Page 67 of Power of Draken

Even when a certain pair of men were playing it like a tuned violin? I blush through the memory only to find Kai Grayson looking right at me as the worst wave of heat hits my cheeks.

He cocks a brow.

Gathering up my dignity, I shuffle over to him, the manacles around my ankles rubbing against chafed skin.

He doesn’t acknowledge me when I stop beside him, just stands there with his head tilted into the wind as if he is listening to its song. But just as I’m about to spin away, he shifts his gaze to me and all my rational thoughts take cover. I know it's toxic, what Kai’s mere proximity does to my body, and yet I seem addicted to it.

“What is it?” Kai asks. From his tone, you’d think I was interrupting an important conversation instead of starting one.

“Have you given more thought to what I’ve asked?” I say. “About Ellie.”

He spreads his hands and frowns, as if I’m slow of mind. It’s wrong that his face stays beautiful even when he is being an asshole. “Isn’t the ideal scenario playing out right now? Your friend is literally getting a ride out of the commandant’s clutches without having to lift a finger forthe trouble. The farther our gracious hosts decide to take us, the better for her. Unless her desires to desert have changed?”

Alright. Strangely, he does have a point.

My brows narrow. “Are you somehow behind this relocation?”

“I’d like to take the credit, but no. A fortunate coincidence.” He crosses his arms, looking down at me from his greater height. “I am, however, trying to ensure everyone keeps their asses in their seats and does nothing to interfere with our progress out of town.”

By acting like there is nothing to worry about. Right. But there is more to it. Kai isn’t telling me everything. But why would he? He’s never done so before.

“So, us being hauled about in a prison wagon is nothing to worry about?” I clarify. “Because just saying it aloud sounds stupid.”

“That is not what I said.”

“You said?—”

“They are mercenaries,” he says briskly, like he is past done with this conversation. “They are acting for their benefit, not ours. But this game only lasts two weeks. Stalling for time works in our favor and gaining distance works in Ellie’s. The rest is a calculated risk.”

I huff, the air coming out of my nose curling up in tendrils of steam in the cold. Before I can say anything more though, there is a sound of a branch snapping in the woods. I turn my head too quickly toward the noise and the earth twists beneath me, as a fresh round of vertigo takes over.

Shit.

I widen my stance, riding out the few moments of spinning dizziness until everything rights itself.

“Rowan.” In two strides, Kai closes the distance between us, his steading hands gripping my shoulders. His glacial eyes fix on me, the aloofness from moments ago replaced by a core-melting intensity. “What’s wrong?”

I inhale sharply, struggling to weather the charge that his touch just sent though my body. But Kai is as disorienting as the vertigo—and less predictable. One touch, one heartbeat of having his undiluted attention focused on me, and I can’t think straight. I wish he’d just pick a persona and stay there.

“Nothing. All’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t.” He moves closer, the tips of his fingers brushing my cheekbone. “Your pupils are-”

“I said, I’m fine.” It takes every ounce of self-control not to sway toward the magnetic pull he seems to have on me. I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms to keep myself grounded, and step away until I am back at the wagon. I am not above begging for Kai’s help in getting Ellie to safety, but I know better than to allow myself any closer to him than I must.

The following morning, I wake to the sound of screaming.

My head pounds viciously, the migraine that started to keep my dizzy spells company yesterday having intensified to near-blinding levels overnight.

"What's happening?" I ask, trying not to move around more than I absolutely must on the cold ground.

Ellie's face swims into focus beside me. Her eyes are wide and skin pale as snow. "It's Yokos," she whispers. "He tried to run last night."

I bite my lip, trying to focus on anything other than the spike in my skull, and force myself to sit up as Yokos cries out again. I see him then. Right in the middle of our makeshift camp.

He’s naked, strapped to a tree by his wrists, his ankles tied with rope so taut it makes him wobble precariously on his feet as one of the mercenaries lashes him across the back with a broad, bristling whip. The snap of the leather cuts the air, followed by Yokos’s pained howls.

Mercer stands nearby with his arms crossed, his face drawn into a blank, businesslike mask as the whipping continues. This isn’t amusement for him. It’s just protocol. And it doesn’t stop until Yokos has no more strength left to scream.

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