Page 30 of Burdened Bonds
Her hands stroke the leather of my jacket in a way that makes me fucking shiver.
“The chancellor.”
“The chancellor?” I say, sitting back. That wasn’t what I was expecting. The thoughts crash together in my head and then my eyes flick back to hers.
“Because you were an unregistered.”
“Because of my mom.”
“Ahhh,” I say. “Your mom.”
I guess I say it in a way that piques her interest, because she shuffles forward on her knees, closer to the fire, closer to me. The light from the flames dances across her skin, turning it golden.
“Why did you say it like that? Do you know something about my mom?”
I could tease this out, dangle this in front of my little rabbit and make her leap and jump and stretch for it, struggling to clasp it between her paws. I like teasing. I like torturing. I like making people suffer. It’s so … entertaining.
But with her, it’s different. With her, every fucking thing is different.
As much as the scowl and the hissy eyes are a turn on, I want her to be pleased with me. I want her praise, her thanks, her adoration. Mostly I want her. Want her close like she was in the bed, her warm body lying flush against mine, and I suspect I’m only going to get that in two ways. By force or by pleasing her. Force would be my normal preferred choice of action, obviously. But she’s strong, stronger than she was, and there’s a chance I might not be successful.
Then there’s this strange desire – one I’ve never felt before – the desire to have her touch me back. And I don’t just mean her mouth around my cock. I mean, really touch me.
And so I’m straight with her.
“I told you I’d find out about your mom and I did.”
“Wh-why?” she says, lifting her hand to stroke her pig as he comes sidling up to her.
Why? That wasn’t the response I was expecting. Then again when is the response ever the one I was expecting? People are fucking complicated.
“I like helping you. I like caring for you.” I want you to want to do those things for me.
The wrinkle reappears between her brows.
“Why?” she repeats, this time her voice a whisper, her body very still – a frozen, frightened rabbit. What is she frightened of? The truth?
Yeah, I’m guessing I’m not anyone’s first choice for a fated mate.
“You’re smart, little rabbit, and I think you know why.”
She stares into my eyes and it makes my heart pound. Bang bang bang.
But she doesn’t answer me. She’s not ready to admit it. That’s fine. The thing about being an assassin is you have to be patient. You have to wait for the right moment to strike and kill. I don’t have much patience for most things. But the important things. The things that make my heart pound like that – yeah, I can be endlessly patient for those.
“What did you find out about my mom?” she asks me instead.
I shake my head and pull out her knife – his knife – from my pocket, laying it flat on my palm and watching the flames flicker across the blade this time.
“It wasn’t your mom I found out about, little rabbit. It was your dad.”
13
Rhi
The fire flickers between us,the crimson flames reflecting onto the shining blade of my knife.
“My dad?”
