remaining in place as she looked around a thriving village.
Tents abounded, intermixed with mud huts. Multiple fire pits added a waft of heat to the wind, the flames licking the skinned animals currently anchored to spits. Children played in every direction. Males were shirtless, wearing only sh
eepskin breeches. Females wore drab scarves from head to knee.
Everyone had one thing in common. They were staring at her.
"This clan is made of outcasts," Puck explained, offering no further rebuke for her disobedience. A small mercy. "They value strength above all else and despise weakness."
So, basically, Gillian was the most despised girl in town already? Go me.
"Irish!" a female voice announced. "About time you returned. I'd started to think you'd died."
The growing crowd parted, revealing a twenty-something man and woman. And good gracious, they were gorgeous. Both had the most amazing lavender eyes rimmed with silver, hair the color of melted pennies and skin a few shades lighter. They had to be siblings.
Unlike the other males in the camp, this one wore a black T-shirt that read Winter Is Coming and a pair of jeans. Unlike the other women, this one wore a leather crop top connected by metal mesh to a matching miniskirt with pleats. The outfit was both sexy and protective.
Both the male and female had short swords strapped to their backs, the hilts rising over their shoulders.
