Fire Kissed: A Rejected Mates Romance (The Rejected Realms Series Book 2)

by A. K. Koonce

  He clears his throat hard and looks away, my own reaction mirroring his as I slink down into the warm bath. His big hand pushes down his beard. To my surprise, he comes closer. His boots scuff over the stone floor until he’s at the edge of the carved pool.

  “I—”

  “I want to see Latham and Aric,” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it.

  I steel my spine for a fight. I won’t drop it this time. I refuse.

  He doesn’t even look at the determination in my eyes though. There’s too much of a defeated pull to his wide shoulders that seems to drag a single word out of him:

  “Okay.”

  My steely spine wavers like fresh jello . . .

  What?

  “What?” I echo, with confusion lacing each letter of that tiny word.

  “Get dressed,” he orders.

  And then he walks away. He strides right out like he’s on a sudden mission, and I find myself staggering after him on wet, slick steps. In the bedroom, I grab his sheet and wrap it around myself, his glare catching on his sopping wet bedding instantly.

  “That was my fucking sheet,” he howls, his hand thrusting between us to motion to said wet sheet.

  “You’ll take me to them?”

  “I said get dressed, not ruin my godsdamn bedding.”

  My mouth opens to direct him back to the issue at hand, but then I see it. Long lines of lashing wounds cover his right side. His chest is bare and damp . . . And bloody. Fresh blood trickles from one red line, and I’m rushing around him to see what I already know is there.

  My mouth falls. Deep wounds cut across his broad shoulders. They slash down his back all the way to the small of his hips.

  “She whipped you,” I say on an empty voice.

  Shaking fingers reach out to him. I barely graze a section of smooth, red skin when he pulls away. He turns quickly to face me, hiding the bleeding lashing from my accusing sight.

  My glare hits his gaze, but he diverts his attention to the big, carved wardrobe near the bookshelf. Without much thought, he grabs a black shirt and tugs it roughly over his head, wincing only slightly once the cloth settles on his back. With that rough caveman demeanor, he jerks another dark shirt from the wardrobe and tosses it at me.

  “Get dressed,” he barks.

  The sheet falls from my hands and I go through the motions of dressing. He doesn’t look at me in my nudity. He can’t even meet my eyes. The energy that’s always sparking between us is soft and painful now. I want to wrap my arms around him and shield him from life.

  It’s then that I realize my tormentor is just as much a prisoner as I am.

  And now I want to protect him more than ever.

  5

  Mine

  Rhys

  The stone corridor we trail through is more of the castle than I’ve seen in the entire three days that I’ve been here. Torben storms through the quiet passage on quick steps that I rush after to keep up with. The shirt he gave me skims around my thighs, and I’m not complaining that I’m not prancing around in one of Hela’s gowns, but we could really invest in pants at the moment. Mostly, I keep catching hints of his scent against my shoulders. The deep, drowning smell of a riptide is all around me. I don’t know why it’s a heartbreaking smell. Wild and free.

  And yet, not.

  Another lantern light flickers up ahead, but just like the last one, he claps his hand over the top until the wicker flame snuffs out. White smoke billows out a faint scent, a reminder of what Torben is hiding in plain sight:

  Me.

  I stride after him, his brooding features tossing over his shoulder to check on me every three to five seconds. Another anxious and frustrated huff shakes out of the enormous warrior until finally, a big hand clutches mine.

  It seems sweet at first. Until . . .

  My leather boots stumble across the smooth flooring as he jerks me along.

  “We have to hurry,” he grumbles and pulls me along after him.

  “Yeah, I got that!” I hiss at him.

  “Shhh,” he says, and even that somehow comes out in an angry grunt of sound.

  He keeps his seething, narrowed eyes on me, and I keep running my tail off to keep up until he stops glaring . . . And I keep running.

  I swing around the corner, and only his hold on my hand rescues me as my wide eyes land on the long limbs of the thinnest man I have had the terrible misfortune to ever meet.

