Page 11 of The Shadowbound King

“Of course,” I murmured.

The woman under my hand whimpered, her auburn brows drawing together. Her satchel shifted as she leaned away from me, the strap slipping under one plump breast. Her nipples were hard under her velvet bodice.

“Let me go,” she said, her eyes glittering like citrines in the darkness.

My dick tightened, blood pumping hard and fast to my shaft. Was this how my ancestors had felt? My people produced few children. The philosophers among us claimed our immortality was to blame. We grew too cold, they said, too far removed from the heat and friction of creation. The woman under my hand was warm. She burned with life, little rivers of it coursing under her soft skin. She’d be soft everywhere.

Take her.

Yes. I should.

“Let go,” she gasped, struggling harder. The tether swung between us. She fumbled with something. Silver flashed, and then pain pierced my gut.

The haze evaporated, replaced with icy clarity. I gripped Mirella’s wrist. Together, we looked down at the blade she’d plunged into my stomach.

She growled, drawing my head up. “I saidlet go.” She twisted the knife, piercing something inside me. Searing pain spread through my abdomen.

A death blow in a mortal. Someone had taught her where to strike. And she’d meant to kill, not incapacitate.

I squeezed her wrist, grinding the bones together until she cried out and released the knife.

“That was very stupid,” I said. Then I shoved her hard, sending her stumbling backward. She might have fallen, but the tether went taut, allowing her to stay on her feet. She kept her distance as I ripped open my shirt, then watched with round, disbelieving eyes as I wrenched the blade from my flesh.

Intestines bulged from the wound. Grimacing, I pushed the waxy-looking ropes back into my stomach.

“Gods…” Mirella breathed. She swallowed convulsively, her pale face tinged with green.

“There are no gods in the Edelfen,” I said. “Only nightmares.” I pinched the edges of the wound together with blood-soaked fingers. My flesh burned as it knit back together. When the last of the pain fled, I jerked the tether, dragging Mirella into me.

“Don’t!” she cried, panting as I ripped the satchel over her head. When I flipped it upside down and shook it open, she fell silent. Her lips thinned as the satchel’s contents spilled to the ground.

Foolish, I berated myself. I’d been careless, neglecting to search the bag the moment I had Mirella in my grip.

Andrin would call my oversight arrogance. And he’d be correct. Mirella Lornlark looked soft. But so did snakes. Slick and spineless, they hid their fangs until they were positioned for a quick kill. And Mirella had sprung from the most faithless serpent of all. She’d been raised in a nest of vipers. Why should I expect her to be any different?

Bandages and folded cloths dropped to the leaves, followed by several glass vials filled with liquid. When I was certain the satchel was empty, I gave it a final shake and threw it aside.

“What are those?” I asked, pointing to the vials.

Mirella hugged her midsection, dislike glinting in her eyes. “Medicines. Supplies for healing.”

I sneered as I tucked her blade in my pocket. “You use a knife to heal?”

“No,” she snapped. “I use it to fend off bastard elves who try to hurt me.”

I grabbed her braid and hauled her against me. “Strange,” I said, winding her hair around my fist. “I seem to recall you thrusting a fucking knife into my guts a few seconds ago.”

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, pushing at my chest. She winced when my knuckles pressed against her nape, then gasped when I ran my free hand down her flank.

“You think I want to hurt you?” Holding her tight, I ran my palm around her waist and down her other flank, then rucked up her skirts and continued the search.

She struggled, but she couldn’t do much with her hair trapped in my grip. Still, her hatred was palpable as I slipped a hand between her legs and checked for another blade.

“Do you deny it?” she challenged, a tremor in her voice as I cupped her sex through her flimsy undergarments. She made a strangled sound when I moved my hand to the cleft of her ass.

When I was certain she possessed no other weapons, I pulled my hand from under her skirts. As the velvet fell to her boots once more, I dropped her braid.

“Look at me,” I ordered. She complied, her golden eyes promising retribution.

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