Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “You aren’t going back home, princess.” He glared down at me as his legs pressed into my thighs, the fabric of his cotton pants and T-shirt rubbing across my bare skin. My body responded with want, curving into him, greedy for more, which only made me angrier.

  “I am,” I seethed. “You have no say over me.”

  “Really?” he gritted, moving in closer. On purpose or not, the movement scraped his clothes against my core and nipples, filling me with blinding need. Stop, Brexley. You don’t even like him.

  Clenching my jaw, I funneled everything into hate. “Get. Off. Me.”

  He smirked, his hand coming to my throat, the pulse of his erection rubbing into me, spinning my head like a whirlwind, shooting out all my logic. His thumb grazed over the black and blue bruises he put there yesterday. His jaw twitched as he ran over them, fury lighting up his eyes.

  “Let me go.”

  “No.” His fingers trailed down my throat, firing another shot of adrenaline into my blood. With everything I had, I swallowed back the moan clawing up my throat. “You need me, Kovacs.” He pushed me into the wall harder, wetness slicking my core.

  Fuck, did I like this? What was wrong with me?

  “You would be still in prison if it wasn’t for me. Or dead.” He loomed even more fiercely.

  “Need you?” I spat, lifting my chin. “I don’t need a man who wants me dead.”

  His thumb ran up my neck. Slowly. Sensually. Threatening. “If I did, you would be. That was just me playing with you. Bought us more time.”

  “You choking me was just a little game?”

  His thumb sank down into my collarbone, and once again, I was overcome with the sensation of hands grazing up the back of my thighs.

  “Yes,” he replied. “And you liked it.”

  I sucked in sharply, feeling my body answer with an eager yes.

  “But make no mistake, I saved you. Your life is mine now. I own you.”

  “Nyasgem.” Fuck off. I felt my voice vibrate against his palm. “No one owns me.” I realized how easily I let Istvan give me over to the disgusting Romanian asshole. I didn’t fight, sensing it was out of my control.

  Owned. Weak. Submissive.

  I had been beaten, stabbed, starved, tortured, locked in a hole, whipped, and almost raped. I had survived it all.

  I wasn’t some little doll anymore.

  I was a killer.

  Going in innocent, considering myself tough, but I came out of Halalhaz as the monster they created.

  Feral and dangerous.

  And I wouldn’t be tamed.

  Adrenaline masked the pain in my body, so I curled my good leg around his, wrenching it hard. Warwick dipped to the side, giving me a moment to shove him back.

  “That all you got, princess?” He laughed, his frame barely registering my hit, which spiraled frenzy in my chest.

  A growl vibrated in my throat as I barreled forward. As if I was siphoning energy from him, I rammed into Warwick with a force I knew my fragile frame was not capable of in its condition. Warwick’s eyes widened slightly as he stumbled back, his arms flailing, his massive build dropping back.

  Splash!

  A wall of water sprayed into the room like stormy ocean waves, roaring and breaking as they came crashing back down, dumping on his head, spilling over the floor. His form folded into the bathtub.

  Holy shit, how did I do that?

  There was a pregnant pause as liquid dripped down his face, drops sticking to his lashes. His livid blue eyes shot up to mine, glinting with fire, his nostrils flaring. Slowly, his tongue slid out, sweeping up the water from his lip.

  Heat and terror flushed my stomach with hot and cold, but I kept my head up, holding on to my façade of strength.

  “I’m not property,” I snarled, keeping my voice low. “And if you try anything like that again, I will stab you in the throat. I’ve done it before…and I will do it again.”

  Before he could respond, I whipped around, going for the towel on the hook but seeing it was drenched with the water sloshing around my ankles. Damn it. With a grunt, I flung the door open, the prudish voices in my head screaming to cover up my bits when several people passed by.

  Pride won out. Plus, I doubted nudity even registered here.

  I stormed out of the room with my head held high, my message clear. Okay, I limped out, terrified of his retaliation, but I didn’t pause as I went to the room and slammed the door.

  Fuck Warwick Farkas. The moment I could get out of here, I was going home.

