Page 15 of The Manticore's Human Queen
"Calming," he repeats, savoring the word. "Lord Zarren doesn't find it calming. He finds it peculiar. He says a bride's mind should be on her duties." His gaze drops, lingering on the bodice of my gown. "And other… pleasantries."
"I will keep that in mind," I say, my voice turning to ice. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Oh, I don't think I will," he purrs, reaching out and grabbing my arm. His grip is surprisingly strong. "You're always so quiet, little pet. So… obedient. I wonder what it would take to make you make a sound."
Panic, cold and sharp, lances through me. But on its heels comes a wave of pure, incandescent rage. This pathetic, drunken fool dares to touch me, to threaten me. I think of Tarek, of the quiet dignity with which he bears his own torment. I will not dishonor him, or myself, by cowering.
I do not pull away. Instead, I turn my head and look him directly in the eye, letting the placid mask I wear fall away for just a fraction of a second. I let him see the cold, hard contempt I feel for him, for all of them.
"Release me, Kaelen," I say, my voice no longer a whisper, but a low, quiet command. "Or I will be forced to tell Lord Zarren that one of his guards was putting his hands on his property before the wedding. I wonder how he would feel about another male touching his… prize."
I see a flicker of doubt in his wine-addled eyes. He is cruel, but he is not stupid. He knows the volatile, possessive nature of his young lord. To be seen as a rival, even in jest, would not end well for him.
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, a silent battle of wills in the darkened corridor. Then, with a sneer, he releases my arm, shoving me back a step. "You're no fun, little pet," he spits. "Go play with your monsters. It's where you belong."
He turns and saunters away, leaving me trembling in the silence, my heart hammering against my ribs. The encounter has lasted less than a minute, but it has left me feeling raw and exposed. I take a deep, shuddering breath, clutching my basket to my chest, and continue on my way, the close call a stark reminder of the razor's edge on which I am walking.
When I finally reach the menagerie, the familiar scents of hay and beast are a welcome comfort. Tarek is waiting, a massive, still shadow in the back of his cage. He must have sensed the change in me, the lingering scent of fear and anger, because he moves to the bars immediately, a low, questioning growl rumbling in his chest.
I kneel before him, trying to compose myself. "It was nothing. A guard with too much wine and not enough sense."
His eyes narrow, searching my face. "He touched you." It is not a question.
"He is not important," I insist, opening my basket and beginning the ritual of tending his wounds. My hands are still trembling slightly.
As I clean a shallow cut on his chest, he catches my wrist, his grip gentle but firm, stopping my movements. "You are trembling."
"I am fine," I say, a little too quickly. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it fast.
"You are a terrible liar, Annelise," he rumbles, his voice a low, soft vibration that does more to steady me than any command. He releases my wrist, allowing me to continue.
I work, the silence stretching, but it is different now. Charged. The scent of the elven salve is sharp, but beneath it, I can smell the warm, musky scent of him, a scent that is becoming dangerously familiar. My fingers brush against the hard muscle of his abdomen, and I feel a jolt of heat that has nothing to do with anger.
"You are healing quickly," I murmur, my voice a little breathless as I focus on a cut just below his ribs. "The salves are working."
"It is not just the salves," he says, his gaze intense. "You are a better healer than you know."
"I am a better thief," I counter, a flicker of defiance returning. "These are my fiancé's finest remedies. I hope they cause him some inconvenience."
A low chuckle, a sound I have never heard from him before, rumbles in his chest. "A rebel and a thief. A dangerous combination."
"You should know," I say, my gaze finally lifting to meet his. "You are consorting with one."
The air crackles. The moment our gazes lock, the world falls away. The playful banter, the shared defiance—it all coalesces into something raw and unguarded. I see not the warrior, but the man who has confessed his fear to me, his eyes a sea of vulnerability and a stark, aching want that mirrors my own. Hesees me, truly sees me, not as a lady or a healer, but as a woman. His equal.
The intensity of it, the sheer truth of it, is too much. With a choked, silent gasp, I break the gaze, the spell shattered. I scramble to my feet, my movements clumsy, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Without a word, without a backward glance, I turn and flee, not from him, but from the beautiful, terrifying promise I have just seen in his eyes.
Sleep does not come. I lie in my silken bed, the memory of our conversation replaying itself over and over. His eyes, so full of a raw, unguarded emotion, have seen straight through my defenses. And he has not flinched. The intimacy of it has shattered me. I toss and turn, the fine linen sheets a tangle around my legs. The heat that has coiled in my belly now returns, a slow, insistent ache that is both a torment and a thrill.
When exhaustion finally claims me, my dreams are consumed by him. I dream of his hands, large and scarred, not holding a weapon, but touching me with a reverence that is a question, a promise, and a prayer all in one. I wake with a sharp, ragged gasp, my body aching with a pleasure that is entirely of the mind. My desire is now an undeniable truth. I am no longer just his ally.
I am his. And the thought of what that means is enough to make me tremble in the darkness.
19
TAREK
“You haunt me, Annelise,” I murmur, my voice low in the menagerie’s dank silence, my manticore blood stirring as I picture her bare before me. “I see you spread out, wanting me, moaning for me as I moan for you.”
