by Sara Page
I don’t care. “I hate it.”
Vis glares at me now and I feel a moment of petty satisfaction that I’ve managed to make things more difficult for him.
“Very well,” he relents after glaring at me for a long moment. Was he hoping to glare me into submission? “I will go and see if any other arrangements can be made for you.”
I don’t even try to smile; I know it won’t work on him. Instead, I meet and hold his eyes as I tell him, “Thank you.”
Vis’ lips curl back as if he’s going to snarl but Warrick growls, startling him. They seem to have some type of glare-off over my head, then Vis is shaking his head. Without another word he storms out of the room.
Once he’s gone, my gaze is drawn once more to the cribs and a violent shudder racks through my body. Disturbed or concerned, Warrick spins me around and hugs me close to him as if he’s trying to soothe me. He holds me as I struggle against the real possibility of giving birth here. Of my children being born in darkness.
Born in darkness.
No, I can’t let it happen. I can’t let my children enter the world like that. I owe it to them to get us out of here.
But how? There’s an entire Ravager army outside the walls, plus the Devourer to deal with. I could wait around for someone to come rescue me but how long could it take? I could give birth well before help ever gets here.
Warrick’s hands stroke down my back and I look up to see his face tight with concern for me. I think he really cares.
He makes a sound, almost like he’s trying to speak but ends up only scowling with frustration. The way he is looking at me I get the feeling he was trying to ask me something.
I take a chance and answer what I think he was trying to ask by saying, “Thank you. I am feeling much better.”
His face lights up, literally. His eyes flare and his lips spread, revealing straight perfect teeth in a bright smile.
I can’t help but smile back because I realize he’s my best chance out of here, and I’m going to use him.
* * *
I don’t know how long we just stand here, staring at each other, learning each other’s faces. Time ticks by. I marvel at the darkness of Warrick’s skin, at the smoothness of it. Why is he so dark? Why is he so different?
There are so many questions I want to ask. So many questions running through my head I feel like I’ll go mad if I don’t get answers to some of them. But once more I’m in a situation where our communication is limited. After my experience with Beast, I know I’ll have to find clever ways to form my questions into yes or no answers.
Slowly it dawns on me while I’m staring into his eyes that we’re alone, truly alone for the first time. The door is closed. There’s no one to protect me, no one to witness whatever might happen here.
The smile fades from his lips. The air between us thickens. His eyes darken.
Warrick pulls me closer until I’m flush against his hard chest.
His hands stroke slowly down the bare length of my arms, raising all the little hairs.
My heart flutters with apprehension. I know I need to convince him to help me, that I need to use this connection between us to make my escape. But I can’t be intimate with him, I just can’t. I can’t let this… us… go there.
His chin dips and his fingers wrap around my shoulders as if he means to hold me still.
I take a deep, calming breath, willing myself not to pull away as his face looms closer. “Did I Call you?” I ask as his lips nearly meet my lips.
Warrick pauses, caught by surprise by the sudden question. His gaze burns into me with blazing intensity as he slowly nods his head, and even though I know that could be the only answer I taste the bitterness of more helplessness and despair.
I Called him. I did this. Somehow, someway, I reached out to him and urged him to find me. I don’t even know how I did it, or why I did it. I’m not even sure it’s something I can control. Actually, I know it’s something I can’t control because if it was I wouldn’t have done it. If I could just control this stupid Calling thing I wouldn’t be here.
Warrick’s face softens towards me with sympathy, and I feel his fingers tighten around my shoulders, my only warning before his mouth is pressing against my mouth with the most tender care.
He kisses me delicately, his lips so soft, so feathery light as if he’s afraid I’ll break while he explores me. He’s so big, so strong and so damn overwhelming, he could easily overpower me but he doesn’t.
Every touch, every caress feels like he cherishes me. That I’m something precious.
I’m still as he explores me, learning the taste of me. This kiss is too chaste. Much too purposeful to bring out any real passion in me but I feel myself just easing into it.
As if he can read my mind, or just senses my lack of enjoyment, his lips brush swiftly across my lips, creating a spark.
I gasp. There it is, that electrical sensation I’ve been missing. The proof —or more precisely—the evidence that we’re fated. That somewhere, something has determined we’re meant to be.
Or more likely that I’m doomed to doom him.
I jerk back, momentarily tearing my lips away from the shock of it. I didn’t even realize that piece was missing. Didn’t think it was something I could feel with him. But now that it’s there it’s impossible to forget. Impossible not to seek out more of the lovely sensation.
Warrick makes a sound in his throat, a needy guttural sound, before pulling me back and recapturing my mouth. He kisses me now with desperate need. Pulling at my lips like a man dying of thirst. Like a man drowning in his need of me.
His fingers tighten even more, digging into me almost painfully. He’s no longer holding me in place, he’s keeping me from escaping. And I’d flee if every nerve in my body wasn’t suddenly magnetically drawn to his body with a force I struggle to resist.
He’s changing as he kisses me. Transforming. No longer delicate and in control, his lips move over my lips hungrily. There’s less restraint, less care.
More force and more want.
He tastes the corners of my mouth, and his tongue traces the line where my lips meet. Seeking. Probing for a weakness.
