Page 23 of The Goddesses' Gifts

Then came the scrape of a key in the lock. While time had been difficult to track, it felt early for a meal. I watched the door swing open and scowled when Dulanzo stepped into the room. Oshruli silently disappeared under the bed, and I positioned myself between him and the door.

Dulanzo didn’t look quite as put together as before. His hair was messy and loose, wavy from an earlier braid. The black vest he wore was undone and the wrap around blouse beneath was somewhat disheveled. I could smell the bite of alcohol around him when his movement stirred the air, but his presence was just as heavy and overwhelming as before.

“Woodland child,” he crooned as he approached, a smug lopsided grin on his face. “Am I mistaken in thinking you feel more like yourself today?”

I’d known this was coming the moment he’d given me someone to protect. Oshruli’s presence guaranteed my resistance, and I couldn’t even pretend it didn’t. Couldn’t he have waited a few more hours to come take advantage of it? Dread gripped my heart, but I grit my teeth and met his eyes anyway. “My name is Ozanna.”

He loomed over me, examining my face with narrowed eyes. “O-zanna,” he said, letting the syllables linger on his tongue, as if he were tasting them. “How do you find your quarters, Ozanna?”

“It’s not as nice as my room at the chateau,” I replied cautiously. This was a very different approach from yesterday. “Though I’ve seen worse.”

“Excellent,” he replied, with a false smile, as if he were a gracious host and pleased to hear I was happy with my accommodations. “And your new friend?” He gestured casually to where Oshruli was hiding.

I didn’t answer.

“Ahh, well, if he isn’t the source of your new-found courage, perhaps I should take him away.”

“Or better yet hurt him in order to get a rise out of me,” I spat. “Yes, yes, Dulanzo, I understand what you’re doing. You don’t have to dance around it.”

“Oh.” He grimaced in distaste and clucked his tongue at me, “It’s gauche to do otherwise. Or perhaps you’re just not bright enough to banter?”

I lifted my chin and poked him in the chest with my left index finger while my right hand, obscured by the angle of my stance, went for the blade in my pocket. “No, it’s a waste of energy,” I sneered.

He caught my left hand in his cold fingers and yanked me into him, adding a little extra power to the forward thrust of the stolen knife. My eyes widened in anticipation of the small grunt that typically followed such a blow, instead the knife shattered against his abdomen. He grabbed my knife hand, bloody from colliding with the shards against his shirt, and met my eyes with a smile.

If you could even call it a smile. It had the shape of one, yes, but this was pure, pointed, vicious anticipation—a promise to methodically obliterate my spirit. He meant to strip me bare of all the things that make a vital, sentient being—joy, pride, empathy, purpose, freedom, anything that gave me a sense of self. He wanted to reduce me to something so insignificant I wouldn’t be worth the effort of scraping off his boots when it was all over. He would probably enjoy it two-fold knowing I’d given my heart to one of his brothers. He’d make them bear witness to it, too, just like he’d done with Lobikno and his children.

Cold terror twisted in my gut while I read every appalling intention behind that perverse delight, and I finally understood Lhoris’ fear of this thing that was his brother.

“I see you,” he hissed, and, with his inhuman strength, squeezed my wrists. I groaned in pain, feeling bones grind and joints stretch under the pressure. My chest heaved against his when I realized I was too scared to react, my training and instinct paralyzed under the weight of his awful, crushing presence. “Ah, little pet, don’t be so fearful that you can’t deliver what I need,” he said and loosened his grip.

Only then did I snap out of my stupor. Twisting out of his grasp and putting space between us was the easy part. Coming up with a strategy would be tricky. I could scarcely wrap my head around the fact that the blow didn’t pierce his skin. There was some kind of magic on him for the knife to break the way it had. Would it protect him from a choke? Could I break his bones? Would his skin tear if I tried to rip it away instead of cut?

He prowled toward me, and I darted to the side, so fast I must have been channeling the magic Lhoris believed I had. It left me dizzy and a little disoriented. Before I knew what was happening, he had me against the wall.

“I will enjoy chasing you another day, little pet,” Dulanzo purred and pressed against me, his weight holding me in place. “That little trick of yours needs more power than you have right now. You’re still recovering—your magic depleted from keeping you and the child alive.”

We grappled, or at least I tried to, but the fucking wall grabbed my wrists. The godsdamned stone shifted to burning sand and enveloped my aching wrists. I managed to rip them free once, but Dulanzo was there to catch them and hold them in place at the level of my ears until the hot sand went cold and solidified once more. I twisted in the rings, the rough mineral rubbing the skin raw in seconds. Dulanzo took a step back to watch, satisfied I was secure, and shucked off the vest before undoing the buttons of his black leather trousers. The gray undershorts did little to disguise his erect cock.

“At least send the boy away,” I snarled.

“No,” Dulanzo answered with a laugh. “Let this be his first lesson on how to wield the only weapon at his constant disposal.” He yanked the front of my pants, buttons tearing from the fabric and bouncing across the floor. “The one he was born with.” He tugged the string that held my undershorts in place. “So many ways to wield a cock, little pet. For pleasure, for pain, for power ...” He rubbed himself and sighed. “… for shame.”

I knew that boys were groomed to be monsters here, but to witness it firsthand ... I hated that I understood this elf was the end product of that horrifying cycle. I hated and pitied him. But I drowned that pity in the river of disgust and fury that rose above the fear I’d felt only moments before.

“Send. The boy. Away.” I said through gritted teeth. “Send him away and I will give you my wrath,” I ground out, the words low, seething, and venomous. “Send him away and I will fight you and fuck you like you’ve never been fought or fucked before, you twisted dick!”

His chest heaved and his eyes fixated on mine, boring a hole all the way to the rage burning in the center of my being. “You swear it?” The words came out in a hiss.

“Try me,” I unfisted my hands and tipped my head. “Send him away and release me,” I challenged. “Find out if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time.”

In an instant, Dulanzo had Oshruli by the back of his shirt collar, dragging the boy out from his hiding spot. Oshruli’s eyes were wide, and his mouth drawn back in sheer terror, but he didn’t make a sound. Not a peep. Dulanzo shoved him out the door and had quick words with someone in the corridor before turning back to me.

With a wave of his hand, the stone shifted back into hot sand, slowly retreating from my wrists, and I was free. I kicked off the useless pants since I’d just trip over them without buttons to hold them in place. But I did retie the drawstring on my undershorts.

His eyes burned over my form, and he slipped out of his shirt and pants, then we stood facing each other. From that moment on, things moved very quickly. He lunged and I hip tossed him into the bed frame breaking the side panel, separating it from the footboard. He laughed and knocked my feet out from under me with a sweep of his leg, though he broke my fall. Whether it was to keep me from getting hurt or to prevent me from rolling back to my feet, I couldn’t say. We grappled on the cold stone floor, teeth bared and snarling at one another between gasping breaths.

My body and I were accustomed to the intimate violence of infighting and the thrill of it had always been the life-or-death competition. But to claim I’d never enjoyed a little violence in my sex would be a lie. It was exactly that energy Dulanzo was bringing to our struggle. His body tension, the pressure of his attention, wasn’t that of survival, it was sensual. Or so the traitorous ache between my thighs told me. He wasn’t handling me like he was fighting. It was as if he were simply staving me, the weaker opponent, off. Humoring me. Toying with me. He pinned my arms to the ground and buried his face in the crook of my neck with a deep inhale before setting his lips and tongue to teasing the sensitive flesh there. Nearly my entire body broke out in gooseflesh, and I had to bite my lip to stifle the shuddering moan that threatened to bubble up from my chest. Then he laughed at me.

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