  Back to where I belonged. To my life and the man I loved.

  Chapter 28

  A few moments after entering the room, there was a knock on the door just before a figure burst through. I grabbed the bedspread, tugging it over me, building myself up for another attack from the Wolf.

  “Hey, luv.” Rosie sauntered in, her arms full of clothing.

  I exhaled, my shoulders sagging with relief, thankful it wasn’t Warwick slamming back into the room for revenge. I was far too exhausted to fight him again. I still had no idea how I had been able to push him over. He was a mountain, and in my weakened state, I shouldn’t have been able to move him at all.

  “Thought you might need something to change into.” She dumped the pile on the bed. I reached out, picking up a tiny silk tank, which had to be more of a nightshirt. “Went around to find someone more your size.” I guessed she meant bony, no curves, and small breasted—the complete opposite of her.

  I peered at her, feeling a stab of envy. Rosie was everything most men would desire. Stunning face, voluptuous in both hips and boobs. She rouged her cheeks a deep rose color, false eyelashes making her blue eyes pop. Their English Rose. The perfect sweet seduction.

  She was exactly the kind of woman I could see Warwick inviting into his bed. Surprised he hasn’t already. Probably just working down the list.

  I had never been insecure before. Most women in my world were envious of my slim figure. The skinnier, the better was the motto of the elite, who were entitled enough to starve themselves purposely. They lived in a place that had plenty of food, but they wanted to be thin. Here, people were starving; curves were worshiped.

  No one would envy how I looked right now. I wasn’t sexy in the slightest. Nor should my emaciated figure be envied. This wasn’t because I refrained from eating the biscuit at teatime, trying to hold on to my figure. This was a prisoner’s body.

  “Sorry there aren’t more options around here. Clothes aren’t important at Kitty’s, especially normal, everyday items.” She lowered her head as though embarrassed. “I’m sure you are used to much finer stuff.”

  “What do you mean?” I sat on the bed, my leg throbbing, my energy tanking.

  “It’s obvious you aren’t like us.” She shrugged a shoulder. “You are a proper lady.”

  “Proper?” I snorted. “What gave you that idea?”

  “A lot of our job is observing, figuring people out. It’s how I know what they want, even if they don’t. I can tell their ultimate desires. We pick up on even the tiniest of nuances.” She motioned to me. “The way you sit with your back straight, your hands in your lap. The way you talk. Hold yourself. You came from money, grew up educated and with decorum. These are all qualities you don’t find in this part of town.”

  I blinked, my gaze dropping to my hands folded in my lap. Etiquette had been drilled into me from an early age, and I didn’t even think about it. Pulling my hands apart, I reached for a piece of clothing, picking up a slip, which normally would go under another skirt. The thin white cotton was worn and frayed, but it was clean.

  “This is perfect, thank you.” I pulled the skirt into my lap, seeing the lacy undergarments beneath. I was a cotton-bikini-bottoms-and-sports-bra kind of girl. Swallowing, I picked up the black scraps of fabric. They were only for decoration; there was nothing to them, no support.

  “Sorry, no granny pants here.” Rosie snickered, winking at me. “If you’d rather borrow a bodice…”
>
  “No.” I shook my head firmly. I had worn dresses with bodice tops—they were worse than any torture device Halalhaz could think up. “This is fine.”

  “Thought so. I’m so used to them now; I feel naked without it.” She smiled, tugging the top of her bodice and stuffing her plump breasts back inside it. I tugged on the delicate lace thong, frowning at how little it covered. “Sooooo.” Her playful tone flicked up my head. She tapped her lip, her eyebrows curving. “I couldn’t help but overhear you and Warwick in the bathroom—”

  The door creaked open, stopping the rest of Rosie’s sentence, our eyes swinging to the entrance. Warwick stomped through, filling the space, loading the air with energy, causing shivers to run down my back. Commanding. Dominating.

  I knew I wasn’t alone in feeling it. Rosie inhaled, her hand going to her breastbone, goosebumps prickling her skin. Her feet twitched like she was nervous, but she licked her lip, her chest puffing out like a peacock, not able to fight her nature.

