She knelt beside the fur and started the tedious task he’d forced upon her, all the time imagining it was him she was folding up and punching into a small little bag.
Chapter Five
The ride to the next camp was worst then the first one. Blane said nary a word, giving her the silent treatment as she asked question after question. The further away from home she got, the angrier she got at the Neanderthal who brooded behind her.
Ciara closed her eyes as hopelessness washed through her. She was weakening, and she had no one but herself to blame. Had she told her brothers, she wouldn’t be in this position. She’d be stronger, faster, smarter instead of pushing away the hunger pains that grew stronger with every passing hour she used her strength to remain upright and away from the masculine body which sat directly behind hers.
She’d barely slept last night, or this morning, whatever it was considered. Time seemed to move differently here, wherever this was. They’d left the woods and entered a marsh, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t remember what lay beyond the Widowlands. Her body tensed as they approached a river, a fast-running one.
“You’ve got to be joking,” she mumbled as she watched the others dismount and turn to look at Blane for direction.
He dismounted and pulled on the reins of the horse, jerking it towards the water. Ciara followed the river from her line of sight, hating the fact that she knew he planned to cross it. He was an idiot! Her gaze swept back to him with a piercing look.
“No way,” she growled.
“I don’t think he asked for your permission, whore of the Horde,” the female growled.
Ciara smirked and shook her head. “Is that what they call me?” she laughed. “I guess I’ve been called worse by people I actually know. You’ll drown us all if you try to cross here.”
“We’ve done it before,” Blane said as he removed his armor, tossing it aside as they all began to remove their heavier items of clothing. She watched as they placed it in bags which they secured to the horses. Her heart raced violently against her ribs as they prepared to cross the river.
Ciara’s lashes swept against her cheek as she lowered her head to the ground, giving them privacy as they disrobed. Fear snaked up her spine as she remembered the time she’d tried to escape her father before transition. She’d tried to cross a river much like this one and Ryder had pulled her lifeless body from it, and Ristan had brought her back. They’d used human tactics to do so, and she’d cursed them for it, for saving her only to be returned to their father’s anger.
Her stare rose as Blane moved into her line of sight. His skin was bronzed, and rows of sinewy muscles rippled with his movements. Her eyes lifted, finding his crystal blue ones locked on hers, perceptive of the way she gazed upon him. She looked away, hating the blush that covered her cheeks. She felt him tugging on the reins and froze.
“Take the ropes off first,” she whispered for his ears alone. With her hands bound in front of her, if the horse slipped, she was dead.
“No,” he snapped as his oceanic eyes held hers. “You’re safe; we’ve done this crossing a thousand times before.”
Ciara leaned over, holding onto the horse as best as she could as it entered the water. It danced away from it, pulling its reins from Blane who cooed and touched its mane. Their fingers touched, and he jerked away as if he’d been burned, the unfamiliar sparks took her mind from the watery grave they were wading through.
Someone shouted from behind them, and both Blane and Ciara turned to see what had happened—and her horse slipped. Ciara yelled before her mouth and lungs filled with icy water as the river’s bustling current swept her away. It was ice-cold, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get her head above water.
Her feet touched the slippery rocks of the riverbank and she shot up, sputtering in a gulp of air before she was sucked back down. Several times she managed to get air, until she couldn’t. Her lungs burned, her mind raced with everything she’d miss out on if she died. Her mind darkened, filling with nothing as death grasped for her.
Something grabbed her and pulled her towards the light, towards the surface as everything started to fade.
Something slammed against her chest, and she coughed, spewing water from her lips as she fought to greedily suck in air. It burned, and yet she felt frozen, as if her bones were created from ice. She laid against the rocks, uncaring that they bruised her flesh. Her eyes closed, exhaustion took her, and she no longer cared if death won. She wasn’t afraid to die, she just didn’t want to feel or see the end coming.
“Remy, help me get her up. She’s freezing and half drowned,” he growled. “Tell the others to get a tent set up immediately. We have to get her temperature up before night falls. Have Fyra build a fire; tell her I need one in my tent as well.”
Hands grabbed her unceremoniously, digging into her ice-cold flesh as she was hoisted up and moved. Her eyes opened, and a kaleidoscope of colors filled the sky. Faery was angry; night was coming faster than usual, but they’d expected the offset with the portals being damaged. The man, Remy, held her as the others moved to do as Blane had instructed.
“Who cares if she dies?” the female’s voice ripped through the edge of sleep where Ciara teetered on the brink, trying to fight it long enough to see what they did.
“If she dies, we have nothing. Nothing to lure him to us with, nothing to barter with. You understand that, correct?” Remy growled. “He’s your king, do not question his orders.”
“He’s not king, not really. Not yet, not until we win back his kingdom. Until then, he’s the same as we are.”
“Get the fucking tent up, Fyra. We didn’t come this far to lose, not now, not ever. She’ll die if night hits before you build that fire. Do you want to go back to our people and tell them we failed?”
“She deserves to die,” she hissed.
