Page 38 of Dare

Shocked indignation flashed across her face. “That can’t be.”

“It is,” I stated. “Period.”

“It’s not! No one can hear me except—”

When she cut herself off, I squinted. “Except whom?” Then for the first time in my fucking life, I took a wild guess. “Except you?”

Her glower confirmed enough. It seemed we were the only two individuals capable of registering her voice.

Although I hated loose ends, this inexplicable fact wrung a smirk from my lips. “How does it feel to know you’re not impenetrable?”

That did it. Snatching the hilt of my scalpel knife, she extracted it from the harness, shuffled toward me on her knees until the heat of her flesh seared mine, and traced a faint line across the gash in my jaw. “How does it feel to know you’re not invincible?” she retorted.

A gritty noise pushed against my mouth. I made the most of our staring contest. Silence versus silence. Yet to my displeasure, the blast of her gaze threatened to knock me off balance, the muscles in my face loosening a fraction.

My adversary broke the contact out of dismissal rather than submission. Blocking me out, she stored the weapon, uncapped the canteen, and drank. Her throat flexed, the inked collar of sunbursts shifting in tandem, while my own throat felt dry.

Those dangerous hands went to work. She propped the mollusks beside the assortment of figs, then reached for one of the orbs.

“I would not do that if I were you,” I advised.

At my prolonged drawl, she paused and gave me a scathing look. Malnourishment was the reason I’d ordered the patrol to go easy on her in the courtyard, to feed every captive a scant portion of broth during transport. Despite this logic, the thought of this female vomiting what little her system could handle had unnerved me as much as the chemise barely covering her ass.

Never mind. Back to the fucking subject.

“Eat slowly. And do not eat much,” I instructed. “If you get sick or die, there will be no one to untie me. Are you following, or should I use simpler words?”

She arched her brow. Defiant. Unimpressed. That look made it clear she did not require medical advice on the subject. The beast was familiar with the concept of starvation and understood the definition of malnourishment.

Ignoring my spiteful countenance, she picked one of the bulbous figs and sniffed it carefully. Summer citizens would recognize the native fare of their kingdom, unless it originated from a presumably deserted rainforest floating in the middle of nowhere. In this place, looks could be deceiving. She knew this too, especially after the whirlpool incident.

Deeming it safe, the beast raised the fruit to her mouth, but I cut her off. “Are you aware that in Summer, the brighter the fruit, the deadlier the poison? If it is indeed poisonous?”

At my jibe, she squeezed the fig. Under that much pressure, it might detonate.

Rarely did I feel the desire to provoke. Such indulgences wasted time, whereas I preferred candor. It cut quicker, deeper, harsher. Yet I craved this creature’s attention like a stimulant.

My lips quirked. “Winter has discovered many noxious plants across the Seasons. For instance, a Summer poison derived from yellow clovers, which assassins smear onto jewelry. It peels the flesh clear off.”

The instant she grimaced, I made myself comfortable and lounged against the tree trunk. “Also, venom from the bite of a siren shark or a viper. I’ve spent years mastering the art of medicine. I’ve seen what the brew of nature can do to a person’s eyes, mouth, blood, skin … mind.”

She just stared at me. So I fucking pushed harder. “A fruit unknown to you. Technically, you could make the prince sample it. Of course, that would mean forcing him to risk himself for you. And of course, that would turn you into the very captor you loathe.” I tilted my head. “It would turn you into me.”

Her nostrils curled as if she’d inhaled something rancid. Excellent. Because I had her attention, I arranged myself into an indolent slouch. “Survival or conscience. But what would a primitive thing like you know of conscience?”

Although I had instructed her to be wary of food portions, now I persisted in scaring her from eating anything at all. Not that my warning wasn’t valid.

As for that last goading question, this woman saw through the test—my quest for the chink in her armor. The spot where I could probe.

Some type of daring incentive alighted her features, motivating the beast into action. Balancing the fig, she crawled toward me with the ease of a feline. Instinctive. Unpredictable. My eyes cut to her rotating hips and then returned to those irises, which shone like golden spheres in her face. I waited for the slap of her hand or some other hostile response. Possibly a mouthful of squashed fruit, which I would be sure to spit back in her mutinous face.

The mad woman approached, slinking across my limbs until our noses tapped, pausing with her thighs splitting around my waist. Droplets of seawater streaked down her neck and hit my chest. One rebellious bead dangled from a breast and splashed onto my navel, which snuck into my waistband like a trespasser.

Straightening upright, she lowered herself onto my lap. Seasons flay me, with her open limbs splayed around my hips, wet and warm on my pelvis, the effect infuriated me for reasons I couldn’t begin to list. My canines ground together with enough pressure to crack enamel.

Lifting one hand, she wedged the swollen fig between our mouths. This, I had not expected. A solution. A challenge. Least of all, the sprawl of her dripping body atop mine, the proximity inundating my olfactory senses with the aromas of salt, sun rays, and wildflowers. More potent than the fruit, those fragrances saturated the air, strong enough to intensify one’s craving.

My traitorous stomach writhed. I had to eat something.

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