Page 88 of Poisoned Kingdom
A shuddered breath escaped him, his fingers squeezing my waist tighter as he pulled me to him.
‘Do that again,’ he breathed, voice rough with need. The sound of it ignited fire across my skin, stunning me with its intensity. ‘Sana, please, do it again,’ he repeated, nipping at my blouse, teeth pulling at the laces until the knot surrendered, giving him access.
‘We can’t . . .’
My voice was barely audible, my resistance melting while reason and desire fought inside me. As my breath hitched, I ran my hands over his scalp, playing with his hair while his teeth grazed my skin. The faint sting of his bites was eased by the kisses he trailed down my body.
I was falling—completely and utterly—for a man who could never truly be mine. And I hated how much I wanted him anyway.
Panting, I pulled away with what little willpower I had left.
‘Rey . . . no. We can’t.’
But the workbench halted my retreat. He followed, relentless, bracing his arms on either side of me.
‘Why not? Give me one good reason to step away, Sanika, because I have none.’ His hand rose to cradle my head, fingers slipping into my braid, titling my face up to meet his. ‘The need to touch you haunts my every thought. I’m a man possessed. I want . . . No, Ineedyou.’
His eyes bore into mine, challenging me to object. When I didn’t, a slow, wicked smile curved his lips and a heat like molten lava rolled over my body.
‘I’m going to lift you onto this bench, little Viper,’ he said, voice velvet over steel. ‘And then I’m going to get on my knees and savour the scent that’s been driving me wild since the moment we met.’
He swept the bench clean with one sharp motion, and I gasped, turning around, startled by his actions—a mistake. His hips pressed against mine, and the hard length pressing throughthe fabric told me exactly how crazed he felt, how hot and hard I made him.
‘Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of holding you like this?’ Reynard murmured, fingers encircling my throat as he pulled me closer. His touch was firm, but ever so tender. ‘Of hearing those little gasps when your mind resists, but your body yearns to be mine. You invade my nights and my days. I see your eyes, your smile . . . My suffering never ends. Are you so cruel to deny me this respite?’
I whimpered, the traitorous heat between my thighs betraying me. The image of him inside me, taking me right here, was too vivid, too sharp, and my hips tilted instinctively, pressing against him.
I couldn’t resist him even if I tried.
‘Sanika . . .’ he said, pulling my skirt up. ‘Don’t fight it.’
With a defeated moan, I gave in to the liquid fire he poured into my veins.
A booming crash sounded, and it felt like ice water splashing over me. We both froze. I blinked and my focus snapped back to reality as I recognised the unmistakable clashing of steel.
‘Stay behind me,’ Reynard snarled, stunning me with his instant transformation from passionate lover to death incarnate as he rushed towards the door, sword and shield in hand.
‘In your dreams!’ I shouted, hastily straightening my clothes and chasing after him.
The fight might have saved me from making a mistake, but this was my home. The gods have mercy on the idiots who’d invaded it—because I would have none.
And deep down, I wasn’t even sure if I’dwantedto be saved.
Chapter 32
Roksana
We burst into chaos. Four masked men were swarming Irsha and Tova in the kitchen, using sheer numbers to try and overwhelm them. That edge vanished the moment Reynard surged forward, his short sword driving cleanly through the spine of the one mid-swing at Tova.
The momentum shifted instantly. The remaining attackers retreated, knocking over my new dining table in a clumsy attempt at cover. I nearly cried when Irsha kicked it, cracking the polished surface—before Tova’s hammer smashed it to smithereens, forcing me to shield my face from flying debris.
With the renowned master of the Blades and an unmatched war hero pressing the attack, our uninvited guests werehopelessly outmatched. They’d come expecting a helpless woman and a dwarven engineer—not two skilled warriors who made an art form out of killing.
I itched to join the fight, but between Reynard’s blade, Irsha’s twin daggers, and Tova’s axe in play, I was far more likely to be injured by my friends than to contribute. Instead, I observed the spectacle from the corridor until the quiet sound of breaking glass from behind me caught my attention.
Three men were scrambling through my workshop window. They held no weapons—just hessian sacks and coarse rope.
I grinned. Kidnappers.
