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I can’t keep the smirk off of my face, Krista’s cheeks turning crimson as she puts together what just happened. I have no idea how aware she is of my kind’s heightened senses, but there’s no mistaking the embarrassment on her face as I advance slowly toward her.
Delicious.
I take my sword out and hold it against her neck, forcing her to keep her head raised. Her soft breaths haze my blade in quick succession, her chest rising and falling frantically in time with her runaway heartbeat.
“Do you like this, slave girl?”
Her wide, green eyes hold mine as her tongue darts out from between her lips, wetting her trembling lower lip.
She does. She wants this. She wants me to put her in her place.
I wipe away the dirt from her cheek, taking in how soft and plump her flesh feels. My thumb travels up to her eyes that haven’t broken away from me. I take a single droplet of blood that has escaped a nick and savor it.
Her cheeks flush red, and the heat that emanates from her creeps underneath my scales. I lose control of myself, and I pinher against the wall, accidentally opening another small cut on her ivory neck.
She raises a hand, presumably to wipe the small trickle of blood away, but I stop her, dropping my blade and leaning in. I lick over the wound, lingering over her skin until I feel her shivering under my touch. A quiet moan escapes her, and she almost involuntarily arches her back.
“Your body betrays you, slave girl,” I murmur against her neck, pressing my aching members against her belly so she can feel how hard I am, how badly I want to fill her with my eggs until she’s swollen and ruined for anyone else.
“P-please,” she gasps out, jutting her hips toward me, already seemingly desperate for friction. To someone else, it might sound like she’s asking for mercy, but we both know what she’s really asking for, especially as I inhale her scent deeply again from the crook of her neck.
“If I slide my hand between those pretty little legs, I bet you’ll be drenched. Do you want me to ruin you, Krista? Do you want me to break you?”
Another wordless moan escapes Krista as I glide one of my hands up the inside of her leg, stopping short of the heat emanating from her pussy to knead the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Her small hands find the front of my tunic and fist into the fabric, her hips bucking against me once again. The silent plea surprises me, and I pull back slightly.
The sight of her green eyes – her greenhumaneyes – snaps me back to reality.
I take three steps back before Krista’s human senses can even track me. Her body pitches forward, no longer held in place against the wall by my much larger frame. Her pretty pink lips open in a nearly perfect ‘o,’ confusion and surprise coloring her features as her eyes dart up to meet mine.
I don’t react, turning on my heel and walking quickly out of the forge.
What the fuck was I thinking? With a human girl, no less?
I walk until I’m at a safe distance from the forge, making sure no one is around. Once alone, I can be safe with my thoughts and looming desires. I can’t get over the look on her face when I held my sword against her throat. The way she tried to suppress her moans.
I need to forget this, forget her. Or else it’ll be trouble for everyone.
5
KRISTA
“Make sure to watch where you’re standing. Slaves don’t usually get medical care for injuries such as yours,” Irian tells me as he gives me an ointment for my burn.
I take it and bow my head. “Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again,” I say quietly, trying not to annoy him any further.
He frowns. “It's bound to happen again, but clumsiness won’t be tolerated.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
He eyes me once more before returning to his own work. I breathe freely once he’s out of sight. He’s not a mean boss but quite meticulous about his work. I'd rather not get on his bad side since I enjoy this job.
I’m left to my own devices on the other side of the forge, where I’m visible to those who pass by. I don’t let that distract me from my work, or at least, I get consumed by it enough that I’m not aware of my surroundings.
“Okay, Krista, you heard him. Don’t get burned this time,” I whisper to myself as I pick up a newly made dagger.
I wipe it down with the special cloth and cleaning solution. Just one wipe is needed to be able to look at my reflection. It’s like a handheld mirror, only this one is capable of taking lives.
I stare at myself in it for a few seconds before my hand moves on its own. I press the blade against my wrist, the thought of slicing my skin passing through my mind. This dagger will make a clean cut, like opening a letter or preparing a cut of dripir for the king and his family.
