Page 154 of The Forbidden Dragon King
Should I fight back? Ruin my mission?
Grey blurs my vision.
Panic rushes through me.
Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck…
Quintus finally relents, lifting his hands just enough for me to take in a desperate, gasping breath. I fill my lungs, shaking from the sudden, euphoric rush of endorphins.
Then my eyes glitter with rage.
This is it.
I lower my hand to my hair quicker than any dragon would be able to see, pulling out one of the silver raven feather pins.
The one that I have specially sharpened to a deadly point.
Then I burst the tattered remnants of my shadows out from my wings, all that remain after the suppression of my magic, and blast Quintus off me and slamming onto his back.
His breath is knocked out of him.
Agony rips through me at the use of my magic, but I battle through it. I fly up, twisting our positions, until I am the one straddling the terrified dragon on the silk feather mattress.
Quintus looks up at me with wide eyes like he has never been the one to be in this position in bed.
I bet that he hasn’t.
By the Shadow Gods, this isn’t only for the mission, this is for Freya and every other person who has suffered the unwilling touch of this powerful Alpha.
Tonight, I will be the Unseelie bearer of their revenge.
I slam my hand over Quintus’ mouth before he can scream. Then I reach behind me and stab the pin through his breeches into his hardened knot.
His muffled scream is a song of pain.
It’s beautiful.
I light up with vicious joy.
I bare my gleaming canines. “How broken do I look now?”
I rip out the pin, and Quintus screams again.
Blood blooms out to stain his breeches, as if with delicate red petals.
Quintus is punching at me clumsily, but I don’t feel the blows. Adrenaline is racing through me. He’s trying tobuck me off but he has no idea how strong I am. I easily hold him still between my thighs.
I catch Quintus’ left hand, as he flails at me, crushing it beside his head.
Then I stab the pin through his palm.
He wails.
“You touched my soulmate with this hand.” My expression is like a winter storm. Quintus’ face is ugly with tears. “Maybe I’ve been in the wilderness with a reputation as a bandit for too long. Everybody has forgotten to fear the Unseelie. Don’t any of you remember that the shadows came from us? Don’t worry, I’ll remind you. You’re never going to touch anyone with this hand again.”
Dispassionately, I ignore Quintus’ desperate pleading. I press my palm more firmly over his mouth.
My warped bronze and emerald ring is bright against the pale horror of his face.
