Sweet Ruin
Page 103
He ground his fangs, longing to strangle this bitch—not pleasure her. Pride stinging, he removed his bow and quiver. How triumphant did he feel right now? He kicked off his boots and yanked his shirt over his head.
“Very nice.” She watched him avidly, like his brothel patrons of old.
He felt as much disgust for her as he had for his first customer, a hideous serpent shifter with keyhole pupils, slits for nostrils, and a scaling bald head.
Please or perish. Though the demon in him had bayed for Magh’s throat between its fangs, the fey in him had reasoned that fucking the serpent female was a mindless biological function. Servicing her body with his meant nothing. She meant nothing.
A freeing calm had descended over him. He’d become untouchable: I’m not even here.
Though the serpent’s forked tongue had flicked across his throat, Rune’s slanted grin never wavered. “Ah, dove, the things I plan to do to you. . . .”
He’d gotten through that; he could do this. Turn your mind from this room, this situation. That familiar coldness washed over him.
He’d told Josephine he’d be thinking of her. He should have told her the whole truth: I’ll be holding on to you. He’d cling to what he felt for her.
Because right now his heart was cold ash.
If he did this, would he extinguish what Josephine felt for him? She’d seen his memories and had accepted his past—until tonight. “You’re going to be a whore again, only this time there’ll be no excuse for it.”
Magh’s words: “You’ve been a whore for so long, I thought we should make it official.”
With a smug look over the rim of her goblet, Meliai said, “I can’t wait to see your cock. It’s supposed to be legendary.”
“It’s the only part that matters, right, dove?” As Rune removed his pants, one thought stood out: I never stopped being a whore.
SIXTY-ONE
Rune is ruin.
Jo paced outside the tree entryway, her hands balled into fists. She needed to go somewhere and scream. What was so weird—if she left, Rune would come find her. After. He’d told her he would never let her go, and she believed him.
Last night, before they’d made love under beckoning stars, he’d brushed his fingers over her cheekbones and assured her he had a plan B.
He’d known screwing the nymph was a possibility.
A flash of a dream hit her, a snippet from his memories. He’d been sitting back in his chair in Orion’s stronghold. “If one of my tarts is stupid enough to want more,” he’d told his allies, “then she deserves all the heartache in the worlds.”
Huh. This stupid tart got what she deserves.
A beautiful blonde loitered by the entrance, watching her intently. Could that be Dalli, Rune’s “friend with benefits”? Add some more humiliation to the pile. Jo was about to tell her to go fuck herself with an oak splinter when she scented a demon.
Deshazior??
He’d just traced inside the barroom! Standing taller than everyone else, he seemed to scent her as well, lifting his face, then turning toward her outside.
Jo had a friend! “Desh!”
He grinned and traced to her. “Hello, little luv!” He wrapped his brawny arms around her and squeezed.
“You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”
“Why these tears?” He cleared his throat and backed up a step. “These black, poisonous tears?”
Oh. Blood had dried on her face. She must look like hell washed over.
“Bet this has somethin’ to do with yer baneblood. Where’s the poxy scum?”
“With another woman.” And Jo was sitting outside, waiting like a tied-up pet, more pitiful than she’d ever been.
“He’s up there in a love nest?”
“Is that what they call them? Hi-fucking-larious.” Tonight, Rune had gone out on a limb. She laughed bitterly.
Desh’s gaze landed on her neck, her mark. “The baneblood claimed you as his mate, and he’s still with another?”
“He’s here to get information.”
Desh scratched his head with confusion. “I’m not followin’.”
Jo found herself telling him parts of the story—her fight with Nïx, her brother’s captivity, the failed attempts to overpower the wraiths—ending with: “And now I’m supposed to cool my heels while he bones Red.”
“All this to get into Val Hall? If ye wanted in, I wish ye’d come to me.”
Jo’s breath caught. “Do you know a way?”
“Gettin’ in’s the easy part. Gettin’ out’ll be the kicker.”
She grabbed his big hands, squeezing to urge him on.
“If ye fought Nïx, go surrender to her. They’ll take ye inside in a heartbeat. Ye’ll likely be dispatched to Val Hall’s dungeon, but at least ye’d be closer to yer brother.”
Thad was in a dungeon? “How do you know all this stuff?”
“I know a few Valkyries.” He scratched his chin. “And ages ago, Nïx mentioned somethin’ I was never able to figger. She says to me, ‘Demon, when ye see the girl with black tears, tell her to surrender.’ Drove me mad with curiosity, but she’d say naught else about it, seemed to have forgotten the entire conversation.”
Tell her to surrender. Yet another invitation from Nïx.
