My pulse quickened, but I walked with my shoulders back and my chin high, looking around at a living area with a stone floor and a leather sofa near the far window. It smelled like him. Like leather and forest, only now there was a bit of lavender, like the soaps Keera had used on my hair.
I stopped a couple feet inside the entrance and looked around, getting a feel for the place. It was dark in color with old shapes to the decor. Wooden chairs that looked hand carved. A large canvas hanging on the wall depicted a very old painting of a mountainside at sunset. On the highest peak was the dark silhouette of a massive dragon, its wings spread wide. From its mouth it spewed fire woven with gold threads that shimmered with movement when the light hit it.
In the center of the room was a bed, but in that particular chamber, the bed was the most intimidating piece of furniture in the whole place. It was disheveled as if Draven had just rolled out of it. Deep, crimson sheets lay at an angle, partly on the floor, and a set of black pillows sat at the head of the mattress. Behind them was a headboard made of thick mahogany and carved with intricate images of two lions rearing in a fight.
Draven had disappeared into another room and I heard running water. I waited uncomfortably for him to come back and tell me what awful thing he wanted me to do next. When he came out a few minutes later, his hair was tied up in that same, sloppy bun and his hands were wet as if he’d just washed them. When he looked at me, I was almost shaking. I was trained to be prepared for dangerous situations, but this Draak made me feel like a mouse beneath a tiger’s paw. All my concentration went into hiding that fact as he approached me. I fully expected him to do something hurtful, but instead his eyes dropped to the bloodied knuckles hanging by my side. His eyes were void of any emotion. There was just a flatness as he reached down and took my wrist to raise my hand up in front of him.
“I suspect whatever you hit was supposed to be my face,” he said.
“Would have been nice,” I said.
“Would have yielded the same result,” he smirked, squeezing my wrist harder.
I took a sharp breath through my teeth as a stinging heat seared through my skin under his grip. I tried to pull away, especially when I saw orange, glowing veins begin to climb up my hand from his touch. It burned, like little bits of fire coursing through my blood. Perhaps this was part of his torture. I pulled harder, but he didn’t budge. When I felt the burning in my knuckles, I hesitated, watching as embers lit within the bloodied abrasions. I gawked while the wounds sizzled closed and gradually disappeared with the pain as if nothing had happened. Draven let me loose, grinning faintly while I ogled at my now flawless flesh.
“You can’t bathe me with fractured knuckles,” he said, making his way back into the bathroom.
I looked up, less than thrilled. My feet wanted to flee the room and disappear, but before I could leave, I felt a twinge emulate from the handprint on my other wrist. I looked down to see it glowing slightly, followed by a flash of hot pain.
“I can do much worse,” Draven said from the doorway, staring at me as if he enjoyed the burn he was inflicting.
I pressed my lips together and walked toward the bathroom. The closer I got, the more the pain subsided. I felt like a horse being whipped into submission and if I was submissive I’d never get free. I needed to spin things in my favor somehow. Perhaps use my compliance as a way to turn on him soon.
The big, square tub in the middle of the floor was filling with scalding hot water. I could feel the steam on my skin from the doorway and swallowed as Draven swung the door shut behind us. The room felt more like a cage now and I found myself alone with the beast. He walked past me, dropping his cotton pants to the floor. He was cut in ways that made him look sculpted from clay. The contours of his muscles were made more obvious when the steam blanketed him in a light sheen. I averted my eyes, thankful when he stepped into the hot water. There were scented oils in the air. Lavender and sage. I hated that it smelled pleasant. Nothing pleasant should have been wasted on Draven.
Once he was settled in the water, I took a more complete scan of the room, from the granite counters to the large, stone shower that was divided from the rest of the area by a glass door. Around the tub was a short ledge and on that ledge was a stack of washcloths. I glared at them, certain he wanted me to use one to wash him, but when I saw the straight razor folded next to them, suddenly getting to the tub was much more tempting. Draven reached back, taking one of the cloths and extending it toward me. I walked over and took the cloth from his hand, careful not to let our fingers touch. Kneeling, I dipped the cloth into the hot water, beads of sweat already forming on my forehead.