  Serpan.

  Torben boomerangs my ass back around the corner so hard that I’m thrust into his chest. My body aligns with his, and in a slamming second, he turns, pinning me against the wall and shadowing me out of sight beneath his enormous frame. Serious, green orbs stare down on me. His warm breath fans over my lips, my own breath coming in anxious heaves I can’t contain. Rough fingers push over my mouth. I swallow down the fear that’s bubbling up in my chest.

  Torben’s weight covers me, and I don’t know why it calms me. His chest pressing to mine, his hand against my mouth, every single delicious part of us is aligned in this moment. It’s the strangest thing to find comfort in his body. He truly is a hellish warrior; made entirely of hard muscle and killer intent. Would he kill to protect me?

  The tainted darkness in his eyes says yes.

  “Well, well, well, the kitten is out to playyyy,” a voice like cold poison in my veins says suddenly.

  My heart falters with too much fear.

  Torben’s eyes widen in the shadows, and as he lifts his gaze to Serpan’s, I thrust my leg up high, my shirt riding up as my leg locking around his lean hip, and my sex pressing very, very firmly against Torben’s crotch.

  If I thought his eyes couldn’t get wider, I was fucking wrong.

  With his hand still covering my lips, his attention drifts down to how precarious I now look beneath his big body. My chin tips up high. A pleading look is all I give him.

  He no longer appears to be protecting me. He appears to be using me. And I don’t know why this sensual closeness feels just as good with him. I have to stop myself from rolling my hips against his delicious body. My lashes flutter at the thought and the ache between my thighs is all too apparent.

  “Care to sharrrrrre,” Serpan slithers, his sharp teeth showing a disgusting smile that not even a mother could love. Long fingers reach out to me, twisting a lock of my blonde hair. His tongue slips out, nearly grazing my cheek. Vomit rises at the back of my throat as I jerk my head away.

  And then cold air fills the space around me where Torben’s body heat once was.

  A scream lashes through the shadows as fire blazes bright, lighting up the dark with scorching intent. Torben’s fingers splay across Serpan’s face as he holds the man against the wall just to my right. Beady eyes strain to look my way. Torben’s strength flexes in his bulging biceps as he presses harder against the man’s skull.

  Another cry of pain and another flicker of Torben’s hot, fiery magic illuminates against Serpan’s bone like features.

  “Do not ever touch her. I’ll break your fucking slimy hand clean off before I share her. What’s mine is mine, Serpan.” When the slender man does nothing more than whimper beneath the warrior’s big palm, Torben slams his head into the wall even harder. “Do you understand?” he growls like a true creature of Hell.

  “Y—yyyessss,” Serpan whispers on quivering lips.

  He shoves harshly away from the man. “Get the fuck out of my sight,” Torben says before taking my hand in his and leading me casually away from the Queen’s slithering pet.

  After several staggering steps, I peer back just once, but we’re alone again.

  Torben smooths out his glorious beard like it’s really been ruffled during that strange scuffle. I can’t take my eyes off of him.

  What’s mine is mine.

  Emotions flood my cheeks until a shiver of that reckless confusion races up my arms.

  “You didn’t have to do that for me,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t have to pretend for me. He doesn’t hav
e to risk getting in trouble for me.

  “Didn’t do it for you, Princess.” He looks quickly down a side hall but keeps going to an unknown destination.

  I try to understand his words, but I can’t.

  “If you didn’t do it for me, why did you do it?”

  He stops dead in his tracks when we turn a corner, only to stand before an open balcony with no railing. The arching door leads out to a platform that overlooks the endless night. It’s a flat, dense, inky skyline. Not one single star shines bright. It’s a very fitting look of the night sky in the midst of Hell. Why would there be any stars in a place that has no hope?

  Somewhere out there is a Hellhound guarding this castle. And my sweet Hell cat as well.

  And to think, at one time, I wanted to save that hellish dog.

