Page 140 of Forcing Fate

“I mean it—I will find you. I will reach into your pretty mouth, grab that quick tongue of yours, and rip it from your throat.”

I shivered at the coldness in his tone. This wasn’t a game anymore. I won a reward, but he wasn’t playing.

“Will I ever be in a position where I would be obligated to tell anyone about it?” My voice cracked as I asked.

If he was hiding this, there was a reason—a reason others might like to know. Perhaps it was the way his eye was damaged. Maybe it was injured by a special weapon and the wound held secrets somehow. If someone found out that I knew, would I be endangered?

“That’s not how the game works, Vy.”

His angry smirk, combined with his use of a nickname, made every nerve in my body scream for me to run away.

“I won’t tell,” I breathed.

His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile and he opened his left eye.

Chapter Thirty

Scars veined out from his eye socket as if it exploded. His eye, however, was fully intact, albeit different from any I’d seen before. It was gray with a blue tint, but had no pupil. The entire iris, and where the black pupil should be, was a pool of swirling, almost reflective, color.

I frowned and leaned closer, completely forgetting what a precarious position I was in. I moved from side to side, watching as he tracked the motion. He could see out of it, which puzzled me. Why would he cover it? Why would he hide it and willingly handicap himself? He received it on the front, battling the Shadows. I tilted my head in thought. Shadow Men had eyes described as mirrors. Did magic cause it? Did it change him somehow?

I traced the scars surrounding it. It was beautiful—in a harsh, brutal sort of way. It reminded me of a sunburst, with his reflective iris at the center. The white of his eye remained untouched, as if unaffected.

“What happened?” I breathed, entranced, as I stroked my thumb from the corner of his eye to his temple.

“Vy–” he rasped.

My attention slammed back to him—and the position we were in. Awareness came crashing down. My face was less than a handspan from his. I could feel his breath against my lips. I startled and jerked up. He snorted, but didn’t shift under me.

“Was it magic?” I asked.

He bucked his hips and I scrambled off him, sheathing my blade. We stood and brushed the sand off our clothes.

“Why do you hide it?” I tried again.

The chance of any explanation was slim, yet I had to try. I’d never seen anything like it. Surely the Healers treated him. After all, wasn’t that the injury he suffered to be sent back to the homelands?

He walked up to me, and I stood still, letting him approach. His steady gaze was soft, not angry. I knew him well enough that he wouldn’t hurt me unless provoked. He brought a hand up and held my cheek, looking down on me with… was that tenderness? It felt peculiar to see both his eyes upon me, one dark and familiar and the other frigid and strange.

“Avyanna. Not a word. No one—I don’t care who they are to you.” A cold hardness crept into his voice. “I don’t care how they torture you. I will do far worse.”

My eyebrows dropped into a frown as I glared up at him. “Do you think so little of me? I don’t understand it, but I understand you, Rafe. At least a little. I will take your secret to my grave.”

His features softened again, and his gaze traveled down my face to rest on my lips. The butterflies in my stomach took flight, and heat burned beneath my skin as he looked at me. Something flickered in his eyes, a hot, wild thing that sent my heart racing.

“I’ll cut your hair.”

Just like that, the butterflies died.

“No. I can.” I spun away from him.

He went from soft to cruel in the blink of an eye. My cheek seemed cold from the absence of his warm hand. He had never touched me in an affectionate way before. Come to think of it, I’d never been touched with affection by any man. This was all unfamiliar territory for me—new and dangerous. I shouldn’t have these feelings toward any man, let alone my General. This was why they didn’t want me in the barracks.

“Avyanna.”

I turned to face him, after putting space between us. The growl of his voice affected me in foreign ways—distance made me feel safer.

“You’ve never cut men’s hair,” he said simply, sitting to pull on his boots and lace them up.

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