Back, he bends me. Pressing, urging me to open for him.
That spark has ignited something inside him, ignited a fire inside me, kindled in my core. My blood is warmer, flowing more easily. Pumping, throbbing.
He’s changing me. I no longer fear him. I want him.
I arch my body towards his body, feeling hot and feverish. My mouth opens eagerly for his tongue. I have this insane, irrational desire to have him inside me. To join with him.
He plunges right in, tongue conquering what is his. As our tongues meet there’s this incredible jolt of mind-stopping sensation.
I cry out in his mouth.
The door flies open, startling the both of us.
Mouth tearing away from mine, Warrick pulls me protectively against his chest and wraps his arms around my shoulders. My lungs burn as if I’d just run a great distance. I struggle to catch my breath.
What the hell was that?
Warrick turns with me in his arms as if he means to shield me.
I catch a glimpse of Vis standing in the doorway, glaring at us with red eyes screaming murder. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”
I don’t answer at first, still trying to catch my breath, and I’m pretty sure Warrick isn’t going to verbally answer the question. Losing his patience, Vis’ murderous gaze seems to zoom in on me and he snarls. “I’ve secured your new accommodations.”
Warrick growls threateningly, his chest vibrating against my cheek.
Finding my voice, I squeak out, “Thank you.” Well aware that I owe Vis a great deal of gratitude. Not only for meeting my demands, but for also walking in and interrupting us.
A shiver travels down my spine as I realize just how close I came to screwing everything up in the heat of the moment.
My thanks, however, only seems to fu
rther piss Vis off. His lips compress into a thin line and he whirls around, stomping out of the room.
Over his shoulder he calls out. “I hope you like red.”
Chapter Nine
After pulling away from Warrick and putting some much needed distance between us, I sweep out of the room to find Vis waiting a short distance down the hallway. Behind me the door slams shut and my step quickens. I feel a little bit like a coward running from Warrick but I desperately need distance between us.
As soon as Vis lays eyes upon me, he spins on his heel and takes off, leaving me to keep up or not. Doing to me exactly what I’m trying to do to Warrick.
I need the space. I need for whatever just happened, this intense magnetism that has awakened, to fade away. If Warrick touches me again, if he’s close enough for me to reach him, I’m afraid of what will happen. I just might ravish him. I can’t give in, I can’t. There’s too much riding on me being able to earn his cooperation.
If I join with Warrick, if I accept him, then he could very well turn into an overbearing, overprotective ass, just as Beast and Striker did. What incentive would he have for helping me escape? Would he even take my feelings or thoughts into consideration? It’s doubtful. Once accepted, he’d likely feel like it’s his duty, his right, to do what he thinks is best for me, regardless of my opinion. Then what? What would keep him from believing that what’s best for me is being right here, where he can keep me all to himself?
I can’t accept him. Not inside my heart, and certainly not inside my body. But I need to somehow convince him there’s a chance that I will. I just don’t know how I can do it. Before there was chemistry between us, the deception seemed so much easier. Actually possible. If only that spark didn’t just happen. If only I could trust my body not to betray my will.
My new room isn’t far. It’s just a quick jot down the hall and around the corner before Vis is pushing open a heavy dark door. I follow him over the threshold without really thinking about it, feeling ignorantly safe with Warrick behind me. But as soon as the door shuts, cutting me off from Warrick, I realize my mistake.
I spin around, my immediate instinct is to pull open the door but Vis is leaning against it, blocking me.
“Is this room to your liking, princess? Or should I inform King Zar that this one won’t do either?”
The question is a clear challenge with a strong undercurrent of danger to it. I take a step back and re-examine my opponent. It’s as if Vis wants me to dislike this room, that he wants me to continue to act the spoiled princess. The way he’s looking at me, the eager way his posture is leaning towards me, the way his fingers are twitching, I get this feeling he’s practically daring me to do it.
I can’t accept the room outright without looking at it. Yet I hate to turn my back towards him. I already feel painfully vulnerable so I just cast a quick glance over my shoulder to get a peek of the room. There is indeed a great deal of red, crimson to be specific. The walls are painted a deep, vibrant crimson, and the color seems to bleed down, darkening as it flows to the floor until it’s so concentrated it appears to be black. There’s a massive bed with intricately carved bedposts, but no cribs.
The lack of cribs is a huge relief. I nod my head at Vis and inform him, “I have no objections.”
Vis snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
The door groans as Warrick tries to push it open. Vis slams it back. “Just a minute, Warrick.” An angry grunt sounds out from the other side of the door.
I frown. Why is he doing that? “It’s fine. Really.”
Vis curses under his breath as he jerks forward. He slams back just as it sounds like Warrick is crashing into the door.
“Do you have need for anything else?” Vis asks and gives me a harassed look as he struggles to hold the door shut.
Warrick must be trying to force the door open. Knowing his size and strength, I take a step back half expecting him to break through it at any moment.
At first I can’t fathom why Vis is keeping Warrick out. Unless this some kind of test?
“No,” I answer and shake my head. “I only desire some rest. This has all been very… tiring and taxing.” To say the least.