“They all do, but not before we get what we need from them. Not before we take revenge and secure peace for our people. Are you not tired of tents and fucking stew? I am. Now, get it up before I rip your fucking throat out.”
Ciara’s head rolled, hitting the man’s chest as her eyes opened. Her teeth chattered, and she was willing to bet she was a pretty shade of blue by the shock she read in his features.
“Give her to me,” Blane’s voice sounded from beside her.
She was handed off and placed onto her feet. The men shuffled around, readying the tent beside the river, behind the cover of the giant trees. Blane pulled on her dress, ripping it from her body as he undressed her from her wet clothes as she barely managed to remain upright. Once he’d stripped her, he pushed her down, wrapping the thick furs around her.
Her eyes closed, heavy with exhausted and the loss of adrenaline which was fading fast. She absently listened as she heard leather sliding over leather and the crash of metal poles as they were raised. Wood hit the ground close by her head; her eyes opened a sliver, watching as the blonde made quick work of the wood, stacking it into a pile.
“It’s wet, it’s all fucking wet,” she snapped. “We’re too close to the river, and the Wetlands and marsh are unforgiving in night.”
“Go find dry wood then.” Blane’s tone indicated he’d had enough of her defying him, as well as her sour disposition. Ciara heard something behind her but didn’t turn to see what was happening. The covers moved as her teeth chattered, shouting sounded outside the tent, and then warmth washed through her.
His body was an inferno; one that touched the coldest places that river had frozen. His body enveloped hers; his hands tugged her closer, pressing his naked body against hers.
“You’re naked,” she chattered, her teeth unable to stop as she tried to speak.
“So are you,” he pointed out as he continued to rub her sides and her arms.
“Pervert,” she whispered as her eyes closed,
unable to remain open as she gave into the warmth, to the temptation of the heat that removed the chill from her body.
“Bloody hell,” he growled.
“That better not be your dick poking me,” she warned.
“Shut up,” he growled.
“Don’t use it,” she muttered.
“My dick?” he asked, incredulity filling his tone.
“You don’t get to almost drown me and then poke me while I sleep, understood? No poking. None. Zilch. That stays on your side. If possible, remove it from my butt cheeks.”
“You’re fucking bossy, wench,” he snapped.
“I know I’m also right a lot of the time. So remove it from my butt cheeks so I can sleep. Some asshole tried to drown me.”
“There was a snake,” he uttered breathlessly as he tried to readjust his package.
“In my butt cheeks?” Ciara snapped as her mind muddled and the seductive fingers of sleep fought to take her to their world of endless dreams.
He laughed. “That’s definitely not a snake between your arse, princess,” he admitted. “There was a snake in the water, one we didn’t see. The horses sensed it and panicked.”
“Blane,” she whispered. “I don’t like you.”
“That’s fine, it’s actually better if you don’t.”
“Hey, we agreed on something. That’s progress,” she whispered as her eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed her mind.
Chapter Six
Ciara awoke to the sensation of being watched. Her hands slowly slid over her naked flesh, and she groaned as the memory of her near-drowning replayed in her mind. He’d saved her, even though he didn’t have to. After that, he’d used his own body to stave off the cold that had threatened to take her to death’s icy grave.
She slowly sat up, again noting her lack of clothing. A sharp hiss from the corner of the tent drew her gaze to Blane, who sat silently watching her. She reached for the furs and pulled them around her as a blush spread across her body.
“Modesty from one such as you?” he mused thickly.
“Excuse me if I don’t enjoy being eye-fucked by my captor,” she growled evenly as she searched for her dress. “I need my clothes,” she announced.
“It would serve you right to be paraded in front of my people naked, exposed and shamed.”
“Your people?” she asked, ignoring his taunt.
He stood and moved closer to her, ripping the furs from her hold and tossing them across the tent. She shivered as the cold, brisk air bit her flesh. Her nipples hardened as her hands moved to shield them from his prying eyes. Her knees lifted, barring his eyes from seeing her naked flesh.
“Lay down,” he instructed. “There are a few hours before dawn,” he continued softly as he knelt beside her and pushed her down, watching as she hit the pelt which they’d crudely placed to get her warm. Her hands instantly moved to cover her sex, which pulled a growl from deep in his chest. His hands pushed them away, locking them in place in a viselike grip against her belly.
“Please don’t,” she whimpered and then groaned as his fingers touched her naked flesh, creating a maelstrom of emotions that rocked through her system. “Blane,” she uttered thickly as he tested her petals as her body heated for his touch. She hated her body at that moment; it betrayed her in the most primal way as he slowly explored her sex.
“How many men have you fucked?” he asked, jarring her from the unsettling reaction she was experiencing from his touch. “Hundreds? Thousands? I’ve heard the rumors of how generous you are with the men who service your brothers. How you service them in return, taking as many as five at a time between these silken thighs. I bet they line up to have you.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” she said as she brought her foot up and kicked him, catching him off guard. He fell backwards as she struggled to put distance between them. He slammed against her body, pushing her legs apart as he lifted them to slide between them. Her hands rose to hold his massive body away, but it was useless. His lips lowered to hover against hers.
