Page 17 of Feral Guardian
“So, you’re the Fyn princess,” he says in Seterian, probably more to himself than me. They all still think I don’t speak their language. Well, joke’s on them—I speak five languages, thanks to my posh royal academy training.
He stalks closer, slinging the key to my cage around his dirt-caked fingers. “I think I want to know what princess tastes like.”
I do my best to hide my disgust and keep on with the fear.
“Please,” I say in Fynish. “Don’t hurt me.” My voice is small and scared, just like I want it to be. He grins wider, revealing a shiny tooth on his upper row.
His gray eyes skate down my body and he licks his sun-cracked lips. “Yes, I think I’ll have a taste.”
Like hell you will.
Hesticks the key in the lock and twists until the bolt springs free. The hinges of my cage whine and grind from the rust. I shake harder, adrenaline surging through me.
This is it. I have to kill. Just like Alastair told me. No fear, no remorse. This man has made his choice, and I am more than capable of bringing him to Nol’Ther’s embrace.
The guard gets closer, just a foot away. My legs aren’t chained down—their mistake—but I’m not looking to just hurt this man. I need to end him. And that end needs to be swift so his screams can’t be heard by those above.
The pirates on deck are scrambling about. The thunder rolls off the sides of the boat like an angry roar. Some part of me worries we’re already too far away from the shore for me to escape, but I can’t think like that. There are smaller boats. I can row until I’m tired, rest, and then row some more until I’m back on land.
The pirate before me reaches out to touch my face and I instinctively pull away, my lip curling back in a snarl. I clamp it shut quickly. I don’t want to give away the surprise. One of the many surprises.
His hand trails down my cheek to my throat and he grabs me. “There’s nothing you can do about what’s going to happen, and I’m going to love that most of all.”
Fear swells at the edge of my awareness. What if I’mnotstrong enough? What if I lose my grip? What if I fail and he takes from me the only thing that keeps me safe from my mother’s wrath?
He must like the change in my expression because he grins again. His hand slides down my chest and my skin ripples with revulsion. I get a sense of disconnection all at once. Like I’m outside myself looking down on someone else going through this. But I can still feel his hand sliding over my bloodied silk to the waistband of my pantaloons.
Not yet.
I breathe slow and steady through my nose though my heart drums in my ears.
He yanks my pants and my white undergarment down, baring me to the cold, salty air of the brig. I yelp involuntarily and my jailer leers. I keep my legs clamped together tight, though the transfigured shards burrow into my flesh.
The guard drops to a knee and pulls my clothes off my legs. I move fast, like a striking viper. I wrap my legs around his face and squeeze him between my thighs. He screams into my skin, opening his mouth to bite me.
My womanhood bites back. All sixteen of the razor-sharp spikes I’d crafted from the dead man’s bones slice into the guard’s face. I squeeze and squeeze, bearing my transfigured dagger-like teeth down on him.
His blood spills over my white thighs and he claws at my backside. The painful scrape of his nails on my bare ass is nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching him choke on his blood. Finally, he weeps his last sob and goes limp in my legs as his eyes roll back.
I release him and acid barrels up my throat. I heave onto his corpse and tremble in my bonds, my body quaking from the nauseating rush.
“Gods, I killed him. I killed him with my vagina. Shit.” I laugh manically. “Not my best work…but certainly poetic.”
I stand on his chest to get a little more leverage and grasp one of the hairpins tucked away in my braid. The metal slides free and I stuff it into the lock on my manacles. I twist it this way and that, my fingers trembling and threatening to drop the pin. I have nine more holding up the rest of the braid. Not that I’d want to use up all my chances…
Finally, my lock springs open and I drop to the ground. I grab my pants and wipe the dead man’s blood from my thighs, shredding the material in the process on my spikes.
“Shit.”
I still have a little magic left, but I can’t waste it on a disguise. It may be the only thing that keeps me alive now, because I undoubtedly will need to heal myself. I need to be vigilant and save my magic for that.
I don’t want to, but I strip the bloody, vomited-on man of his bloody and vomity clothes. Then, much to my disgust, I put them on. The things I’ll do for survival.
There’s a loudthunkabove me as I’m securing the man’s filthy pants over my undergarment. I look up reactively and listen for what’s next. There’s shouting…Perhaps they’re brawling.
Or perhaps Alastair has come for me.
I can’t get hopeful and complacent. I have to get to shore.
