Scars. Not one, but many. And Mala suspected that not one of them counted. Blood by rape was not an offering; it was an offense of the worst sort, to the human who suffered it and the goddess who witnessed it. But this time Mala was the one who was silent, because his rage had turned cold again, and now he would decide—to honor her preference, or not. To bend her over this table, or not. But no matter what he did to her, it would not be the same as had been done to him. Because this submission would be her choice. No one forced her.
His gaze like ice, he gathered up the long leash and tossed it up over a ceiling beam. He hauled back on the leather, dragging Mala’s arms up over her head, until she was pulled up onto her toes. The sleeves of her cloak slipped down over her leather bracers, bunching at her elbows. He tied off the leash at her bound wrists.
“Now stay,” he said softly and sat at the table again.
Like a dog. Or a horse. Mala almost laughed, but hearing the same reaction coming from the soldiers kept her quiet. With her back to the common room, she hung from the ceiling beam, suspended with most of her weight on her arms and the rest supported by her toes. Uncomfortable, though not terribly. As punishment, it wasn’t the worst she’d ever suffered.
She glanced down at Kavik. Pewter scraped over wood as he dragged her flagon to his side of the table and drank. Cooling his anger, perhaps. She still couldn’t see how he needed to be tamed.
And she liked him just as well as she had while tending to him after the revenants’ attack. Even better now. She’d taken him for an honorable warrior when he’d stood his ground against the creatures, despite the overwhelming risk. Nothing he’d done since had dissuaded her of that opinion. Instead he’d only cemented it.
She would not regret spending her moon night beneath him. There would be no mere submitting to his attentions. She looked forward to them and fully intended to take her pleasure.
Mala hoped to give him pleasure, too. It would be no hardship. His hair was thick and dark, and his mouth so fine. She liked his teeth, so even and white, and imagining their bite sent a hot shiver racing through her. He no longer smelled like death, but soap and smoke, and she wondered if the taut skin of his neck would taste the same as the skin over his sinewy thigh. Soon she would find out, and trace every rigid muscle with her tongue.
She had always loved strength. All her life, she had fought to increase her own. She wasn’t like her cousin Laina, the first High Daughter and heir to the Ivory Throne, whose line had been blessed by Hanan’s seed and who could defeat a dozen warriors with barely an effort. Mala could never equal that—and if the worst happened, if Mala ever had to take Laina’s place, she would never be as strong. But she had trained and practiced, so that ever if it did occur, she would have as much strength to offer her people as possible.
Now she recognized the same dedication within Kavik, who had not defeated the revenants because his ancestor had been fucked by a god but because he constantly fought to keep himself strong. To protect others. Perhaps to protect himself, too. His path had obviously not been an easy one.
Whatever came of this quest, Mala hoped it made his path less painful to walk. As he tipped his head back to drain the last of the ale, she wondered, “So this is what a taming consists of? I merely have to make you wait for me to finish a meal.”
“No.” Gaze unfocused, he stared down into the empty vessel. “If your task was to make me wait for you, your quest would already be done.”
She frowned her confusion, then recalled that he’d said something similar while struck by the battle madness. I waited for you, little dragon. Every night, I dreamed of you. And now I will have you.
Perhaps it had not been madness. “How long did you wait?”
Face hardening, he shook his head. “You are tamed. You should remain silent.”
“Holding one’s tongue is not what it means to be tamed,” she said. “If it were, my quest would have been completed during our supper, when you barely spoke a word. Now, will you signal Selaq for another flagon? I grow thirsty.”
His gaze flicked up to her bound wrists. “How will you drink it?”
“I have many talents, warrior. One is that I can carry an ale to my mouth with my feet,” she said, and the corners of his mouth twitched before his lips set in a firm line. There. Still angry. But not unreasonable. “I am surprised you do not have me on my knees.”
His humor vanished. “What?”
“Were you not showing me what you believe taming means? You started with a promise to fuck me. Now I only hang here. And although you wait until my moon night, fucking is not all I can do.”
The vein throbbed in his temple again. “You want to service me on your knees? In front of them?”
The soldiers. Mala didn’t even look in that direction. “I care nothing of what they think or say.”
Only of what Kavik thought and said. But he said nothing now, and she couldn’t read his face, except to know that his expression was like cold steel again.
Mala sighed. “I imagine it is too dangerous for you. Who needs leather and a collar? A man’s leash grows between his legs. I would only have to tug on it a few times to make you mine.”
“Then a woman’s leash must be much shorter.”
She laughed. “So it is. And harder to find.”
His hand shot out and snagged her belt. Surprise stopped her laugh when he dragged her toward him, the leash twisting as it rolled along the ceiling beam. Her thighs hit the edge of the table, but he continued pulling. Suddenly breathless, Mala swung her feet up and planted them beside his flagon.
Kavik shoved aside her sword and knives. Strong fingers gripping her hips, he settled her in front of him—with Mala sitting on her heels, and her arms still stretched overhead, but almost all of her weight on the balls of her feet.
He swept her cloak open. The red fabric pooled on the table around her. Her breath stopped when he pushed her knees wide.
“How many tugs?” he asked softly, but his voice held the edge of a blade. “How many tugs until you’re mine?”
Her heart thundered. “I don’t know. No one has had me.”
“I will.” His long fingers untied the sides of her molded leather cuirass. “And I will not be the one who is tamed.”
He would. Perhaps not today. But she would not fail in her quest.
Until then, she would take her pleasure in being with him. Her breasts felt tight and heavy when her armor loosened. He couldn’t remove the cuirass, not with her arms bound over her head, but he didn’t need to. At her waist, his hands slipped beneath the armor and linen undercloth that protected her from chafing. Warm callused palms scraped over her ribs, drawing a shudder of breath from her lips. Her skin seemed afire beneath his.
And by the gods, his face was the finest sight. There was no ice now. Only heat, as arousal joined the anger. His gaze followed the path of his hands, as if he could see her skin and his fingers beneath the armor.
But although her nipples ached for his touch, he could go no higher without ripping the cuirass apart. Perhaps that was for the best. The sharpest ache centered lower.
His burning gaze rose to hers as his hands slowly journeyed to her belt. Panting softly through parted lips, she didn’t look away from his face as he whisked away her furs. Cooler air kissed the skin of her inner thighs. Though her knees were spread wide, the soft loincloth tied around her waist hung between her legs and concealed her from his sight.
But not from his fingers. His hand slipped beneath the cloth and found slick, bare flesh. Oh, sweet gods. Her head fell back, and she couldn’t stop her moan—didn’t want to stop it. By Vela’s blood, she wished it were the full moon.
A roughened growl penetrated her bliss. “You’re already drenched.”
Disbelief filled his voice. With a breathless laugh, she looked to him again. “What did you expect? I have wanted you since the maze, warrior.”