“So this is what you do?” I said. “Sleep, take baths, and order people around?”
“Among other things,” Draven answered.
Every movement I made was slow and hesitant, but eventually, I managed to bring myself to start massaging the cloth along Draven’s shoulder. My breath shook, my eyes darting subtly toward the straight razor as Draven relaxed into the bath. I felt his muscles soften under each of my strokes. I brought the cloth up to his neck, dipping it in the water continually and following the lines of his body, along his arm and down his chest, eyeing a few visible markings that made his skin less than perfect. Scars and tattoos were sparsely placed, each image done in a deep, red ink instead of black like mine. I caught myself growing mildly interested in their origins before I shoved my mind back toward the straight razor.
“Is this your game?” I asked softly, trying to distract him. “Make me wash you. Rub your feet. Serve you food.”
“No,” Draven sighed. “Any of the other ladies could do this. You’re doing it because you hate it.”
I shrugged. “Actually I thought your idea of torture was going to be a lot more...torturous. This shows a lack of imagination.”
My other hand crept toward the razor as I brought the cloth up the side of Draven’s jaw and through his hair.
“This is barely work,” I said, unfolding the razor. “I can’t say I’m surprised that you can’t even bathe yourself. Do you Draak ever really exert yourselves for your luxuries? Do you ever work for anything or do you just glare at people and get everything you want?”
Draven let out a small laugh, his eyes closed.
“Why do anything when we have humanity to do everything for us?” he said. “You’re so easy to control. So impressionable. Gullible. Yes, we glare, because that’s all it takes to make a man fall to his knees and beg for his life.”
“Then you’ve only ever met cowards. I won’t beg and you’ll never get me on my knees.”
“We’ll see.”
Like lightning, I swept the razor forward, aiming for Draven’s exposed throat, but like he’d seen the move coming before I thought of it, he reached back and grasped my wrist with bruising force. I inhaled sharply. I couldn’t say I didn’t expect him to catch me, but it was worth a try. It was always worth a try.
Draven pulled me forward, flipping me into the large tub in front of him. I plunged into the hot water, his grip still on my wrist, but I hadn’t dropped the razor yet. I held it firmly as I struggled to the surface of the bath. Draven grabbed my hair with his other hand and gave me a harsh tug, whirling me around and pushing me against the edge of the tub. Gods, now I did it. I opened my eyes to see his immense, naked form towering over me, eyes like sparks. I’d never felt so small in my life.
“You know it’s a bit exciting knowing you’re going to try to kill me at every turn,” he grinned, the thrill apparent in his expression. “You know you can’t, but you still give it your best effort.”
I raised my knee between us, kicking my leg out against Draven’s hard chest. He let me go, but I couldn’t help thinking he only did it to make things more interesting, like a cat letting his prey loose only to watch it panic for a moment before he caught it again. I swung at him with the razor, slicing into the flesh of his abdomen. The feeling of cutting into him elated me for a split second, but I knew it was about
to make things much worse. I spun around, climbing over the edge of the bath as quickly as I could, hands and knees slipping beneath me on the wet tile. I could hear Draven’s mocking chuckle behind me and turned to see him standing from the water. I struggled to my feet and rushed for the door, though I wasn’t sure where I would run. Lukan made it clear that no one in that estate would assist me if I stumbled out into the hall screaming for help. Still, I fled. Instinct told me it was my only option.
I reached the door and grabbed for the knob just as two, strong arms coiled around my waist. I was lifted off the ground like I weighed nothing and ripped away from my escape.
“No!” I yelled, struggling wildly, my wet hair sticking to my face.
I still had the razor in my hand. Even when Draven tossed me onto the bed, I kept a firm hold of it. I fell onto my back, arcing the razor out in front of me again and slicing into his forearm, but he didn’t even react. In fact, he just looked more excited. I rolled over in an attempt to crawl away. Just as I got to my hands and knees, Draven grabbed my ankles, dragging me back and throwing his body over mine. I screamed, both out of fury and terror, as he ripped the razor from my hand and tossed it to the floor and out of my reach. I tried to wrestle him off of me, but his weight alone was enough to subdue my efforts. I lay on my stomach, unable to see Draven, but I could feel him. His lips sunk toward my ear, his hands braced on either side of me.