  Now I’m as much of a prisoner as he is.

  “I did it because you’ll never be like me. I’ll make sure of that. I did it for you as much as I did it for me.”

  At the sound of his rumbling voice, I realize I’m still holding his hand. Less than a few inches of space separate us, and I can’t help but turn toward him as a gust of cold wind flits in between us.

  “I thought you were the Queen’s lover.”

  Tension lines between his brow. “I am.”

  My head rears back, and I’m reconsidering every ounce of compassion I ever felt for this barbaric asshole.

  “Oh.” I pull my hand from his, and I know we’re literally standing at the edge of Hell here, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to leap to my death looking like a fool for holding his fucking hand. “So she’s your lover. And she beats you. And tortures your friends. Sounds like a peach. You’re so lucky to have her.”

  Wow, is my petty showing. Fuck it. Let it walk around nude, flipping the bird and being the salty bitch I know she is.

  “She . . . she captured me, Rhys. I’m . . . whatever she says I am: Her lover. Her pet. Her victim. She owns me.” The depths of his eyes hold a dark place I can finally see clearly now. The pain there will never be let out. It’ll always reside hidden beneath every brooding, harsh look he portrays; all that anger just to hide the pain underneath. “My soul is not my own,” he whispers. “I’ve learned to accept that.”

  My friend, Petty, melts into a puddle, and my heart’s left to mop up my trembling emotions as I stare up at this beautifully haunted man.

  The roughness of his palm meets my fingertips as I pull his hand into mine and step closer and closer, until I’m arching up against his chest. My lashes close, my lips press to his cheek, and I feel the heavy breath that releases in his lungs. It fans across my neck with the weight of a big hand holding onto the small of my back tightly. He crushes me against him, and I can’t help but fling my arms around his shoulders and let him wrap himself up in the comfort of my body.

  I know what it’s like to just want to be held, to have the entire world pushing down on you, and all you want is to have someone protect your fragile body with theirs for just a little while.

  We stand like that in silence for a long moment, his hard chest melding against mine. The shirt he gave me has ridden up high, and I note just how dangerously close my bare hips are to his. What would it be like to finally give in to the confusing relationship we have? I could easily kick off from the ground right now and wrap my long legs around his lean hips.

  My guilty face lowers into the crook of his neck as I realize I’ve tainted something pure. He needs a friend.

  I need one too.

  And right now is not the time for dirty thoughts to rush into innocent moments like this.

  “Rhys, I need you to quit breathing in my ear like that before my cock gets any harder.” He releases me fast, his big hand lowering to adjust something very un-innocent.

  His throat clears hard, and he’s suddenly incredibly interested in the weird open door/death cliff to our left.

  Right. More important things are at hand here.

  Not his cock . . . Even if I can’t get the idea of it out of my head now.

  “This is—”

  “A portal.” I finish for him.

  He arches a thick brow at me, smoothing his beard slowly before nodding at my good guess.

  After cliff diving out of the human realm and free falling into the Realm of Hell, I’m starting to see that portals have a certain dramatic flair to them.

  “Where does it lead?” I ask quietly, the cool night wind catching my hair as I look out into the dense night sky.

  “Niflheim.”

  My eyes narrow.

  “Bless you,” I excuse him.

  “No.” He rolls his pretty green eyes at my apparent stupidity. “Niflheim is the realm below Hell.”

  My mouth opens and closes at that. “There are other realms beneath Hell?”

  The pictures of snakes and dragons from his book circle my mind. I can’t help but wonder if Niflheim has dragons and other rare creatures there.

  He nods again. “Worse realms. Realms for dishonored men and monsters.”

  Monsters . . .

  “Where we’re going isn’t safe. It is just as deadly as this realm but much more dangerous.”

  I blink at that. What does that even mean?

  “Stay by my side. Always question the shadows. And don’t think for a second you can charm these creatures the way you did the Garm.” He takes my hand in his, and I have so many questions, but ultimately, I know I have to listen to him. He isn’t my tormentor. He’s my friend and protector. Even if tomorrow, he’ll have to be my tormentor once again.

