Page 20 of Ruthless Scoundrel
I sit up and the chill of the air shocks another shiver out of me.
Jasper hisses in a breath as he rebandages his burned and bloody hands. I look down and see the manacles resting in the water beside me.
I could kill him and escape…
But I can’t swim, hunt, or barter, as I admitted to him. I don’t know where we are other than southwest of Fynren in the sea somewhere. I will die without him, and I can’t die. Not yet, at least.
“Give me your hands,” I say.
Jasper glances up at me in amusement. “Truly decided you’re better off with me, did you?”
I reach out with my palms up. “For now.”
His face goes stony as our gazes lock. I can’t help but feel he’s deeply troubled by something. His lips part and he sucks down a breath like maybe he’s about to tell me something important.
But then the spell breaks.
He smirks and rolls his eyes as he moves closer to me. “I’m never going to live this one down, am I?”
I purse my lips. “Depends on how long you live, I suppose.”
He reaches out with his mangled hands but stops before reaching me. I’m not sure what has him hesitating, but the sight of his fingers is making me ill, so I reach the rest of the way to end his suffering.
A buzz of energy surges up my arms as I hold him steady. Blue twists between our joined hands and mends his wounds. I feelhis piercing stare burning my face as I sweep my thumbs across his palms and thread him back together.
I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Something about the touch of his hands has me excited, and not in a way I want to be with him.
He stole you from your home.
He’s going to sell you to a vile aristocrat as little more than a broodmare.
The facts don’t stop the feelings. Perhaps if I break this wretched silence.
“You’re lucky I’m a high-blood magus.”
“For more reasons than one,” he says.
“Is it smart to remind me I’m healing my enemy?”
“Not very well,” he says, flexing his finger where a long scar remains.
“These are your reminders,” I say.
He chuckles. “Reminders that a princess saved my hands.”
I smile up at him coldly. “Reminders that if I’m still alive after all this, I’ll be coming for you. I want you to look at these marks every time you take a bite, every time you take a piss, every night before bed when you’re running your hands down the cheap whores you’ve purchased with my enslavement.”
His face slowly falls, the weight of his actions dawning on him.
I lean closer. “You’ll see those marks and remember you’re always one moment away from being on the other end of my magic.”
He stares at me for a long, quiet second. Then he grins. “I’ll look forward to seeing your beautiful face again.”
I pull away, cutting the magical connection healing him. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“I’m not,” he says, serious again. “I don’t want to sell you like a slave, or see you hurt. I don’t want to see these marks and remember the darkest act of my life.”
I swallow hard, feeling the truth of his words. He hates himself for what he’s doing to me. Maybe I can reach him. Maybe if I plead gently enough, desperately enough, he’ll break.
