Page 30 of Upon Buried Embers
Climbing back up from the well.
The cane.
The barn, the barn, the barn.
“Come.” Rohan unties me from the tree, and I blink, as Drogonah takes to the skies and he walks me back to the camp in silence. Once there, he guides me through the tents, the members watching me.
“Ohhh, the slave girl is going to get it!”
“She’s in trouble now for having his horse hurt.”
“Don’t be too harsh, Rohan, she will snap in half.” That was from Kaldar, and though he sounded somewhat concerned, they all cackle.
Rohan pushes the flaps aside to his tent, then I’m untied and thrown in, landing in a sprawl of limbs on something soft. Gingerly moving to a sitting position, I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, watching Rohan move about the space.
Everything hurts; my side, my head, my fingers, feet and legs… I just want to sleep for eternity and never wake up.
I ran from him, and now I’m going to pay for it. I should just die now.
I look around for something, anything I can use to escape, but there’s nothing other than the axe Rohan places down, the blood of the wolves now dried on it.
I can’t help but tremble. There’s a table in here with some sort of cushions scattered on the floor around it. A few chests too, one open as Rohan rifles through it. I think there are clothes inside.
Further in the tent, an almost sheer fabric covers the fur bed beyond it, the warmth of it calling to me. I notice what must be the pole that holds up the tent at the end of the bed.
The chest closing has me looking at Rohan, who still has his back to me. He drops his pants and puts on new ones. My cheeks heat at his bare ass, toned and nicely shaped, as are his thighs.
On closer inspection, he has some tattoos on the backs of them, lines of inscriptions running down them, but I’m too far away to see what they say. His tunic is off next, replaced by a new sleeveless one, ribbons still wrapped around his forearms
He turns, moving toward me with fabric in his hand and I swallow around the lump in my throat.
He pulls me to my feet and throws clothes at me, a silent command in his eyes as he moves to the table, rifling through some papers there.
I stare after him and then down at the clothes, my fingers shaking.
“Hurry up,” Rohan barks, his back to me, and I jump, quickly changing into the large, single tunic that smells smokey and woody, like burning embers.
Leaving my boots off, I wait for his next instruction. I can’t make him any madder than he already is with me.
Rohan looks me over, his eyes assessing, and I keep my head down when he decides to re-tie a rope around my waist and attach it to his. With that, he pulls me to the back of the tent, through the sheer curtain and onto the furs.
I freeze, and then I fight, frightened sounds coming from me as he maneuvers me roughly, nausea rising.
Oh Gods.
“Still, Elf.” I don’t, I continue to scratch at him, tears falling as the tunic bunches up at my thighs.
He curses, then he’s holding my wrists in one of his hands, while he shoves his other hand between my thighs to grip my ass and pulls me to him. He lays half on top of me, crushing me between the furs and him.
“P…please,” I cry, and he looks down at me frowning, his dark eyes holding mine.
He looks down between us, where the tunic has ridden up and he sighs, removing his hand from my ass and reaching for it.
I freeze. I don’t even breathe when I feel his hand on my bare skin, so warm compared to my cold one. When he grabs the hem and yanks it down as far as it will go, I slump back against the furs, completely drained.
“If I let you go, will you stop scratching me like a little mouse?”
I would be insulted, but he’s not wrong.
