Page 47 of Ravenrose

He doesn’t move.

Several long seconds pass, and I brace for his touch, fear and anticipation at war with dissociation.

His hand disappears from my throat right before his weight shifts, and then it’s gone entirely.

I steal a peek, and my eyes widen at the look of utter disdain in Ayer’s eyes as he glares down at me. I scramble backward, taking the opportunity to put more distance between us while keeping my eyes on him.

“I don’t touch fae,” Ayer sneers down at me, the look of hatred on his face morphing further into disgust the longer he looks at me.

Too stunned to move, I remain there, propped up on my elbows, silently watching him saunter around the bed to pick up his sword.

“Know this, Princess,” he says while belting the leather strap around his waist. “I might be the only soldier in this camp you don’t have to fear forcing you into his bed.”

I swallow hard, a lump catching in my throat when his gaze finds mine again. “But when it comes time for you to die…” His eyes bore into my own, his head tilting slightly to the side while the edge of his jaw sharpens like the steel of his blade.

He doesn’t say it—doesn’t have to. The promise is already there. I push myself up on shaky hands, my injured shoulder screaming from all his manhandling. I should be afraid. Moons, I should be terrified. And maybe I am—on some level—deep down. And maybe also a little relieved. He said he wouldn’t touch me, but then he promised to kill me in the same breath.

Why the fuck doesn’t he get it over with then?

He thinks he owns my life? That he can just… decide?

White-hot rage burns hotter than fear under my skin. My magic, too, is pissed, and it feels as though it's pacing the rune’s barrier like a caged animal.

Ayer’s dark rune burns hot at my wrist when it flares again.

I should keep my mouth shut, lie here and let him have his little win, but anger propels me forward, lifting my eyes and keeping them locked on his as I stalk forward.

I don’t know if the rune will let me, but I decide it’s worth risking debilitating pain once more. I raise my hand to slap him across his face, but Ayer catches my wrist before I can try it.

My eyes narrow and I glare up at him, trying to wrench my wrist free.

The surprise on his face quickly turns to fury. He thought he already had me on my knees.

He shoves me, my back slamming into one of the tent’s wooden support posts, and before I know it, he once again has both my hands pinned over my head with one of his own, while wrapping the other around my throat, his grip bruising.

I glare up at him, hatred burning in my veins.

Ayer leans in, his voice in my ear low and lethal. “Try that again, and I promise I will end you.”

My pulse drums against his tight hold. As if to emphasize his point, he increases pressure on my throat, further constricting my airway. My breaths shallow out, growing strained. I lift my gaze to meet his eyes, unblinking when I reply, “So. End. Me.”

I catch the flash of surprise on the captain’s face, so fleeting I might have missed it had I blinked.

“You want to die,” he says, looking down at me. It’s not a question.

With his hand still constricting my airway, I can only blink back at him. Would he really kill me right now? Judging by the look of malice in his eyes, I think he might.

In their hands, I’m a weapon—against my brothers, against my country. If I’m dead, they can’t use me, torture me, or whatever the hells they want to do to me.

Steadying my resolve, I dip my chin.

Once.

“Fine.” He releases me, and I take a much-needed gulp of air, tracking the movement of his hand as he reaches for the knife he’s got sheathed on his belt. It’s the same knife he took off me a few minutes earlier. The silver of the blade glints against the sunlight streaming in from above.

My gaze flickers between Ayer and his knife. His fingertips dance along its sharp edge playfully—far too nonchalantly.

“Fine?” I repeat, my tone hesitant, eyeing him with caution. Death is what I want, but once again, it’s too easy.