Page 33 of Of Blood and Banes
Funneling all my anger into my narrowed eyes as if he’ll back down from the intensity, I clench my teeth. He thinks I’m bluffing. And here I used to think he’s a cunning man. I drag the blade up his throat, leaving a slow trail of blood under his chin, and apply pressure until his head tilts back as far as it’ll go.
I slink closer to tower over him, my hair sweeping down into my face. “You will obey me. And you will respect me. And when I tell you to shut the fuck up, you will close your godsdamned mouth. Do you understand me?”
He snickers as if I only told him the most humorous joke. Taking the blade off his throat, I wipe both sides of the dagger on his cheek, smearing blood onto his skin. Jerking forward, he grabs behind my knees and rips my legs out from under me. I lose my grip on the dagger as I fight to catch myself in the backward fall, landing straight on my ass. The dagger clatters to the ground a few feet away from me.
We both lunge for it.
He snatches one of my naked legs with one hand and tries to grapple for the dagger with the other. I kick at him, my heel connecting with something hard before I swipe the dagger off the ground and escape his grasp. I crawl over to the bed like my life depends on it. After I’ve cleared his chained perimeter and scramble up into the bed, I glance over at him. A wicked look of amusement and disdain burns in his eyes, with a small trickle of blood seeping out the corner of his mouth. He swipes the blood away with the back of his fist. I must have kicked him in the mouth.
Good. Fucking asshole.
“Don’t try that shit again,” I warn as I burrow into bed. With my hand still tight around my dagger, I watch him, unable to turn my attention away for more than a second.
He shifts down to the floor and mirrors my body language. His fingers dance along the stone tile, a faint trembling still in his hands. “Sweet dreams, kitten.”
It feels more like a threat than a well wish. And at this rate, those sweet dreams will be filled with gutting his pompous ass.
Thump.
My eyes flash open, waiting for another sound. But nothing comes, and I chalk it up to a groggy delusion. Closing my eyes, I begin to slip back into sleep.
Thump.
I jerk up out of bed, whipping my gaze around the room before stilling. Darian’s eyes are closed, an easy rhythm to the rise and fall of his chest.
Thump.
I slide the dagger out from underneath my pillow and edge toward the sound at my door, constantly checking Darian’s slumped figure over my shoulder.
Thump.
Turning the knob slowly, I open the door a few inches to peer out. Nothing stirs out on the cobblestone streets. The other buildings are dark and quiet. Opening the door a bit more, I poke my head out. A few feet to the right of my door, Cole stands on one leg with the other bent, his sole resting on the exterior wall of my room. His thick arms are crossed over his chest, his head slowly sagging forward as his eyes flutter closed. As soonas his head reaches the lowest point, it dips and he jerks back, slamming his head against the wall behind him.
Thump.
He struggles to keep his eyes open, each dragging blink threatening to keep his eyes closed.
“Psst!” I whisper.
Jerking awake as if thrown into a frozen river, he spins toward me, his expression wide and still dazed.
“The hells are you doing out here, Cole?” I grab him by the jacket and pull him closer to my door, scanning the streets around us as I whisper, “Did you forget we have a curfew!”
He takes a breath, blinking the haze of sleep out of his eyes as he runs a hand through the crown of his head. “Oh…shit. Sorry. I…umm…” He glances around, clearly embarrassed.
“Are you seriously guarding my room? It’s well past midnight. Darian is chained to the wall. I’mfine. Go back to your room, and get some sleep.”
He blows out a breath. “It’s not Darian I’m worried about…or at least, he’s not my main concern.”
I pull him inside and shut the door silently before I lead him out of the main room where Darian sleeps, down a side hallway and into a lavish bathroom. Gods, even the bathtub gleams in the moonlight with an expensive porcelain sheen.
I release my grip on his jacket. “What’s your main concern that you’d risk breaking curfew, then?”
He takes a few steps forward so I can catch his mumbled whisper. “The rebels. There’s something they aren’t telling us.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“No,” he growls. “I’m not. I don’t trust them. Something is going on, and they aren’t telling us. Something that involves you.”