“Fight me,” he demanded softly. His soft lips feathered against hers as he watched her carefully. She pushed against his chest, watching as he closed the distance. His teeth worried her lip, pulling on it as husky laughter escaped. She turned her face away from his, hating the fact that she was wet in places she shouldn’t be.
“You don’t want this,” she whispered. “I’m not what you think I am.”
“And what do I think you are, princess?” he asked as he pulled against the delicate flesh of her ear. “A whore who fucks everyone she’s ordered to? A murderer who uses her pussy to entrap men and lure them to their deaths? I don’t think you’re any of those things. I know you are. Rumors of your beauty and your deadly games are well-known,” he snapped as he pushed his hand between their bodies, capturing her clitoris with his fingers and rolling it between them as a moan escaped her lips. “Would you welcome me into your heat as you do for the others? Let me part your legs and fuck my frustrations out on your sweet flesh? Or do you prefer to play hard to get?” he asked as his finger slipped between her wet flesh, slowly trailing over her welcoming pussy.
“Fuck you,” she whimpered as a violent shiver tore through her, jerking her body abruptly as her knees fell open.
His finger pushed into her flesh, and she cried out in shock. Her body clamped down against it, trying to dispel it from her body as he slowly pulled it out. She was wet, ready, but this wasn’t happening. She wasn’t doing this with him. Not now, not ever.
“Get off of me,” she begged as she clawed his bare shoulders. She twisted her body, dispelling his digit from it in the process. His hands captured hers, pinning them above her head as his ocean blue eyes held her violet ones prisoner.
“Look around. If I wanted you, no one could stop me. You’re alone, princess. There’s no one coming to save you. You think I’d lower myself to fucking you?” he laughed coldly as he released her to sit back and slowly slid his eyes over her naked curves. “I don’t play with other men’s leftovers. I just wanted to see if the rumors of your willingness were true,” he admitted.
“I hate you,” she said breathlessly as she rolled away from him, hiding the tears that filled her eyes as red-hot anger pulsed to life inside of her.
“From what I hear, you don’t have to like someone to fuck them,” he said as he stood up. “Cover yourself,” he demanded. Ciara remained in the fetal position, naked and trembling so hard she couldn’t stop. Her body ached in ways she hadn’t known it could, and hunger pulled at her mind, reminding her that sooner or later, she’d have to feed or end up slowly fading until she couldn’t remember her own name.
She heard the tent’s leather doors open and close. She slowly sat up, pushing her hair away from her face as she did so. She reached for the furs and slowly covered her body. Of all the ways to die, paying for whatever imaginary crime this man thought she’d committed wasn’t one of them.
Ciara’s head lifted as the tent was opened and Blane marched through, tossing clothes towards where she sat. She wiped at the tears so he wouldn’t see them, but she’d been too late. His blue eyes searched her gaze as she lifted hers to hold his with contempt in them.
“Your tears won’t save you,” he mumbled as he sat inside the tent and did nothing to give her any resemblance of privacy.
“Those aren’t my clothes,” she pointed out, ignoring his jibe.
“Yours are still wet and ripped from where I saved you last night,” he admitted as he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, watching her.
She frowned as she held up the leather pants and tiny leather top. Was he serious? She exhaled deeply and stood up, bringing the fur with her to cover her body. She turned away from him when she realized she didn’t have enough hands to hold the fur and put on the pants.
&
nbsp; “Face me,” he said smoothly, his voice thick and heated.
“Fuck off,” she snapped as she pushed her leg through the pants and then the other. She hadn’t even heard him move until his hands pulled her body to his. Her eyes closed as he growled against her ear.
“When I give an order, you will follow it. You’re not my guest; you’re my fucking prisoner, in case I didn’t make that clear enough.”
“And what’s your intent? Rape me? Hurt me, or are you just trying to scare me?” she demanded back.
His fingers bit into her flesh as he shoved her to the ground again. Her legs gave way; hindered by the leather pants she’d been unable to finish slipping on. She snarled as she kicked them off and came up swinging. Her fist collided with his nose, and he howled as her small fist pummeled him. She dropped down, swiping her foot out, which landed against his. He didn’t go down as she’d expected; instead, he landed on her.
His hand captured her arms, preventing her attack. He placed his weight entirely on her small figure, trapping her there as she screamed with rage. Her words ran together, her anger pulsed through her brands as everything hit her at once. She was going to kill them, all of them!
Power ripped through her, her eyes glowing from within.
He chuckled as he watched her, unafraid of the power that was filling the tent. The moment she moved to release it, his hands captured her neck, stalling it as she had to redirect to fight for air. She clawed at him as her lungs burned, aching to gulp down air as she struggled to live.
He released her, rolling from her naked body as she jolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Her hands touched her neck as her eyes sought him out. She slowly got to her feet, feeling the result of pulling so much magic to her. Her legs threatened to give out, and just before they did, he caught her.
Claiming the Dragon King Page 4
