by Nalini Singh
CHAPTER 4
By the hushed anticipation that fell over the soldiers when she entered the Croaking Frog, Mala knew that Kavik must have come. Still, she didn’t immediately see him, until her gaze searched the darkened corner of the common room. He sat at the end of a long table, apart from the other patrons and facing the door where she stood. His black hair only touched his shoulders now and his beard was shortened and cleaned. If not for the healing gashes on his arms and the width of his shoulders, she might not have recognized him.
Focused on his plate, he didn’t glance up as she crossed the room. He ripped away a piece of bread with stiff fingers. Oh, Vela. She hadn’t expected that this would be easy. She’d expected his anger. But what she saw in him now was different—the cold, sharp edge of rage. Her own blood and temper were hot, but she knew that ice well. He didn’t ignore her out of petulance or bad humor. He ignored her because looking at her might snap his control.
And this was the man who needed to be tamed? He had himself well in hand.
With a sigh, she pushed back the hood of her cloak and slipped onto the bench opposite him. His body tensed only for a moment before he resumed eating, his gaze cast firmly on his roasted meat. He’d bathed. And though she couldn’t be certain without glancing under the table, she thought he only wore his belt and furs, along with a leather baldric that crossed over his chest and sheathed the sword at his back.
“So you have a face under the revenants’ blood,” she said softly. And a fine face it was. Wide cheekbones, a strong nose, firm lips. But she still liked his eyes the best, though they hadn’t yet met hers this evening.
His voice like gravel, Kavik told her, “Go home”—then slipped another piece of bread into his mouth, as if she were nothing but a fly to be swatted between bites.
Her chest tightened. “You know I cannot.”
“You won’t die if you give up your quest.”
No. If Mala gave it up, she would be marked by Vela, forsaken and shunned. She would lose her place among her people. But she didn’t pursue her quest because she was afraid of failing. She needed to succeed.
“I won’t die,” she agreed. “But my people might. The Destroyer is returning. We’re ready to fight, but our numbers are so few. I’ve asked Vela to help me find the strength of ten thousand more warriors.”
“Make alliances. Pay the rest.”
“Do you think we haven’t tried? But no one is interested in coming to the aid of another country when their own people are in danger. They make vague promises at best.”
“Even Barin?”
He spoke the warlord’s name in the same way a wolf ripped a chunk of flesh from a haunch. So it was not just her quest that enraged him. He’d heard of her meeting in the citadel.
“He can promise what he likes,” she said quietly. “None of it will come to fruition, because I have vowed to see him dead.”
Kavik barked out a hard laugh and glanced up for the first time. The back of Mala’s neck tensed as alarm shot through her, yet she stayed her hand instead of reaching for her sword. Never had anyone looked at her with such hatred and anger—but he was still cold. Still controlled.
A sharp smile touched his mouth. “That sounds like a lie you would tell a man you meant to win over. To tame.”
Sickness balled in her stomach. “That doesn’t mean what you believe it does.”
“What does it mean, then?”
“I don’t know.” From all that Mala could see, Kavik was no more savage or feral than she was. So it must be something she couldn’t see yet—and so she needed to know him better. “I suppose I must discover what it means.”
He shook his head and resumed eating. Not believing her.
Then she would make sure to stay with him until he did. “Though it is not my quest, I still intend to slay the demon tusker while I am here. I would hire your services.”
No response.
“I’ve purchased a mount for your use.” Along with two additional pack horses, over which Shim was currently playing lord of the herd. “We could leave for the mountains tomorrow.”
Only silence.
That would not break her. Still, she was grateful when Selaq approached their table with two flagons of ale. Setting them down, the innkeeper quickly looked from Kavik’s face to Mala’s again. “Will you be having supper, too?”
“I will, thank you.”
Selaq hesitated. The woman had been abrupt and resentful when Mala had arrived at the inn, and during every following encounter. Now she seemed torn between that resentment and guilt.
Her next words revealed why. “Kavik told me you saved my sister’s boy.”
“My horse did.” Mala pushed one flagon in front of Kavik and picked up her own. “And he enjoys a warm grain mash.”
“I’ll see that he gets one.” But the innkeeper still did not move away, and the twist of her hands revealed that anxiety had joined the guilt. In a rush, she admitted, “I spit in your ale at the midday meal.”
“I knew,” Mala said easily and took a swig.
Selaq looked at her in astonishment. “But you still drank it.”
Of course Mala had. She wouldn’t waste good ale because of a little spit. “Have you never kissed someone? It is the same—mouth to mouth and spit to spit. So a drop in that ale was no different than a kiss from you. I considered it my welcome to Blackmoor.”
