Page 17 of Warlord's Plaything

"They already do," she murmurs.

I grip her throat.

Not squeezing. Not cutting off air.

Just holding.

Feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips.

She lets me.

She fucking lets me.

And that’s how I know?—

She’s just as lost in this as I am.

"Do you know what happens to creatures that rise too far, too fast?" I murmur, thumb brushing against the curve of her jaw.

Her lips part slightly, breathing uneven.

"Enlighten me, warlord."

I lean in, until my lips are just above hers, until I can feel her breath on my mouth.

"They fall."

Then, just as softly, she says,"Not if I bring you down with me."

My grip tightens.

She smiles.

And by the Gods, so do I.

I release her, stepping back.

The moment is broken, but the tension lingers, heavy as a blade.

I look at the others, watching, waiting.

Then I speak, voice dark, final."You want power, Hira?"I nod to the gladiators."Take it."

Then I turn, walking away.

I want to see what she does next.

I want to see her fucking burn.

7

HIRA

The heat of his touch still lingers.

The press of his fingers at my throat. The smell of him—rich, spiced, dark. The way his breath had skated over my lips, taunting, teasing, like he’d wanted to do a lot more than justtestme.

I should hate him for it.

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