Page 104 of Lethal King

Hell, something inside me is almost glad not to be alone anymore. I’ve been waiting in this bed, all chained up, for what feels like hours now. And all of that time, I’ve been desperately trying to fight away a mountain of dread.

I’m worried sick about Tytus. Fuck. To my irritation, I’m even a little concerned about Drago.

Did they escape the tunnel too? Or are they still buried beneath the carnage?

My heart sinks.

I hate that I actually care about Drago’s fate.

But not as much as I hate that I don’t want to flinch away from Rian’s earthy musk as he approaches—even if it’s only because I know he’ll momentarily distract me from my own dark thoughts.

“Will you leave me the fuck alone?” I blindly lash out.

“Unlikely,” the lion says. With surprisingly tender hands, he slips the black bag off my head.

For a moment, I’m stunned by an influx of light.

But I can still spot a shape standing beside me. His shape.

“You killed them,” I spit.

Despite how dry my throat is, I still manage to gather some saliva. It smacks against Rian’s chiseled cheek.

Slowly, he comes into view. And I watch with disgust as he lets my saliva slowly drip down his jaw.

He doesn’t wipe it off right away. And when he does, it’s very slowly.

The animal.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles. “They killed about a dozen of my men in their escape.”

A momentary wave of relief washes over me.

It’s soon replaced by a molten anger.

“Good. I wish they had killed you too.”

“No, you don’t,” Rian shakes his head. “That’s an honor reserved for you, and you only.”

“If I weren’t shackled to this bed, I’d bestow that honor upon you right now.”

My chains tighten as I continue to test their strength. But we both know it hardly matters how strong they actually are. I’m still so weak. My head throbs with a dull ache. My lungs burn. My limbs are so sore I almost feel like cutting them off.

Dead weight, the lot of me.

“I’m sure you would,” Rian acknowledges.

With the back of his wet hand, he wipes off what remains of my saliva against me. A warm tingle crawls over my skin, bursting out from the point of contact. Rian’s rough hands are even warmer than I remembered.

I hate that I don’t hate that he just touched me.

“Hands off, creep,” I hiss. Lunging forward, I try to bite him. But I don’t even get close. My restraints are too tight.

The failure is all it takes for the claustrophobia to start settling in. My reality is bleak. I’m completely trapped. Utterly at the lion’s mercy—even more so than before.

Still, an unwelcomed pressure follows the fear. My toes curl, and a bolt of self-loathing flashes through me.

Rian’s wearing a tight white shirt and loose grey sweatpants. The shirt shows off his muscle-bound body, hiding just enough to tease what he looks like without it. His pants hardly hide a thing.