  Not against him anyway.

  Soaked from his voyage into the bathtub, his clothes clung to his physique, forcing my gaze to roam over each place they stuck tightly to him, curving over his muscles and…gods, the man’s cock was even indecent fully clothed. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, forcing my head to the side.

  “Warwick,” Rosie said his name as if she were addressing a god, her mouth open in awe as she took in how the fabric clung to him. “We have never officially met, though I feel I know you. Your reputation precedes you. And I have to say, it’s been greatly minimalized. You are even more impressive up close.” She bit her lip, her gaze moving over him like a cat stalking its next meal. A part of me wanted to knock her across the head, another part totally understood her reaction, and yet another part wanted to tell those two parts to shut up. She could have him. I didn’t care.

  His heavy gaze met mine, not responding to Rosie. He kept his expression neutral, but I could feel the pulse of his fury radiating off him like a tangible object. Even with the bedspread covering my chest, I felt stripped bare as his eyes burned into me.

  “If you need anything… Anything. At. All.” She continued to talk, but not once did his eyes flicker to her.

  “Rosie, is it?” he rumbled, still watching me.

  “Y-yes.” Her face bloomed with elation. “The English Rose at your service.” She winked, her eyes heated, her robe open, allowing him to see her ample breasts, which practically fell out of the bodice.

  “Thank you for watching over her.” His attention narrowed on me.

  “Oh, you are so welcome. She was no problem. Anything I can do to make your stay here bet—”

  “Rosie,” he cut her off.

  “Yes?”

  “You can go.”

  Her shoulders jerked at the dismissal, but she quickly gathered herself, nodding.

  “Of course.” She turned back to me, her eyes darting between Warwick and me before she took off for the door, trying to slip quietly out.

  “Thank you, Rosie.”

  She paused, looked at me with an impish smile, then closed the door with a click.

  Leaving me alone with him. I could feel him glowering, a weight pressing down, and with every second of silence, it grew heavier. I realized quickly trying to out-stubborn him was a losing battle. Warwick did not have the normal responses to awkwardness and tension most people did.

  “I’m not going to apologize if that is what you are waiting for,” I grumbled, folding the blanket firmer against my chest.

  Silence.

  I turned my attention back to him, sucking in as if he had plucked the air from my lungs. Was I always going to have this response to him? Wet, sexy, intense, brutal. He was too much—overwhelming and dangerous. Someone who would drown you. Take all of you.

  Gritting my teeth, I shoved against his intensity, glaring back at him. “Is someone pouting ‘cause he got a little wet?” I taunted, wanting to stand up, but my leg wasn’t having it. “Or because a human girl got the better of him?”

  His focus didn’t relent as he took measured steps toward me. Nerves collapsed my lungs, my backbone going rigid, but I didn’t flinch as he lowered his head to mine, his mouth a breath from mine.

  “You think you got the better of me?” Raspy, his words went through me like Scotch, burning and heating my muscles, his breath snaking down the thin sheet covering me.

  “Yes.” I tipped up my chin, not backing away from him.

  A smirk pulled up the side of his mouth. “You think that was a real fight between us?”

  I glowered, hating my betraying eyes as they dipped down to his mouth.

  “I held my own against you in the pit.”

  His patronizing smile grew.

  “Believe me, when it’s a real match between us, you’ll know how easy I was on you. You’ll be begging for me to relent.”

  Once again, his words grazed me like fingers tracing my skin, threatening me with other things besides battle. The line between danger and ecstasy was very fine.

  “Now drop the bedsheet and flip over.” He tilted his head as if he was going to kiss me, but I heard a deadly menace in his tone. “Now.”

  “What?” I jerked back, slamming into the bed frame, my fingers gripping the comforter to my chin. Heat swarmed my veins, my damp skin prickling with stimuli.

  His eyes dropped down to my body, pausing over my lips as they came back to my glare.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Seen it. Not at all interested.” He stood up to his full height, peering down at me, adding to the raging mortification I felt. “Your leg, Kovacs. I need to wrap it up. It’s bleeding all over the sheets right now.”