“Shh,” he hushed, long and slow.
I was panting and shaking with fear and anger, staring at his forearm where the deep cut was already closing, an ember glow searing the wound together until there was not even a scar to show for it. Defeated was barely the word to describe what it felt like to see that my efforts only made things worse.
“You may have been taught that you can fight your way out of anything,” he whispered. “But you can’t get out of this. You can’t hurt me.”
“Get off of me,” I hissed, struggling but getting nowhere.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why? Because you’re so much better than me? At least I was willing to die for Taurus. Where were you when Valerio was out there alone? You let him die. He was your Archon and you all let him get killed.”
Draven’s breath stopped. Suddenly I was aware that I’d struck a nerve. So he did have a weak spot, though I didn’t know if poking at it was the smartest plan.
“That’s the real reason you’re so intent on making my life miserable, isn’t it?” Reckless it is. “You’ve always thought you’re better, but we proved you wrong. So you had to steal the one thing I loved most, the thing I fought so hard for, so we were back on equal ground. Admit it!”
Draven wrapped his fingers in my hair in a slow, gentle sort of motion until he had a handful and suddenly gave it a sharp tug. Water was sizzling off his skin like he was a hot piece of metal as the fire rose up in his core. I twisted the sheets in my fists, helpless.
I felt Draven’s fingers brush along the scars that crept part way up the back of my neck as if he’d never seen them. Clearing the rest of my hair away, he brushed the flesh with his lips and slowly moved down my body. I felt paralyzed. He let my hair go, his hand sliding down the curve of my back until he reached the hem of my shirt. Breathing me in, he pushed it up and to my shoulders. I closed my eyes tight, feeling my bare scars against the cold air. Draven’s hands touched me, hot on my damp flesh, and moved up my bare back. I felt his lips follow, brushing lightly along my spine and up to the back of my neck once more. I was trembling, enraged that he was touching me at all, let alone in ways only a lover should.
16
Draven
. . .
Everly’s mouth was going to be the end of her. She was lucky I hadn’t planned on taking things further quite yet. I wanted to make her fear me first. I wanted her to feel that fear deep in her bones. I felt her heart quivering faster the more I touched her. I could sense the moment she realized she had absolutely no control. I felt my cock harden to know I was affecting her. Some twisted darkness in me was addicted to the idea of this woman being afraid of me. She’d won the race. She defied me. She had no idea the power she was toying with, and I rather enjoyed teasing her with it and watching her confidence chip away.
Seeing the look in her eyes when I had her alarmed made me hot with desire. Not just any desire. This was something potent and provocative. I looked down at the feminine body that lay beneath me, pressing myself to her cold, scarred flesh. I could feel her tremble when my heat enveloped her. Her hair was wet and splayed out around her head, her eyes closed tight. I moved a strand of hair from her cheek, stroking her face slowly. Softly. She was smooth beneath my fingers, her body so tantalizing it was like a drug. I didn’t know why I wanted her. Not really. But I knew it was more than just defiance. She infuriated me more than most humans I’d met.
Initially, it was anger and hate that drove me to bind her to me. I had plenty of ideas on how to torment her for years to come. At least until I grew bored of her. Now, our wet bodies pressed together, I felt a need rising in me that I didn’t expect. More than I wanted to hurt her, I wanted to feel her. I knew that fucking her would cause her pain, physically or emotionally. Probably both. Admittedly, I wanted to see that too, but I wanted her. And more than anything, I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized she wanted me.
As I carefully caressed her flawed body, I could see her fists relaxing, letting loose the sheets that were crumpled inside them. Her jaw muscles tensed when she felt me touch her, moving my hand down along her side until my fingers teased the waistband of her pants, but she didn’t struggle. Not yet. An hour ago I would have wanted her to, but feeling her now I wished she wouldn’t.