Jo had thought she’d known Rune. She had been wrong. She’d thought she needed him to save her brother.
“Very nice.” She watched him avidly, like his brothel patrons of old.
He felt as much disgust for her as he had for his first customer, a hideous serpent shifter with keyhole pupils, slits for nostrils, and a scaling bald head.
Please or perish. Though the demon in him had bayed for Magh’s throat between its fangs, the fey in him had reasoned that fucking the serpent female was a mindless biological function. Servicing her body with his meant nothing. She meant nothing.
A freeing calm had descended over him. He’d become untouchable: I’m not even here.
Though the serpent’s forked tongue had flicked across his throat, Rune’s slanted grin never wavered. “Ah, dove, the things I plan to do to you. . . .”
He’d gotten through that; he could do this. Turn your mind from this room, this situation. That familiar coldness washed over him.
He’d told Josephine he’d be thinking of her. He should have told her the whole truth: I’ll be holding on to you. He’d cling to what he felt for her.
Because right now his heart was cold ash.
If he did this, would he extinguish what Josephine felt for him? She’d seen his memories and had accepted his past—until tonight. “You’re going to be a whore again, only this time there’ll be no excuse for it.”
Magh’s words: “You’ve been a whore for so long, I thought we should make it official.”
With a smug look over the rim of her goblet, Meliai said, “I can’t wait to see your cock. It’s supposed to be legendary.”
“It’s the only part that matters, right, dove?” As Rune removed his pants, one thought stood out: I never stopped being a whore.
SIXTY-ONE
Rune is ruin.
Jo paced outside the tree entryway, her hands balled into fists. She needed to go somewhere and scream. What was so weird—if she left, Rune would come find her. After. He’d told her he would never let her go, and she believed him.
Last night, before they’d made love under beckoning stars, he’d brushed his fingers over her cheekbones and assured her he had a plan B.
He’d known screwing the nymph was a possibility.
A flash of a dream hit her, a snippet from his memories. He’d been sitting back in his chair in Orion’s stronghold. “If one of my tarts is stupid enough to want more,” he’d told his allies, “then she deserves all the heartache in the worlds.”
Huh. This stupid tart got what she deserves.
A beautiful blonde loitered by the entrance, watching her intently. Could that be Dalli, Rune’s “friend with benefits”? Add some more humiliation to the pile. Jo was about to tell her to go fuck herself with an oak splinter when she scented a demon.
Deshazior??
He’d just traced inside the barroom! Standing taller than everyone else, he seemed to scent her as well, lifting his face, then turning toward her outside.
Jo had a friend! “Desh!”
He grinned and traced to her. “Hello, little luv!” He wrapped his brawny arms around her and squeezed.
“You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”
“Why these tears?” He cleared his throat and backed up a step. “These black, poisonous tears?”
Oh. Blood had dried on her face. She must look like hell washed over.
“Bet this has somethin’ to do with yer baneblood. Where’s the poxy scum?”
“With another woman.” And Jo was sitting outside, waiting like a tied-up pet, more pitiful than she’d ever been.
“He’s up there in a love nest?”
“Is that what they call them? Hi-fucking-larious.” Tonight, Rune had gone out on a limb. She laughed bitterly.
Desh’s gaze landed on her neck, her mark. “The baneblood claimed you as his mate, and he’s still with another?”
“He’s here to get information.”
Desh scratched his head with confusion. “I’m not followin’.”
Jo found herself telling him parts of the story—her fight with Nïx, her brother’s captivity, the failed attempts to overpower the wraiths—ending with: “And now I’m supposed to cool my heels while he bones Red.”
“All this to get into Val Hall? If ye wanted in, I wish ye’d come to me.”
Jo’s breath caught. “Do you know a way?”
“Gettin’ in’s the easy part. Gettin’ out’ll be the kicker.”
She grabbed his big hands, squeezing to urge him on.
“If ye fought Nïx, go surrender to her. They’ll take ye inside in a heartbeat. Ye’ll likely be dispatched to Val Hall’s dungeon, but at least ye’d be closer to yer brother.”
Thad was in a dungeon? “How do you know all this stuff?”
“I know a few Valkyries.” He scratched his chin. “And ages ago, Nïx mentioned somethin’ I was never able to figger. She says to me, ‘Demon, when ye see the girl with black tears, tell her to surrender.’ Drove me mad with curiosity, but she’d say naught else about it, seemed to have forgotten the entire conversation.”
Tell her to surrender. Yet another invitation from Nïx.
Jo had thought she’d known Rune. She had been wrong. She’d thought she needed him to save her brother.
