The tapered tip of my braid kisses the small flame—
The firegobbles, surging in strength and size while it purges twirls ofsmoke. While my throat grows so tight it feels like his hand is around my neck, squeezing the life from me.
Arkyn flicks the still-flaming braid, and it arcs through the air, disintegrating as it falls back to the table. “I’llneverlet you go.” He snatches my fork and, in one swift motion, plunges it into a pile of bloody meat on the table before Kaan.
I flinch, picturing that same fork stabbing into his chest.
“You’reMINE,” Arkyn belts out, the words boring through the cavernous space, bouncing off the walls. Tearing into me like a mob of flesh-hungry beasts.
I’m statue still, not daring to move. To blink or even breathe. Only once Arkyn turns his attention to the fork, raises the slab of meat, and slaps it on my plate, do I allow my lungs to fill—almost choking on the smell of my fried hair.
Arkyn continues building me a plate of food, meticulous in his motions, muttering about how delicious it all smells. About how he’s missed our meals.
The last of my uhloo turns to smoking cinders as I dare to meet Kaan’s gaze, crushed by the primal ferocity in his eyes screaming all the words he’s too gagged to say.
I discreetly shake my head and quietly beg him not to bite. Not to feed into Arkyn’s sick, sadistic games. Kaan doesn’t realize it yet, but we’re tiptoeing the fine edge of a very sharp blade. That his supposedbrotheris unhinged and erratic, all too willing to bash my heart in the hopes of getting the shape he craves. What’s worse, he knows my weakness: Anyone who’s broken past the igneous outer shell of the withered organ in my chest.
Anyone Ilove.
For Arkyn, this is so much more than a feast. It’s carefully plated torture he’ll force us to sit through until he’s done with his fucked-up meal. All we have the power to do is mitigate the repercussions.
Footsteps thump from behind, and Kaan’s gaze slides from mine, widening. He releases a relieved groan, renewing his stiff battle against the chains binding him like a metal fist.
My heart drops.
“Forgive me, Sire,” comes a deep voice. “He’s finished with the throne room. Where would you like him to rune next?”
He …
Rune …
Arkyn’s stare sizzles the side of my face, watching me with honed intrigue. Despite the smashing beat of my heart, I resist the urge to look. To turn and check who’s speaking, and who might be standing beside him.
To showanysign that I’m invested in Ahvi’s welfare.
It’s probably too late to hide my love for Kaan, but I can spare Ahvi. Pretend I’m not aching to peek back over the chair’s backrest and scour him from head to toe. Tell him it’s going to be okay.
That I’llmake this okay.
Time becomes intangible while I count the runes on Kaan’s hefty chainsinstead. Watch them flicker with each wrestling surge, his sweat-dappled skin tightening every time one lights up—veins raised and angry looking. Like the runes arehurtinghim.
“Sire?”
“He’s to get started on the fighting pits,” Arkyn announces. “If they’re not protected by the rise, there will be consequences.”
Bile surges so hot and acrid it’s hard to swallow while keeping my face blank.
Unaffected.
A tight, suffocating mask Arkyn picks at with his cutthroat gaze, the quiet stretching well after the retreating footsteps fade.
So long it starts toitch.
“You thought he’d be dead.”
Arkyn’s blunt observation pulls a plug in the back of my throat, loosening a spigot of unwelcome tears that fill my eyes and spill.
He uses the pad of his bloody thumb to squash a bead against my cheek, frowns at it, then sighs, rubbing the moisture between his gnarly fingers. “You think me such a monster, Raeve?”
