Page 17 of Bought by the Broken Beast
Her body tenses, her inner muscles clenching around me like a fist. “I’m going to… I’m coming!” she screams, her voice breaking.
“Come for me, Bella,” I roar, my own release a gathering storm.
She shatters, her body convulsing around me, her scream a high, pure sound of absolute pleasure. Her climax is a tidal wave, a torrent that rips through me, and my own control breaks. I drive into her one last time, a deep, guttural roar tearing from my throat as I empty myself into her, a final, desperate act of possession.
“Bella!” I roar as a Protheka-shattering orgasm slams into me.
My body is heavy, spent. I slump against her, my forehead resting on her shoulder, my entire weight supported by the wall and her small, trembling frame. The silence that descends is broken only by the drumming of the rain and our harsh, ragged breaths. The adrenaline is gone, leaving behind a raw, aching tenderness.
I pull back slowly, my eyes meeting hers in the gloom. The wildness is gone from her gaze, replaced by a dazed, luminous exhaustion. There are no words. There is nothing to say that our bodies have not already screamed into the darkness.
I lower my head and kiss her.
It is not like the first kiss. There is no violence in it, no desperation. It is a slow, deep press of lips, a taste of salt and rain and sweat and her. It is a sealing. A branding of a different kind. It is a promise, made in the language of silence and touch, that what just happened was not an ending. It was a beginning.
13
BELLA
The world comes back into focus slowly, piece by painful piece. The rough texture of the stone wall against my back. The dull, aching soreness between my legs, a deep, pleasant throb that is a stark reminder of the wildness that just consumed us. The heavy, comforting weight of Votoi’s body still partially covering mine. The scent of him, of sweat and rain and blood and something primal and possessive that is now inextricably linked to my own scent.
In the quiet, smoky aftermath, the terror and adrenaline have receded, leaving behind a raw, trembling vulnerability. What we just did was not gentle. It was not tender. It was a desperate, brutal collision of two souls pushed to the very brink, a claiming made in the language of violence and need. And it was the most honest thing I have ever experienced.
He pulls back, his movements slow, his amber eyes searching my face in the dim light filtering through the forge’s grimy window. I expect to see contempt, or perhaps regret. I see neither. What I see is a raw, unguarded intensity, a possessiveness that is as terrifying as it is reassuring. He mademe a promise with his body, a vow of protection that goes deeper than any blood oath.
My mind, the ever-present scribe, begins to reassert itself, sorting through the chaos, filing away the sensations, the emotions. And with that clarity comes a jolt of memory, a split-second action I had taken in the eye of the storm.
“The documents,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
Votoi’s brow furrows. “What?”
“In the study. When you were fighting. I grabbed them.”
I push myself away from the wall, my muscles protesting. Tucked into the waistband of my torn dress, soaked through but still legible, is a thick bundle of parchment. The shipping manifests. In the blur of smoke and shattering glass, while Votoi was a whirlwind of righteous fury, my instincts had taken over. Kairen and Vorlag had been arguing about a shipment. These had been on the desk. My scribe’s hands, trained to acquire and protect information, had acted without conscious thought. I had snatched them just before I threw the inkwell.
Votoi’s eyes widen with something I recognize as grudging admiration. He takes the damp bundle from my hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “The human thinks like a Vakkak strategist. You find your weapon in the heart of the battle.”
We move to the center of the forge, laying the damp pages out on the dusty, anvil-scarred floor. The rain has smeared some of the ink, but the script is still clear. There are more than I realized. Not one manifest, but five.
“I cannot read this script,” he says, the words a low rumble of frustration. He kneels beside me, a mountain of contained power, his gaze fixed on me, waiting. The dynamic is set. He is the sword, and I am the mind that wields it.
I pick up the first page. It’s the one I recognize, the one authorizing the delivery of “Festival Supplies” on the vesselSea Serpent, to be unloaded in two days. Signed by Malacc.
But the others… they are different. They are for four other ships, sailing from different ports—one from the arid plains of Tlouz, another from the Yacarres Isles. All are scheduled to arrive on the exact same day as theSea Serpent.
“There are more,” I breathe, my heart beginning a slow, heavy drum. “Five ships in total. All arriving on the same day. All carrying ‘Festival Supplies.’”
“A festival does not require five shiploads of supplies,” Votoi growls, his instincts sensing the deception his eyes cannot read. “What is the cargo?”
I scan the descriptions. They are intentionally vague. ‘Ceremonial Silks.’ ‘Spiced Meats and Wines.’ ‘Fireworks and Banners.’ It could be legitimate. But the sheer volume… it’s enough for a celebration five times the size of the Rite of the Lady of Light.
Then I see it. On the manifest from Tlouz, a place known for its neptherium mines and alchemical workshops, not its silks, there is a small, almost invisible annotation in the margin. A series of numbers and letters. It’s a guild code, one I recognize from Kairen’s more secretive ledgers. It’s the code for volatile alchemical components. The kind used in weapons.
My blood runs cold. “Votoi… this isn’t silk and wine. It’s alchemy. The kind used in… in Dark Elf fire-bombs.” The words are a horrified whisper. The ultimate taboo. To bring such weapons to Milthar is a crime worse than treason.
I frantically unroll the last document, the one I found in Kairen’s secret compartment, the one sealed with Vorlag’s wolf’s head crest. It is not a manifest. It is a map. A detailed schematic of the Grand Plaza in front of the Senate House, where the festival takes place. There are five points marked with a black ‘X’. The main entrance. The rostrum where the Zusvak and the High Senate will be seated. The two main thoroughfares. The roof of the adjacent Temple of the Lady of Light.
And next to each ‘X’ is the name of one of the five ships.
