Page 161 of The Satyr's Guilt
The bound male whimpered.“Kjonner.”
Lizette’s eyes hunted for Jarek.
“Slave. Maybe something kinder, but that’swhat it really means.”
She nodded.
“I loved you,min besettelse.”
Once again, Lizette sought aninterpretation.
“Beloved.” The djinn commander snarled, hisimmense body pitching toward the berserker.
Lizette settled a hand on Jarek’s arm. Thiscornered man was Spear. Studying his pitiful form, she shoved herfists onto her hips. “I am not your beloved. I was never yourslave. Tie the freak to that tree, please.”
“Gladly.” Kara unhooked a thick rope she hadfastened to her belt while Clese shifted to help secure theberserker. The ever-watchful guard, Darius cradled a long sword inhis arms.
Lizette withdrew a knife from her sheath,the blade glistening in the mountain sun. Thebrightnessreminded her of the day she had climbed out Spear’swindow. As she had done that afternoon, she listened. Birds sang ona nearby branch. Pine trees and gathering rain clouds scented theair. No jasmine.
She approached the berserker until herhiking shoes nearly touched his gnarled toes and remaining boot. Hewasn’t scary. He was a dirty, bloody, flabby-fleshed pervert.
Words gushed from her lips. “You dragged meby my hair from the cell. You beat me. You put filthy hands on meand raped me. You stuffed your ugly penis in my mouth. The baths atthe river were the worst. I bet you don’t know that, do you? Yes.Those were the worst times. You thought you were making me cleanerwith all the soap and water. Instead, I was dirtier.”
He gulped huge sobs, but with his handstied, he could not wipe the tears. “I love you.”
When Lizette found Jarek observing her, hiseyes black with rage, she gathered the strength to continue. “No.You don’t. Here’s the plan. I will cut off your prick while youwatch. Then I’ll kill you.”
Spear’s legs kicked frantically against thebindings, his chest flinging from side to side, the rope chewinghis flesh.
Lizette yanked the male’s pants to hisankles, baring his flaccid shaft while tears welled in her eyes.For what seemed an eternity, she stood frozen. “I can’t touchit.”
“Let me.” Kara fisted the crown of his dickand pulled on it, giving Lizette space to slice. “Better?”
With the knife in her fist, Lizette focusedon completing the task, but she spun away. “I can’t.” She flung theblade into the dirt.
With desperate lurches, Spear snapped therope. Once loose, he yanked his pants up while he ran,stumbling.
Lizette held up a hand. “He’s mine.”
She stretched out a palm and channeled powerfrom Jarek. A cool breeze signaled a spell-in-the-making. Thefamiliar Bengal tiger leapt from a tree, landing on silent paws. Asthe cat prowled toward Spear, it gained speed, the powerful musclesin its thick legs and shoulders flexing with each step. Its orangefur with black stripes ruffled in the air. When the beast caughtSpear, it wrestled him to the ground. Its sharp canines clampedaround his neck. Since Lizette did not call off the tiger, it bitthrough flesh and bone, severing the berserker’s head from thebody.
Jarek’s brows arched. “An excellentgift.”
Lizette’s sensible and smooth chin-lengthhair yo-yoed as she nodded. “A handy one.”
With a flick of the wrist, the tigerdisappeared in a mistypfft.
“I practiced on your camp follower whothought I might share you. I convinced her it would nothappen.”
“Hmm. Remind me not to piss you off.” AsJarek threw an arm around Lizette’s shoulders, he drew her againsthis hard body. “Let’s go home,atashe delam.”
****
Denim dragged a faux leatherarmchair to the bed. She sat in it, Ram’s hand clutched in hers.While he was unconscious, three healers worked on him, adjustinghis organs, knitting his bones, mending his skin. He was stable,his heartbeat steady, but his still-bleeding wound was raw.
She had washed his hair, brushing it out asbest she could. His face was clean now, a combination of ruggedmasculinity, dangerous warrior, and movie star perfection.
Ram was not Steven. He had raised a joyful,wonderful Jonquil. He had stepped in front of a bullet meant forher. Sure, he could claim he was like any satyr—sex with nocommitment—but Denim knew better. She’d make him see.
