Page 9 of Henrikk’s Game

Hurt crossed Asher’s expression, and not the kind that Henrikk liked to see. It went deeper, and felt more private, deepening the frown lines on Asher’s brow.

What would it take to smooth them away?

The silence stretched too long.

“Do not tell me you’ve never been kissed before,” Henrikk smirked.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Asher repeated angrily. He wrenched the axe from the tree and then gave a soft grunt as he realised his jumper was skewered in place.

Henrikk had intended to do more than just pin him in place, but he found himself in unknown territory. He liked seeing Asher angry and powerful, and he liked breaking him down until he was helpless and moaning. But this…

The vampire looked agitated, his teeth bared and features etched with tension, every line telling a story of struggle.

Henrikk didn’t quite know what to do with that. This in-between stage where they were neither fighting nor fucking, and the conversation was staggered.

It made him feel like he’d done something wrong.

And it wasn’t fun.

“Did you get my letter?” Henrikk asked cheerfully.

It was high time they moved back to more familiar territory.

Asher scowled. He was in a frightfully sour mood today. “You said you were regretfully ‘called away’. I did not expect you to be here.”

“Yes. I received an illustrious invitation to officially cut the ribbon for a charming new vineyard outside the Capital. Perhaps I will take you there one day. Would you like that?”

“You lied,” Asher accused.

“Nonsense. It is both true that I was called away, even if I did not go; and it’s true that my absence is a sadness for the many people who hoped for my attendance.”

“Your vanity would not allow you to regret disappointing the feelings of others.”

“How eloquently put,” Henrikk said lightly. “But the part I regret is that I could not partake in the wine tasting.”

“Why didn’t you?” Asher snapped, stepping back forcefully and tearing his jumper.

You could have simply removed the knife, silly twat.

“I’d much rather be here with you,” Henrikk simpered.

“Tormenting me?”

Henrikk paused.

What an interesting choice of words.

“Is that what I do to you?” he asked curiously, tilting his head as he peered at Asher. The general had half-turned away, staring bitterly at the stone wall where moss glistened brightly. Henrikk took a step closer. “Torment you?”

Asher’s large shoulders were hunched, and he was trembling, his fists and jaw clenched. “There is a limit to what a person can take, Henrikk.”

Henrikk made a sound of agreement, reaching to touch the back of Asher’s neck. “True. But I don’t think we’ve reached yours yet.”

Asher snarled and swung his sword at Henrikk.

Did he honestly think I didn’t notice him drawing it?

It was the wrong weapon of choice for close combat, but perhaps the general had wanted to finish him off in style.