Page 75 of White Raven

Tension pumped through our bodies, every second tapping with the click of the horse’s footfalls. His muscles were tight, like he was waiting for a blade to be buried in his gut. Curling my fingers around it, I slowly lowered the knife. My shoulders sinking in defeat, silently answering his challenge. My fate was set. It was time I faced the consequences of my failure.

He spoke, startling me, and slipped off the saddle, his boots hitting the dirt. “We’ll stop here for the night.”

“We’re less than thirty miles away.” I wanted the torment over. To just be over the territory line, where the situation would be out of my control.

As usual, he didn’t answer, leading the horse off the road into a rolling meadow guarded by enough trees to use as protection, the clouds covering the sky, blocking the little light at the horizon.

“We’ll get an early start in the morning.” He unhooked the saddlebags, walking to a flat area and setting them down.

Scooping up Munch, I put him in the only good pocket I had left and dismounted. Cringing in pain, I felt every muscle achy and sore, my bladder full, my stomach empty. I stretched my limbs, watching Onyx build a fire, taking in the way he fashioned the wood to get the flames going quickly.

“What?” He glanced over at me.

“Nothing.” I crouched down on a rock, putting my hands up to the flames. “I trained for so many different situations and outcomes. But what’s funny is, I never learned to build a fire or how to catch and cook food, to survive in the wilderness on my own.”

“Probably figured you’d always have servants and thralls around to do that for you.” His eyebrow curved up, a poignant smile hinting on his lips, both of us getting the irony.

“Seems so.” I smiled back.

“Come here.” He nodded to the spot next to him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna learn to build a fire.”

“Why? You already have one going.” I motioned to the flames.

“Because someday you might not have a thrall around.” He motioned for me to come to him. He put me in front of him, leaning into my ear, his voice gravelly. “Plus, you are my thrall. Build a fire for your master, kanin.”

Heat flushed into every crevice, prickling the hair down my arms. I longed to be disgusted, to be offended by his comment, but nothing in me was.

I lowered to my knees, picking up the material he gathered from the brush, copying the formation he’d built. He moved around me, watching my every move, nodding in approval or huffing in dissatisfaction when I went wrong.

I brought the sticks into a triangle formation. It took me ten tries, but I finally lit my smaller fire with a twig, the flames licking at dry brush, heating my arms. A smile burst over my face in pride, looking for approval.

The intensity of his gaze shuttered through me, forcing me to suck in.

I swallowed roughly; my tone raspy. “Does my master approve?”

His jaw tightened, the flames flickering in his obsidian irises, appearing like a wild animal stalking in the brush.

We stood in between worlds, a place we could make believe we weren’t on opposing sides, where we belonged to no one, and no duties bound us.

We were our own masters and thralls.

“Kanin . . .” My nickname was a growl, a sound more than a word, penetrating through my bones. He treaded toward me, his entire figure rigid with tension.

My pulse fluttered against my neck, pounding in my chest, sending a thrill through my body. Need pulsed between my thighs, the craving to be feral and ruthless, forgetting everything I had been through. The need to tear through someone’s skin, rolling in the blood we spilled.

He stepped up to me still on my knees, his hand gripping my chin, tugging it up to look at him, his eyes so dark I couldn’t even see his pupils. His cock thickened, outlining massively against his trousers. The sudden need to tug them down, drive this menacing man to his knees.

My frame trembled at my thoughts, my breath struggling to reach my head. His hold on my jaw pinched down, as though he sensed what I wanted to do. As if he was fighting the need to command my mouth to part for him.

His chest heaved, his eyes searching mine, looking for any sign of what I wanted.

I didn’t want to think about the right or wrong, the regret and shame I’d find later. The deep hate and mistrust between us. I wanted to live in this suspended world, where we weren’t enemies, forbidden, and depraved.

His nose flared, seeing something in my eyes, his grip letting go of my chin. His hand skated through my newly cut locks, playing with the ends before gripping the back of my head. The slight tug went straight to my core, my nipples hardening.