Page 56 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
I jumped off his lap, grabbed the top of my dress, and pulled it up to my throat, backing up toward the wall. His face creased as his eyes followed my retreat. My blood was rushing fast through my veins, but that wasn't the only thing pulsing. A new beat had picked up between my legs. Combined with the fluids drenching me, something throbbed right by my entrance, and a deep ache, a longing for... for... I had no words for what spread inside me.
My hand flew up as if to ward him off as he stepped right into my space. His chest collided with my palm, but he didn't stop, not until it was wedged firmly between us. His thumb moved under my chin, gently pushing it up so I had to look into his deep, dark eyes. "Roweena?"
"I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... I've..."
Vardor's head cocked to the side, his eyes probing me. "Did I do something wrong?"
"I..." There were no words to describe how I felt. At least none I could say to him. How could I explain this war insideme? This war of wanting more while also being utterly shocked by what I had allowed to happen? A shadow of guilt, hurt, and confusion moved across his features and tore at my heart.
"You are no gentleman," I accused before I could form the words in my mind.
He threw his head back and laughed. Loud and heartily, right from his belly. Indignantly, I tried to wiggle away from him, but he kept me firmly pressed against the wall.
"Roweena, I have been many things in my life. A son, a brother, a warrior, a lover, an enemy, a ruthless leader, a god. But one thing I have never been and never will be is a gentleman."
His obvious insanity in insisting that he was a god should have made it easier for me to push down all these demanding sensations inside me, but it didn't. Instead, it heated me more.
"We're onlypretendingto be husband and wife," I tried to hiss the words to let him know that I was incensed, but they were too husky to my own ears.
"I don't understand." There was no contrition in him, only curiosity.
"A man and a woman don't do this..." I huffed, looking for a word, wanting to use my trapped hand to make a circle in the air to indicate us, but he didn't give any indication of letting it go anytime soon, "this... kissing... unless they're married."
"Oh," he nodded as if remembering something. He was good in his act, really good. Almost believable. "You need a priest to speak words over you before you can fuck."
My face turned beet-red at the crude word. I think my eyes even bulged. I had heard that word whispered before, knew of its existence, but nobodyeverhad voiced it to me, not aloud.
"You know what? Your stupid act is getting old. You know exactly what a marriage is." I pushed against his chest, but I might as well have tried to move a boulder. There was no give.All I could do was voice my outrage. "You are no god. You are a mortal like everyone else."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Had I gone too far? I would have loved to retreat further, but I couldn't. I was trapped literally between a rock and a hard place.
His jaw worked, and his eyes darkened; he was getting angry. We had shared many things in the past few weeks, but the only time I had ever seen him angry was when he broke other men's necks. Would he hurt me now? I had gotten too comfortable with him. I had forgotten to watch my words, had forgotten that I was his captive, not his partner, or whatever else one might call me.
"You still don't believe me?" He roared. His hand fisted. I wanted to close my eyes, but he didn't hit me. He hit the wall, cracking the wood. He showed me his knuckles. "Not broken, no blood."
I was too stricken to comprehend what he was showing me. Without warning, he pushed himself off me and the wall and moved to the single round table in our cabin. A thoughtful soul had left apples and oranges in a basket with a knife. He grabbed the knife and came back to me. Fear threatened to choke me. He held the knife out to me. "Stab me."
"What? No!" I still couldn't shrink back any further. The wall behind me wouldn't give.
He took my hand and pushed the knife into it, closing my fingers over the hilt.
"No, Vardor, no! What are you doin—" I couldn't finish the sentence, I screamed as he forced my hand holding the knife forward, plunging it into his stomach. He was crazy, he was a madman! I expected my hand to be drenched in blood when he finally let go of it and allowed the knife to clatter to the floor. But there was none. His vest and shirt were cut, but there was not a nick on his skin.
How in the heavens was that possible?
My mind spun. The room spun. Bile rose in my throat, but darkness enveloped me before I could empty my stomach.
Idiot! I cursed myself. Stupid fucking idiot!
Roweena lay motionless on the bed where I put her after she fainted. From shock. From what I had done. What I had forced her to do. I wished I could pummel the wall some more, but I was afraid to call more attention to us. Besides, it wouldn't have done me any good—other than destroying the ship—I didn't feel any pain.
I filled a glass of water and brought it over to Roweena just as a soft moan escaped her. Idiot! I repeated my self-chastisement. The only excuse I had was that passion had simply taken me away. Holding her, kissing her, touching her after all this time, the real her, had been too much. It had clouded my mind, and I forgot I was holding Roweena, the virgin, not Vaelora, the goddess, in my arms.
"Here." Gently, I moved her into a sitting position. Her eyelids fluttered, and long, dark lashes, looking like tiny wings, opened, exposing the magnificent sight of her sapphire blue eyes.
"You're not... hurt," she rasped. Holding on to me.
I shook my head. "Mortals can't hurt me."
