Page 70 of Grim and Oro
My sword is through his stomach in a moment. It isn’t honorable, stabbing him through his back, but given his actions, this man deserves nothing, least of all her.
He sinks to the floor, and then there she is, eyes wide, staring at me.
“Don’t worry, Hearteater. He’s not dead. I will make sure of it.” I step closer, and lean down, so I can say it right above her lips, “Because I’m going to bring him to the brink of death a thousand times before I will finally allow him the mercy of dying.”
She stares back at me in shock. “Because ... he kissed me?” she asks, chest heaving.
Yes.
Because he kissed you.
Because hetouchedyou.
Because first, he drugged you.
That’s not what I say, though. I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want her to know that if she somehow survives my plan, for the rest of her life I will kill anyone who wrongs her.
“No, Hearteater,” I tell her. “Because he poisoned you.”
She’s confused. “What?”
“The drink he gave you. A few minutes more and you would find yourself paralyzed, a motionless vessel for his pleasure.”
At that, I can taste her fear. True fear.
I’ve never tasted it before, from her.
Which means she’s never truly been afraid of me.
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t until you were leaving. Your face and chest are flushed scarlet. It’s a sign.” I want to kill anyone who noticed and didn’t help her. I want to kill everyone who made this poison and allowed it to be distributed. Iwillkill everyone who had a hand in this. Starting with this man. I tilt my head at her. “You feel it, don’t you?” In my hand, a vial appears, portaled in from the castle supply. An antidote. I hand it to her, and she swallows it down. Relief slides through me when her flush fades away. “Better?”
She nods.
Good.
Now that she’s better, my anger rises to the surface, threatening to overwhelm me. I look down at her dress, this dress that will haunt my dreams, the fabric wrinkled where she let the vile man touch her. The pathetic excuse for a man now bleeding out at our feet.
“Hearteater,” I say, my voice mocking, as I succumb to my hurt. “Who knew you were so desperate for pleasure?”
She glares at me, speechless.
“If you wanted someone to bed you so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
I regret it as soon as I say it. I’m sickened by the petty jealousy I feel in the wake of her brush with real danger. And yet, I can’t stop myself. I’m too lost in a roiling tempest of fury at the man at my feet, the world, anyone who ever tried tohurt her.
Her eyes narrow. She takes a shaking breath. “I would rather die than have you touch me, demon,” she says.
Her words are brutal yet deserved. Her feelings, though ... they say something different. I frown. “Is that so?” I dip my head lower, bringing my mouth closer to hers. “All right. I will not touch you again until you ask me to.”
She shivers beneath me. I can practically taste her growing desire.
“I won’t touch you again until youbeg me to.”
Her breath hitches. “That will never happen,” she tells me. “I hate you.”
I wait to feel that hatred. It never arrives. We can pretend, though. She can pretend to hate me as long as she likes. She can scream how much she hates me as I worship her, every night. I don’t mind. As long as all her feelings—her hatred, her desire, her love—are mine.
