Page 143 of Kissed By the Gods
He takes a step back, and I take a step forward, dagger pressed into his exposed neck. “Two. I’m a very efficient killer.Some might even say the gods created me for killing.” He swallows thickly. The sound echoes in the room.
“Three. I’m a woman, which must mean I’m an idiot. Which do you think is the lie, Roran?”
“I’ll j-j-j-j...”
“Yes?”
“I’ll leave,” he finally spits out.
“That’s probably for the best.”
But before he can turn around, the wooden door to the chamber slams opens with a crash.
Ryot stands in the doorway. My heart pounds at the sight of him. My heart is a godsdamn traitor.
I surreptitiously replace the dagger in its holster, hoping that Roran’s body is blocking his view of me enough that Ryot won’t notice. Because I don’t, in fact, want anyone killed today.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ryot whispers menacingly, the sound no less intimidating for its near-silence.
“The Synod declared love taboo for the Altor in Year 156 of the Eternal Wars. It’s a little-known piece of our history. Not erased, exactly, just forgotten. It wasn’t divine will that chained our hearts. It was man, desperate to own it all. As to the gods, I don’t think they care why we fight, so long as we do.”
E
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
RYOT
I’m not evensure who I’m talking to. Her? Roran?
My eyes are drawn to hers, and I’m struck by this overwhelming sense of … inevitability. Roran’s velvet tongue has nothing on the enticement that is Leina’s eyes. And sweet Serephelle, where did she get that dress? Gold threads catch the light, igniting the embers in her eyes, while deep emerald tones make her olive skin glow. And that scar? It isn’t a flaw; it’s a tapestry of her courage and strength that shines in a radiance more tantalizing than jewels ever could be.
I drag my gaze down. The silk skims over her body like it was poured there, dipping low in front, lower in back. My eyes follow its path, helpless, until I get to her combat boots. The delicacy of the silk stands in stark contrast to the battle-ready boots and the black daggers strapped to her thighs. It’s an outfit that perfectly encapsulates the paradox that is Leina—that precious, terrifyingly mortal fragility concealing a resilient, stubborn, fearless soul.
“I was just leaving,” Roran says, breaking through the enchantment Leina weaves over me.
Mistake.
I focus on Roran, the spineless prick, because I don’t actually want to killher.
Him, on the other hand … him, I’ve wanted to kill for years.
Leina covertly re-holsters one of her daggers. And that decides it.
Roran’s a dead man.
I prowl into the room, closing the door against curious eyes. The door latch slips into place with a soft snap. The sound has Roran spinning around, his hands still up in the air in a universal sign of surrender—exactly how he was when I entered. The relief that Leina’s already handled him doesn’t last, it doesn’t even register against the fury. Roran opens his mouth to speak as I approach, but I snap my hand out, cinching my grip around his neck before he can utter a single sound. His eyes bug out in a very satisfying way.
“You don’t deserve to speak,” I whisper to him. “You don’t deserve to make a single, solitary sound.”
Leina wraps a hand on my arm.
“I’ve already handled him, Ryot. He was leaving.”
But I don’t hear her, not really. I’m too hyper-aware of the gratifying gurgling noises coming from Roran’s throat.
