Page 9 of Spark of Madness

With a sharp movement, she lifts one leg, bringing it over the branch before turning sideways to sit. She hesitates, her hands pressed to the bark on either side of her hips. She looks down at the ground, then her eyes flicker sideways to glance at me surreptitiously. She kicks out her foot and lets it swing, as if she were going to jump, but thought better of it.

“What will it be?” I prod.

She looks over at me. “What will my punishment be? How will I be punished for running from my duty?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Your cowardice will be brought before the authority of the Control for a vote.”

“So it’s cowardice, then?” she scoffs. “Not wanting to be set on fire?”

She asks as though she doesn’t know, and my eyes narrow at her, wondering why she’s so combative about who she is meant to be, how she is meant to serve her community. “Coward, weak, spineless…selfish.Choose whichever word draws the most meaning for you.”

Her lovely lips part in surprise as her eyes narrow, taking personal insult from the words. They aren’t untrue; she knows her role, her purpose, her duty—not only did she fail to fulfill it, but sheranfrom it, and hid from it.

Remarkably, it’s this sentiment that gives her a nudge, and she makes the leap, pushing her bottom off the branch and falling to the ground. She lands hard, her knees buckling from the momentum of leaping from such height, but she manages to keep herself upright as she bends.

She rises slowly, and my breath catches in my lungs as I watch her shadowed form lift from the ground. Perhaps it’s the sweep of her long, platinum waves over her shoulder which brush over the swell of her breast. Maybe it’s the gradual manner with which she lifts her chin, her eyes rising to meet mine. It could be the intoxicating manner in which she fills the black corset…or maybe it’s the glow of her pearly smooth skin stretched taut around her fleshy thigh where it peaks through the split in her skirt, begging to be marked.

Sweetsin.

“I’m not selfish,” she says defiantly.

I smile at her, amused by her boldness. I suppose she knows just how much trouble she’s already in and assumes she can’t make it any worse—though, I’m certain she can make it much, much worse.

With one arm, I shrug off my waist coat, then move to a brush-free clearing a few steps away where nothing but soil covers the ground. With a suddenness that makes her audibly gasp behind me, I drop the torch, the flame flaring as it catches air on the way down. As soon as it hits the dirt, I open my waistcoat, position it above the flame, and drop it. The light goes out with a puff of smoke as I effectively smother the fire.

I hear her step back, her boots crunching over twigs and leaves—one small step, then another.

I whip around to face her, but remain in place. “Are you going to run?” I’m met with silence…sense-heightening silence. “Think twice, Mercy. Because a chase sounds like fun for me.”

I hear the breath she forces out with a frustratedoomph, and her annoyance calls to me. I’ve never interacted with a woman in quite this way before—where she’s combative, hostile, resistant. I think I’m enjoying the resistance, though I know I shouldn’t. It’s should put me off entirely because her actions are disgusting. She’s defiant of the ritual sacrifice she was born to give each month beneath the full moon; the sacrifice of self to satiate the hunger of men.

I listen for the crinkle and crunch of leaves and twigs beneath her boots, though she tries to muffle the sound with each slow step.

Why hasn’t she run yet?

Hyatt groans, stirring from his unconsciousness nearby, and that seems to be the trigger she needs to act. I hear her turn, hear her padding with quick steps along the forest floor, and I give chase.

I run, following the sound of her footsteps until I can see her outline in front of me. I open my arms and wrap them around her waist as I barrel into her, grabbing hold as I plant my feet to stop. I lean back, lifting her from the ground as I step backward to steady myself.

“Hyatt…” she whispers with urgency, her quiet plea in protest of my capture.

My back hits a tree behind me. I set her down and spin her in my arms to face me, turning and shoving her spine against the tree.

“Please don’t—”

I slap my palm over her mouth when I hear Hyatt move, creeping to his feet in the darkness.

“Quiet, or he’ll hear you,” I warn.

She stills, though her anxiety rises. I feel the warm puffs of breath from her nostrils as they rush down the back of my bare hand. I feel her soft lips against my palm, and I want to feel her softness against every inch of me. I move closer, molding my body to hers, pinning her to the tree.

Sweet sin.

The way she feels is divine. Her soft curves are a perfect contradiction to her sharpened tongue. The lust she inspires is maddening—something that wraps around me and takes hold with a swiftness I couldn’t have predicted.

My cock thickens, straining behind my slacks, and my hips jut forward to seek relief. I shift my hand across her lips, along her cheek as I move in close, whispering against her ear, “Quiet. Don’t make a sound. Remain silent and I’ll do the same.” I comb my fingers through her hair, threading through the silky strands. I feel the wisp of her breath against my cheek. “Stay quiet and I’ll keep you safe, right here, until he loses interest and goes away.”

She doesn’t stir.

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