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Since the moment he’s taken her aside, she’s been compliant. Pleasant. She nods. She bats her lashes. She smiles. She opens wide and tilts her head back to let him in. No doubt, in a moment, he intends to fill her cunt, too, without ever questioning what drives his need to cover her in seed. He completely misses the fear and rage in the depths of those shifting eyes, moving from moss green to sky blue, gold and bloodred as her energy awakens.Valdred doesn’t know the tangy taste of the spell woven around her, fine, but the idiot should at least notice that.
He doesn't.
I don’t like this.
I'm straightening up before I consciously decide to, but I still as the energy beneath my feet, in the air, and in the very fabric of the world changes. Magic gathers under her skin, raw, potent, devastating, although she's clueless as to what to do with it.
She could destroy our very world in this moment, and with startling clarity, I see she would if she knew how.
She doesn't.
It’s wasted on her, really. Oh, what I would do with this blood of hers.
Destroy her. Bind her to you. Teach her. Mark her.
My mind takes me in too many directions, demanding I satisfy opposite urges where she’s concerned. I haven’t decided which yet, so I do nothing but observe the appealing little poisonous seed.
I had no intention of stopping the happy couple. Gathering information and ways to exploit the situation seems to be the smarter approach right now. She's weak. She's clueless. I should let her be until she's useful.I might not quite know whether I want to crush her neck or mark it, but if the ambitious bone prince wishes to forever ruin any chance of an alliance with the scariest thing alive, who am I to stop him?
But I don’t like this.
Even if I hadn’t felt her presence for three nights and days, attempting to understand the cause behind the disturbance in the air of Ilvaris, I would have recognized her at first glance, though few would.
Most of the lords alive now were either too young, too old, or not yet born in the queen's day. They wouldn’t remember those eyes, constantly shifting with her moods. They wouldn’t remember the waves of her hair. They wouldn’t remember the softness of her mouth. To them, Morrigan is a far-off memory, long forgotten—more of a myth than a woman. All they have to visualize our olden queen are ancient portraits, long faded, statues in her effigy, not capturing her true profile.
She’s called Darina, this prey, and Valdred whispers while he brutally fucks her mouth.
Valdred is clueless, and she, resigned. Angry. Scared.
Morrigan would have had his head on a silver platter for treating this girl like that. Yet, I can’t quite convince myself that I’m offended on the old shrew's behalf.
He withdraws from her mouth, still hard, and grunts another order. “On your hands and knees, my sweet pet.”
To him, it’s likely a suggestion, but she has to comply.
I’d like to say the reasonable part of my mind has weighed all the options, and I choose to act now because it’s in my interest. In truth, I don’t think. I’ve not yet made up my mind as to what I am to do with this powerless, useless, tiny queenling.For all that, I step out of the shadow.
A thousand years. It has been a thousand years without so much as a whisper. Part of me wondered if she was lost to us, but here she is. The child I brought to the ironside eons ago, and have waited for since.
And now she’s mine if I so wish.
Mine to save. Mine to take. And if logic demands it, mine to destroy.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SURVIVAL INSTINCTS: 0
Darina
Feeling violated, lightheaded, sick to my stomach, I'm zero percent aroused by the fact that a gorgeous man is about to fuck me. I don't think I've ever been less turned on.
And he doesn’t even know it.
I’ve only just turned to comply with my latest set of orders, shame and rage fighting for dominion in my soul, when suddenly andunexpectedly, I'm pulled up from under my arms.
I yelp in surprise as strong hands lift me up as if I were as light as a feather. I’ve never been much of a yelper, but no one has ever swept me up like a rag doll. Before I can get any sense of what happened, something—someone—takes me by the waist and throws me up over a hard surface that hits my stomach as I bend in two. The disorientation lasts seconds, though it feels much longer as I defy gravity and dread the coming fall. Then I realize I’m on someone’s shoulder, tossed over it like a sack of potatoes.
Very large, very strong shoulders.