  My head snapped to my calf. True enough, the wound had reopened and was leaking down my leg. I hadn’t felt a thing.

  Shit.

  Humiliation colored my cheeks, knowing his presence was the reason I didn’t notice. It was hard to notice anything with him around. He overpowered. Consumed.

  As he returned to the dresser to grab the first aid supplies, I slipped on the silky tank, forgoing the pointless lace bra, covering myself up as much as was possible. I rolled over, acting like the thing they considered panties exposing all of my ass was no big deal. This guy had seen me naked. Twice. This should be nothing…but it didn’t feel like nothing. The strip of lace and loose, silky tank falling off my shoulder were almost worse than if I was completely naked. These items were meant to entice.

  Seduce.

  Invite.

  He strolled back up to me, setting the gauze and antiseptic on the bed. The sensation of him over me locked my muscles down. When I was in the bath, it was as if I could actually feel his weight on me, feel his wet clothes rubbing against my skin. I gulped, tension coursing through me.

  He didn’t move for a long time, and the silence in the room blasted out the voices and movement stirring in the building. The sun was lowering, coating the room in shadows, fashioning an intimacy.

  Finally, his fingers wrapped around my calf gently, his other hand gliding down my leg, his palm coarse, spouting shivers over my skin. My teeth ground, and it had nothing to do with pain. Though that quickly changed.

  As a damp cloth glided over the wound, a gargled cry broke from my lips and made my stomach churn. “Ahhh!” My fingers rolled into fists.

  “Oh yeah, it’s gonna sting.”

  I shot him a look over my shoulder, wishing he’d melt into the rug. He only smirked. He was enjoying this.

  “You really are a bastard,” I snarled, gripping the comforter harder, the alcohol sizzling my leg.

  “Actually, I am.”

  My head yanked back over my shoulder, my forehead scrunching down.

  “If you believe in that shit.” He concentrated on cleaning my leg. “If a piece of paper between two people declares their offspring legitimate or not.”

  “You don’t believe in marriage, I gather.”

  “A deed issued by the government should not determine the nature of a rel
ationship. Who are they to tell you your love is valid? Your child is valid?”

  “So…you believe in the fae way?” I bit down on my lip, huffing through the pain stabbing up my leg. His fingers were surprisingly gentle, but it still throbbed as he finished cleaning it.

  “Seems more honest to me.” He shrugged, tossing down the rag and grabbing the gauze. “Fae don’t need a marriage license to prove they’re together. When they meet their mate, they know it. Don’t need a flashy leash.”

  “Flashy leash?” I burst out laughing. “You mean a ring.”

  “Same thing. A collar around your finger is no different from a collar around your neck or dick.”

  “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Let me guess, princess…you dreamed of your wedding since you were a little girl. Fluffy white dress, glamorous party, perfect cake, the envy of all society…even though the wedding is a total fantasy, and reality wakes up next to you the next day snoring and farting in his sleep. Will you even like the wanker when the glitter is gone? Then you start popping out kids to avoid actually being with each other.”

  “Damn.” I shook my head, my mouth parted. “What the fuck happened to you to be so jaded?”

  “Not jaded.” He tied off the wrap, patting my leg, which made me wince. “Just honest.”

  “I’m gathering you never met a girl who made you want to be with just her.” I twisted, sitting up, facing him. “Or guy…I’m not judging.”

  He snorted, his head shaking, traveling back to the dresser. A brown bag I hadn’t noticed was perched on top. He tugged out a bottle of brandless palinka, cracked it open, and downed a huge gulp.

  “Not for me.”

  “Which one? Women or men?” I smiled coyly. From the female guests he’d had in prison, and the sounds of their moans piercing the walls, I had no doubt of his first preference.

  He shot a look at me, taking another drink. “Relationships. Being with one person.” He leaned over the bed, handing me the bottle, his voice going low. “I can’t imagine anyone being enough for me. So far, three don’t even meet the challenge.”