I grew harder every passing second. Looking at her, I could see her steeling herself for whatever violation I was about to enact, but this wasn’t the day. She was too eager to escape into her own mind. I wanted her, but I wanted her desire to blossom first. I needed her to feel guilty for wanting me. To feel sick for wanting me. Then I’d take her, and I’d take her hard until she was screaming my name. The thought alone made my groin pulse with suspense. I smiled, leaning in toward her neck. I kissed her, tasting her flesh with my lips first and then my tongue, licking up toward her ear. Her pulse thrummed against my mouth, nervous like a caged bird fluttering behind bars.
“Has the fight left you already?” I breathed into her ear.
“Just do it. If you’re going to do it, do it,” she demanded, her voice still strong. “Show me you’re exactly the monster I knew you were.”
“I am,” I whispered, moving my mouth to her shoulder.
She tasted innocent, despite the blood she’d shed. She didn’t taste rugged or bitter. She tasted sweet.Feminine. I migrated down her body, kissing trails along her back over both the scarred flesh and the smooth skin that created a valley of opposition down her length. She hated it. It was torturing her. I smiled inside, anticipating the point when her pulse no longer said she was enraged, but aroused. I continued kissing her bare back down toward the waistline of her pants. I hovered there for several moments, breathing heat over her skin, holding her nerves taught and listening to her pulse race. Only then did I stop, certain I’d pushed her hard enough for the day.
As if she knew that I wasn’t going to force myself on her any more than I already had, she shot up and shoved me off of her. I let her leap off the bed and out of my reach. She tugged her wet shirt back down over her body, concealing the intriguing array of ink and marred skin once more. Most of the scars had been covered in black tattoos, making her a collage of textures and shapes. Everly straightened her posture and spun around to face me, enraged but controlled. She was good at internalizing. Still, her pulse said it all. I smirked.
As Everly walked out of the room, I could see defeat in her steps. She was contemplating how to deal with the fact that I could do whatever I wanted to her and she couldn’t stop me. That knowledge for someone so used to being the victor was a harsh blow, I was sure. In fac
t, the idea had me hot with want. With her gone, I returned to my still hot bath, internally chuckling as I recalled every one of her reactions. Submersed in the water, I leaned my head back to relax, closing my eyes and licking the remnants of Everly off my lips.
Human, I thought to myself. The female is human.
Mortals of Earth with their short lives and selfish, fearful tendencies. It was hardly attractive. Then again...Everly was not selfish or fearful. Perhaps that was why she intrigued me, and why my urge to break her was so potent. Some part of me wanted to prove that she was just human, despite her perceived bravery and selflessness. All humans could be broken. All humans could be frightened into submission. Everly, though, was resilient. She defied me every chance she had, knowing each time that she would lose. Her rebellious personality was haunting.
My hand slid down my body to the granite-hard erection that hadn’t yet subsided. Taking my cock in my hand, I imagined Everly beneath me again, laying on her back, her wet hair spread out around her head. Her bare flesh against mine. I could hear her breath catch the moment I entered her in one, hard thrust. I devoured the sight of her, driving so deep that no man in the world would be able to touch her the same way again. I could practically feel her nails scoring my back as I claimed her. I could taste her flesh as I bit her neck. Sweet and spicy at the same time.
My hand slid along my shaft, each stroke escalating the vision I was writing in my head. Everly Ghlass. A feminine killer with a delicate body trained for harsh things. Her smell lingered as if she was still in the room with me and I found myself enjoying the thought of being inside her more than I was enjoying my hand on my cock. It was Everly’s imaginary moans that finally forced my climax. I broke beneath the vision of our bodies joined in ecstasy and once the final wave of my release had gone, I opened my eyes with the disturbing realization that the woman interested me in more ways than I wanted to admit.
I took my time in my private quarters after I washed and dressed. I forced away my reckless fantasies and reverted back to imagining ways to chisel her down. Letting a human infect my thoughts in such a way, even for just a moment, was irritating. I braided my damp hair loosely behind my neck and stepped out as the day grew later, making my way to the dining hall to find food. Part of me wished Everly would cross my path so I could taunt her with a stripping stare or a sensual touch, but another part of me hoped she might have locked herself away in her room so I wouldn’t have to face any distractions for the rest of the day.
Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1) Page 11