  My gaze focuses on the abyss. But I feel his eyes on me. I feel him warming me.

  Just when I peer up into the hidden part of him that he shows no one else, he leaps out over the edge, dragging me with him.

  And then we’re gone into the swirling, cold breeze.

  6

  Men and Monsters

  Rhys

  I can’t feel my limbs. My body doesn’t exist. Only my consciousness is prepared for the brutal landing I know will greet me once I’m spit out on the other side. I stiffen hard when light sparks into my vision, and the gray-white light startles me into the realization that I’m whole once again.

  Every muscle in my body clenches for the landing.

  But only strong arms and a warm chest rattle my teeth. My eyes open fully to find Torben cradling me. He stands tall against the earth, holding me to him like he’s prepared for literally every monster of life to come his way.

  Green eyes flick to mine, and I find myself with my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders once more. Except this time, his palm is spread wide across the smooth curve of my ass.

  That jaded gaze slides low to my lips.

  A sparking moment fills the heavy air.

  And then he drops me.

  The air knocks from my lungs as I stagger on my feet, my boots scuffing over the deep puddle beneath me. The warmth of his hand trails away from my back as he turns slowly to look out at the world we now stand in.

  Moisture burdens every breath I breathe, making it thick and cloudy in my lungs. A cough settles at the back of my throat, but I don’t dare make a sound.

  Not yet.

  The word “wasteland” comes to mind. The plains of the earth roll out into a vast, gray nothingness, only interrupted by mounds of broken mountains that end abruptly, only a hundred feet high. The dirt beneath my feet is muddy and void of vegetation.

  Nothing lives here . . .

  Then why are Aric and Latham here?

  “We need to head toward the City,” Torben grunts on the quietest grumble of a sound.

  The City . . .

  The rolling plains lead out to a looming and vacant horizon. Not even stars decorate the dark nothingness.

  I question his words once more, but just as before, I trust him to guide me.

  He’s the only friend I have in this world or the last, after all.

  The press of his hand against my back is fleeting as he ushers me forward. My boots slop
into the ground with every step I take, but for the most part, everything is silent.

  Eerily silent.

  “There’s a shadow to the right.” I nearly turn my head, but his following, stiff words stop me. “Don’t look at it. Sometimes the best thing you can do to combat monsters is to ignore them.” I let that sink in. “Sometimes it’s the worst thing you can do too.”

  I stumble a bit as that, too, sinks in.

  Well. Shit.

  Okay.

  I swallow hard, the hair at the back of my neck prickling up at the thought of something watching us—something I can’t look at, but I’m now all too aware is there.

  We trail out farther and farther, turning sometimes into the void of the land without landmarks to note along our way. The faith I put into the man leading me is unsurmountable. And when I look up at Torben’s total god-of-war appearance, I know I’m in good hands. I just wish we had consistency in our trust.

  He won’t tell me why Hela chose me. Or my mother, for that matter. He won’t tell me much of anything.

  But he also said I couldn’t see Aric and Latham, and yet, here we are. If I tread carefully, would he trust me enough to tell me more?

  “Could you have refused to bring me to Hell?” I ask after half an hour’s time must have faded away.

  He arches an eyebrow my way but tilts his head this way and that. The anger in him isn’t along the surface. He’s less tense now that we’re not in Hela’s realm. The realm of monsters is less dangerous for him, it seems.

  “No,” he finally confirms. Tension etching that word as he says it hard and certain. “If I’d have refused, Serpan would have simply gone in my place.”

  I nod along to that, and he wraps his arm fully around me when I lean into his side. It’s natural. Every move I make is a response of the language we speak without saying a single word. And his body reacts just as smoothly as mine.

  “What’s my mother’s relationship with Mordon?” My voice dips at the thought of my next question. “Is she like you are with Hela?”