The question is chased by a hiss of hungry words that snatch a stream of flame from the jungle of candlesticks, tethering to Arkyn’s hand. Then he’swhip, whip,whippingKaan’s arms, chest, and shoulders, the motions heaving with growing ferocity, slashing with wild vigor.
Kaan’s beautiful skin flays in the wake of each bloodlusting slash, filling the cavern with the smell of burning flesh, his roars morphing into a mangled scream—something in his eyes and the twist of his face making me picture him so much younger. A child, being ripped apart by the flames of a pah who had no love to give. Only pain.
The sound I make is more beast than fae. An almighty wail gored from the pit of my aching chest, coupled with flickers of something that feels like the flames of an ancient, icy beast.
Arkyn stills, heaving breath as he glares at me from beneath his hood, pupils so blown all the red is almost gone from his eyes. “You never made such sounds for me.”
“You will stop,” I growl—a serrated slice unfamiliar to my ears.
He chuffs. Whips his arm back—
“YOU. WILL. STOP.”
Around us, the mountain trembles. Even the whip of flame in Arkyn’s hand seems to squirm as he stills, watching me with sizzling intensity.
“You will stop hurting him, and I will give youanything.”
Kaan sobs through a groan, somehow more agonized than the sounds he made while the whip flayed his flesh.
I don’t let it sink in.
He’ll always put me first. Though I respect that with my whole heart, it’s my turn to be strong forhim.
Arkyn swallows, salivating, his intrigue sharp and scratching deep. “You know there’s only one thing I desire, Fire Lark …”
For me to fight for him.
Burnfor him.
“I know.”
“Will you give yourself to mewillingly?A show to rivaleverythingelse?”
Again, Kaan’s chair grinds against the ground, the muffled sound of myname coming to me over and over. From the corner of my eye, I see him trying to catch my attention. Get me to look at him.
I don’t.
There’s only one way to buy the time to do what needs to be done without Arkyn ripping the male I love apart—beating his bloodlust against him until there’s nothing left—and that’s to keep him entertained. Keep his hands full, mind busy with his other obsession.
Me.
I smooth my face. Poise myself before I dare to speak again.
“Yes, Arkyn. I’m yours.” The words are ash in my mouth, but they have the desired effect:
Arkyn’s eyes widen with salacious glee.
“Take what you need, and then I’ll dance the Pits for you. Give them a show unlike anything they’veeverseen.”
Kaan roars.
Head tipped, Arkyn savors a hearty breath through that hooked, melted nose poking out from the darkness of his hood, then snaps his chin to his chest. When he looks at me again, all the red has gone from his eyes.“Clear the table!”
I tame the rabid beat of my heart as robed and masked folk rush in from the surrounding darkness, clearing the giant slab of Arkyn’s scavenged bits and the remainder of our uneaten feast. I’m ushered from the chair with all the precautions befitting someone who just half ripped through a contingent of handlers, bound in a bundle of chains before I’m shifted to the table, tilted back, and lowered upon it.
Kaan’s gaze blazes my side, his muffled sounds hurting me so much more than I’ll ever let him know.
It occurs to me that he may think he’s about to watch his brother have me. But to this dae, Arkyn’s taken no sexual liberties from me, even though he’s taken almost everything else.
