Page 40 of Dynasty of the Wicked

She did something she wouldn’t have thought to do before, but that felt right at that exact moment: she leaned over and kissed him, hard, on the mouth. She closed her eyes, moving her lips against his. It was rough, it was … emotional.

He stiffened beneath her touch, but it only lasted a second. His hands went straight to her hips, squeezing, feeling. She moaned against him, kissing him harder, and turning her head to deepen it. It felt right, with him. He yanked her onto his lap and her legs wrapped around his waist easily. The chains clattered around them, weighing them down and interfering with their fervent touches.

“I don’t wish to corrupt you, Princess,” he groaned, pulling away from their kiss. His hands roamed her back and he pressed his forehead against hers. “I am too wicked for you.”

“You are perfect for me,” she whispered back, grasping his face in her hands. “Even monsters can love, Feng Mian.”

He kissed her again, and she wasn’t sure which of them was the monster; her, as the wicked princess, or him, as the ruthless warrior? It didn’t really matter, either, because she loved him recklessly. The kind of love that had grown too rapidly for her to keep up with. Even if he was the most heartless man in the world, the most vicious, the worst of the worst—it was too late, because she was in love.

His lips brushed over the column of her throat and she suppressed a shiver as she threw her head back, his kisses descending toward her chest. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, his fingers teasing the torn material of her dress.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he murmured between kisses.

He tore the cloak off her body in one fluid motion. The winter coldness seeped into her skin and she shivered beneath his touch.

She wanted to beg him to keep kissing her, to keep loving her, but the door to the shed snapped open so hard it slammed against the wall. Debris powdered over them from the thatched roof. They both flinched, attention jerking to the door.

Wyer stood at the threshold, a sneer on his face, and his eyes blazing with rage.

“What the hell are you twodoing?” he snarled.

12

Zhi Ruo could barely breathe,her mind coming to a stuttering halt. The soldiers behind Wyer peeked over his shoulder to get a better look at them, and she could hear them murmuring to themselves. Feng Mian tightened his hold on her hips, but this time it wasn’t sensual or possessive, butprotective. She could feel his whole body tense, a wild gleam entering his eyes. He would fight, she was sure, the instant Wyer got near.

Wyer stormed toward her, his lips curled back into a snarl. “I said, what the fuck are you doing?”

The other soldiers filled the room, swords drawing. Apparently, they also didn’t trust Feng Mian, because they pointed their weapons at him while Wyer stopped a foot away, his body quaking in barely repressed rage. She could tell he wanted to reach forward and yank her off Feng Mian’s lap, but he wasn’t foolish enough to get close to him.

“Get up,” he snapped, staring at her. “Now.”

Zhi Ruo couldn’t move. She clutched the front of Feng Mian’s shirt, her arms trembling. Wyer’s face was growing redder, his eyes bulging, and the blue veins on his neck standing out against his pale flesh.

When she didn’t move, Wyer raised his hand and a green light emanated from his fingers, a crackling sound filling the space. He shot the light at her, and it slammed into her shoulder, hurling her off Feng Mian’s lap and falling against a stack of dusty boxes. Fiery pain throbbed over her body and she screamed, rolling on the floor and clutching the wound. She could hear Feng Mian shout something, and the scuffle of a fight, and the shimmying of swords being unsheathed, but her vision was dark with pain.

Wyer grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet. “You fuckingwhore,” he seethed, shaking her like a doll. She could barely blink up at him, the pain so intense. He grabbed her face and turned her head so she had no choice but to stare into his hateful blue eyes. “You fucking whore,” he repeated. “I should have known you would have fucked the first man you could. You Huo heathens have no morals whatsoever. You are my war prize.Mine!”

He slapped her and she fell to the floor again, an iron taste filling her mouth. She didn’t have time to process the pain because Wyer jammed his fingers through her hair and yanked her up to her knees.

“You are mine!” he roared. “How dare you fuck that beast? How dare you?—”

“Let me go!” she screamed, raking her fingernails over his hands.

He hissed in pain and kicked her with his metal-toed boots. She hurtled backwards again, knocking into a pile of empty wooden shelves. Her chain whipped back with the motion and struck her across the face. Blood gushed from the wound and sprayed down her nose.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Feng Mian shouted, and she finally noticed the soldiers holding him down, wrestling to keep him in place. They all had their swords drawn and pointed to hisneck, but he lashed at them nonetheless, trying in vain to reach her.

Zhi Ruo pushed herself on shaking legs, but something hard crashed into her stomach again, and she was knocked off her feet. Pain like she had never experienced wracked through her body, sending fire through her veins. It was some sort of magic, she knew that, but it was made worse since she couldn’t see what was happening. Her flesh seemed to burn even though there was no fire. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing would come out, and she couldn’t stop shaking silently, her body on the verge of bursting into flames.

The instant Wyer touched her, the magic wore off. She groaned and blinked, her gaze unfocused. He hauled her to her feet and her head slumped low as he dragged her out of the shed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her limbs heavy.

She had to get to Feng Mian, a small part of her mind told her. But she could barely process what was happening.

Wyer tossed her to the ground and she collapsed onto a slush of ice, snow, and mud. The cold shocked her system and she gasped, her trembling hands pushing against the cold, hard-packed snow beneath the layer of sludge. It seeped into her dress, drenching her knees and half her body. She breathed in the smell of death, decay, smoke, and burned flesh that pervaded the air. He had dragged her to the center of the village they had captured. More than half of the houses were burned to crisps. Ash and snow fluttered with the wind.

Zhi Ruo turned to Wyer. He was screaming orders to people, and she couldn’t understand a thing he was saying, his words coming out in quick succession, so fast that it was hard to grasp the foreign words, and his arms violently flinging in one direction then the next.

“—right now,” Wyer seethed.

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