Vis scowls at me now. I guess that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. He grunts and flexes, straining against the force of the door. I take the opportunity to let my eyes roam over his form, appraising what I can see. He’s just as tall as Warrick, just not quite as bulky. Covered in obsidian armor, if he’s able to hold Warrick back he must be pure, muscled strength beneath it.
Warrick slams into the door again and I swear I hear a snap, like something is about to break but Vis just continues to glare at me.
Finally, I sigh and ask, “Aren’t you going to let him in?”
Vis perks up now. “Do you want me to?”
Honestly, no. But I have to answer, “Yes,” because I need him.
“Why?” Vis asks, and unfortunately I’m at a complete loss on how to answer him. Do I lie? I get the feeling he will see right through it.
“Why?” Vis asks again, growing more aggravated and impatient.
My throat tightens. I don’t know how to answer him. I hate what I’m planning to do. It leaves me feeling hollow and empty, and like a complete bitch.
Warrick growls menacingly and pounds on the door. It’s clear now that the reason Vis is doing this is because he suspects something.
“Please let him in,” I plead softly. The longer I’m trapped with Vis, the more uncomfortable I am. I feel like if it were up to him I’d already be dead.
And the longer Warrick pounds on the door, the stronger the urge to open it for him becomes. I want to be separated from him yet I don’t. I’m torn. I feel incredibly anxious without him, and I fear it’s more than wanting him to shield me from Vis.
Refusing, Vis sharply shakes his head. “Why?”
A half-truth seems to be my only option. “Because I need him.”
Vis looks me dead in the eyes as he asks. “Are you going to accept him?”
No, I can’t.
Before I can hide what I’m thinking, Vis reads it in my eyes and says with certainty. “You’re just going to use him.”
I want to deny it, I want to assure him I won’t, but it would just be a waste of breath.
I’m evil. I’m a bitch. I hate myself a little but I have to do it.
“You’re just like the rest,” Vis says with disgust while angrily throwing himself back as Warrick tries once more to barge his way in.
“I don’t want to use him,” I answer because it’s not a choice I’d make if I didn’t have to. For the time being though there are no other options or choices. I have to do this, even if it means possibly hurting him. I have to get out of here. Somehow, someway I have to get back.
“I’ll kill you if you hurt him,” Vis threatens before stepping to the side and allowing the door to open.
Warrick rushes in. Eyes wild, he snorts and stomps around until his attention lands on Vis. Thundering up to him, Warrick shoves Vis back with his puffed out chest. Vis takes it, only flinching when Warrick gets up in his face and blasts a roar at him.
For a moment I fear there will be a physical confrontation but Vis remains still, passive. Just taking it.
No sudden movements.
Warrick roars one last time in Vis’ face, sounding half-beast, half-demon. They stare each other down, having another one of their silent conversations. I’m not sure what passes between them but they seem to come to an understanding.
It all seems to happens so quick.
Warrick suddenly spins around. His eyes land upon me and a look of utter relief washes over his features. For a second there he looked the part of the monster. His face twisted up, his teeth bared, looking like the thing I always feared was hiding under my bed. But as soon as he sees me everything about him softens.
He stomps forward and I’m frozen, unable to take a step back. Unable to save myself. Resistance feels futile.
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Grabbing me up, Warrick crushes me in his grip. Pulling me into his chest as if he could meld our bodies together and make me one with him.
“Can’t breathe,” I squeak out but Warrick doesn’t seem to hear it. He buries his face in my hair, breathing in my scent while spots dance in front of my eyes due to the lack of oxygen.
It’s Vis that speaks up for me, “You’re suffocating her, idiot.”
I guess he doesn’t want me dead.
Yet.
Instantly, Warrick’s grip loosens and he pushes me away just enough to look me in the face. He makes a pained sound that pulls at my heart and I have the strongest urge to soothe him. To make him feel better.
“It’s okay,” I smile weakly up at him, both disturbed and touched by his distress.
He frowns so deep the corners of his lips nearly touch his chin. On an impulse I reach up, stroking his cheek.
“Everything is okay,” I attempt again to reassure him. Everything is far from okay but I need him to calm down. His distress, for whatever reason, is only causing me distress.
Warrick purrs, closing his eyes, and rubs his cheek against the palm of my hand. Relaxing into my touch, his chin drops and he looks totally at peace. I focus on the feel of him, of how perfectly his skin slides against my skin, and push everything else away. Soothing him seems to be soothing me.
It’s not until my hand begins to tingle, warning me that it’s about to go numb, that I pull my hand back.
Warrick’s eyes snap open, questioning.
“I’m tired,” I sigh and feel myself slumping forward, deflating.
Once more I’m swept up into Warrick’s arms and he carries me to the bed. I offer no protest, even for the sake of appearances. I’m much too appreciative, this last bit of excitement has been too draining.
Gently, Warrick lowers me down and then takes a seat on the edge. I raise myself up on my elbows and watch him begin to unsnap hidden buckles on his shoulders. There’s a couple of clicks and pops before he peels what appears to be a thin piece of plating away from his chest and lowers it to the floor. I knew his chest was too hard to be skin.