And she’d had kisses thrown behind her feet all day. Word of her encounter with Barin in the citadel had already traveled through the city. No matter that they called Kavik a beast, not everyone Mala met had approved of her quest, and their reaction told her what she’d already guessed: many of these people cared for Kavik, even though he didn’t want them to show it. Yet they cared enough to risk both Vela’s and Barin’s anger by spitting on the path she walked.
“A poor welcome,” Selaq said.
Mala shrugged. A welcome mattered not at all. Only the man across from her did.
His gaze had risen from his plate again, but not to look at Mala. Instead he frowned up at Selaq. The color rose in the innkeeper’s cheeks.
“I shouldn’t have,” the woman said, as if in reply to a silent admonishment.
Had she read disappointment in his expression? Mala searched his face, but she didn’t know it as well as the innkeeper did. She could see nothing at all but his frown, then even that was gone when he began eating again.
Oh, but that small exchange gave her hope. The woman had admitted to spitting in Mala’s drink, yet he hadn’t enjoyed hearing it. For all of his hatred and anger—justifiable anger, if what Mala had guessed of his history with Barin was true—he hadn’t taken pleasure in Selaq’s insult. Mala suspected that, in his place, every single soldier in the common room would have mocked her or tried to make her feel shame for having sipped a little spit.
He was an angry man. But unless Mala had completely misread the reason for his frown, he wasn’t a cruel one.
And there was one way to be certain. One that might put them on a more level understanding.
But she waited, gathering her courage. Mala expected pain on this quest—but she believed it wouldn’t come at Kavik’s hands. Still, she feared being wrong about him more than she feared what he might do.
Quietly she ate the meal Selaq brought her, and after Kavik refused to touch the ale she’d bought for him, she took it back and drank it herself. When he cleaned his plate, every last crumb of bread and shred of meat and drop of gravy, she couldn’t wait any longer.
Without a word, she brought the coiled leash and collar from beneath her cloak, and placed it on the table between them.
And Temra forgive her, because this was cruel. For an instant, there was not just rage and hatred when he looked at her, but an agony so deep she didn’t know how he’d survived it. An agony she’d seen before, on the faces of some older women at home—as if they’d been subjected to a torture that simply wouldn’t end.
She forced herself to speak past the constriction in
her throat. “This isn’t what it means to tame you.”
Jaw like steel, his gaze a cold blade, he only watched her.
“What do you think it means?” Mala hoped to understand him better. “Whatever you believe I would do to you—do to me, instead.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want me to show you? To tame you?”
“Yes,” she said simply, but when his gaze went to her neck, she prayed to Vela for strength and courage, because she didn’t know how she would bear the collar around it.
And he seemed more enraged now than he’d been. No longer cold but hot, with a pulse pounding in his temple and a flush over his skin. He reached for the collar. His voice was hard. “Come here, then.”
First she placed her sword on the table, followed by the daggers from her thighs. Her heart thudded in her ears. Dimly aware of the sudden quiet in the common room, she rose. The jawbones swinging from her belt clicked together as she moved to his side. He stood, so tall, and his gaze locked on her throat. His knuckles were white. The thick leather of the collar had folded under the pressure of his fingers.
His bare chest lifted on a ragged breath. “Put your hands together.”
Why? But she didn’t ask; she simply obeyed. Kavik moved closer, then relief and hope lifted through her when he wrapped the collar around her wrists, instead. He was angry, so angry. But he wouldn’t do to her what was done to him.
Maybe.
Abruptly he yanked on the leash. Her body slammed against his, her armor hard against his chest and her arms trapped between them. His left hand fisted tightly in her hair, tilting her face up. He lowered his and spoke through gritted teeth.
“Now I bend you over this table and fuck you, before I give you to every soldier here. You want me to show you that?”
Perhaps the first part, one day. But it should not be today. “In a half turn,” she said.
His black eyebrows lowered in a heavy frown. “What?”
“On the full moon.” Lifting her chin farther, she bared her throat to him. “Do you see? No scar. I’ve not yet had my moon night.”
And man or woman, a virgin’s blood belonged to Vela, and only could be offered when she looked fully upon them.
He shoved the band of her cloak aside, searching beneath the thick material fastened across the hollow of her throat where the ritual scar was usually placed. “Krimatheans don’t prize virginity.”
“No.” Most enjoyed fucking, and enjoyed it often. “But other houses do, and I am High Daughter. It might come to pass that an alliance depends upon a marriage and my acceptability to the person I wed.”
“Yet you’ll take my cock in a half turn? What of that alliance?”
It had never been certain, anyway. She’d only abstained because of the possibility—and this was just as important. “This is my quest,” she said simply. “If you believe that being tamed means being fucked, then I will submit to you. Only to you. But I prefer to honor the goddess when I do.” When he didn’t immediately respond, but only looked at her as if to determine whether she spoke true, her gaze fell to his strong throat. “You are not marked, either.”
His body stiffened. “My moon blood scars are on the back of my neck.”
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 ca
re 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.