Page 9 of Kept to Kill
Quin trailed off as he stood with them, staring just as they did. Finally, Quin pulled on a black leather glove and stepped over the line of objects that separated her from the rest of the tent. Amid her writhing, he managed to pull her clothes down to a modest level, but before he could leave her, she opened her eyes and said something Bastian couldn’t hear, but Quin only gave her a hard look before mouthing the word ‘no.’
‘What did she say to you?’ Bastian asked as Quin came back.
He cut a glance at the girl, whose eyes were closed once more, her jaw locked as if she was trying not to make a noise.
‘Stupid woman begged me to kill her.’ He chuckled. ‘As if I’d let her be free of us so easily with all the trouble she’s causing.’
Bastian glanced down at her again. He almost felt sorry for her.
* * *
Mal tried notto overtly scorn Bastian as the man walked away. His slovenly Brother was probably off to drown himself in more drink and whatever other vices he could find, which were around every corner in the camp.
He missed Payn. Gods knew the man had been a bastard, but he’d been someone Mal could count on to have his back. Bastian was – he let out a sigh – fucking useless. He’d tell him so if he cared to speak. But he didn’t care to speak. Most assumed he couldn’t, but why talk when there was so little worth saying? He’d spent the better part of his life not bothering, and he wasn’t about to start now just to let Bastian know what he thought of him.
Mal looked at the girl. Her jaw was clamped shut and her knuckles were white. Her fists were clenched so tight, he’d bet her palms were bloody from her fingernails. He noticed that her clothes were riding up again. He stood and watched. Quin had gone back to his desk and Mal didn’t care about preserving her modesty, that was for certain. A woman’s nakedness rarely did anything for him. So why couldn’t he rip his traitorous eyes away from where the white cloth was rising, giving him a tantalizing view of where her thighs met her arse?
His cock hardened and he looked down, surprised. What was it about this woman that made his body respond like a man when he’d not concerned himself with carnal pleasures in so long?
He suddenly despised her, lying there with her legs half spread, inviting any man to touch her, to fuck her. He turned away with a snarl to find Quin observing him with questioning eyes. His Brother was too perceptive. He threw himself into a chair in front of Quin’s desk. Fucking thing took up half the tent. He was glad he had his own space down the row.
‘Bastian left before I could tell him, but I’ve had a bird from Kitore.’
Mal inclined his head for his Brother to go on.
‘There’s dissent. Talk of war. Someone’s stirring up bad blood against the Army. The king already sees us as a threat. He grows his army larger every season. I can’t send many men there without drawing suspicion, but if we go and visit the palace, it will be seen as a gesture of respect. While we’re there, we can take care of whoever is causing the problem at the same time.’
Mal frowned. It would have to be made to look like an accident.
‘We’ll have to make it look like general bad luck, a misadventure of fate,’ Quin went on, as if reading Mal’s mind. ‘I’d say fire, but the city’s wards prevent anything larger than a hearth flame from taking hold within its walls. Think on it and give me some options tomorrow.’
Mal nodded and jerked his head back in the direction of the woman. Quin would have to finish whatever plans he had in store for her before they left.
‘Don’t worry. My dealings with her will be short. Once she’s proved to be as useless as Bastian, I’ll find a fitting place for her.’
Mal wished he’d do the same to Bastian, but he didn’t let Quin know that. There was nothing Quin could do. The gods ‘had spoken.’ He scoffed inwardly. As if they cared what the lowly mortals did, what the Army did. If Mal knew anything, it was that if they existed at all, the gods didn’t give a shit about him or anyone else and never had. Selfish fucks, the lot of them. And Mal had never seen a shred of evidence that they were real, save the wickedness men did in their names.
He left the tent without a backward glance. It was late and he decided to go back to his own bed for some rest. In a few days, they’d leave for the north. He let out a small sigh as he walked into his pitch-black tent, kicked off his boots, and threw himself onto his bed.
He closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the woman in Quin’s tent, though why he should be thinking of her, he didn’t know. He frowned in the dark, his cock hardening once more. Gods, he’d not be able to sleep like this. He took his rod from the confines of his breeches and began to move his hand over the length of it, trying not to think of the woman but not succeeding. He couldn’t help but remember the way her chemise had ridden up and up, and he envisioned her writhing beneath him, responding to his touch, and, instead of clenching her jaw to keep herself silent, she’d whimper and moan under him while he took her. He imagined he’d be brutal. He hadn’t bothered much with a woman since he’d first left the place of his birth, and that was only to see what all the fuss was about.
Nowadays he knew enough to realize he enjoyed the company of both sexes, though he rarely felt like indulging in either. No one and nothing brought him the peace he sought. No, that wasn’t quite right. Slaughter did, battle did, stalking his prey down darkened corridors did. According to his sire, he’d never been good at much of anything, but he was a fine killer.
He imagined her in front of him and Bastian, Quin making her strip for them. The fear in her eyes, not because she wouldn’t want them, but because she would. They’d make sure of that.
He found his pleasure with a grunt and lay on his back, sated for the moment, yet staring into the darkness in consternation. Why had he imagined both Quin and Bastian there with him, and why had the thought of her being with all of them sent him over the edge when he’d never shared before?
He pushed the thoughts away and closed his eyes, feeling a peace within himself that would probably dissipate with the dawn.
Chapter 4
Lily
As usual, after the fever had broken, Lily had woken in dire need of water. When she’d first opened her eyes, she’d started, having forgotten where she was. The reality of her situation had her lying still for a few moments, her chest tight as she fought for breath. Was her sanctuary really gone? Was Vineri really gone? Was she really lying on a cot in the Commander of the Dark Army’s tent? Had he really cut off her dress? Panic swelled in her and she pushed it back. She had to keep herself calm, together.
She sat up gingerly, finding a jug of water next to the bed with a wooden cup. Thank the gods, he’d had water brought, she thought as she filled it and drank thirstily, replenishing the cup three times before her stomach felt so full that she dared not drink any more.
She could hear the furious strokes of someone writing at a frenzied pace and craned her neck to see if it was the Commander who sat behind the desk still.
