Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
The squiggly lines of melted flesh look as though a fiery serpent lashed around his thigh. More than once.
The lump in my chest feels heavier than usual.
I wonder how he got them? They look almost … strained. Like they happened when he was small, and the scar tissue stretched as he grew—
I shake my head, jerking away from the thought.
Tyrant King.
Dangerous.
Has a very hungry dragon.
Again, I peruse his many other scars while he lathers himself with his own bar of soap, frothing the thick black hair under his arms …
He’s a warrior, and the biggest male I’ve ever seen in every way, shape and form. He’s probably looked death in the eye more times than I have.
Damn.
Getting away might be harder than I originally anticipated. I’m not opposed to challenges, but I prefer them when I’m not already on the back foot—bound and with an iron pin lodged in my fucking shoulder.
He works the bubbles through his beard and hair, stepping under the fall of water to rinse off while I fail to manhandle the bar of soap beneath my heavy tunic so I can wash myself. Hard with my hands tied together in such an awkward position.
“Bet you’re wishing you lied about your murderous intentions when I offered to free your hands earlier,” Kaan drones.
“You have no idea,” I mutter, also wishing I had a spare change of clothes so I could rip this tunic off my body. Finally be done with this scratchy cell garb.
The soap slips from my hands just as I was about to wedge it up beneath the fabric, and I groan, settling instead for scrubbing my face and hair, working the bind from my thick, matted locks for the first time in … a while.
So focused on the task of trying to untangle my sodden tendrils, it takes me too long to register the off sensation tickling my skin, making it pebble.
I frown. “This water tingles.”
“Dunk lower,” Kaan says, tipping back, allowing the waterfall to wash over his head again before easing free. With a dash of both hands, he pushes his shoulder-length hair back off his face, next running them through his beard. “It has healing properties.”
Well, that’s handy.
He stalks through the pool, making for the shore, beads of water peppered across his beautiful body. I do as he said, needing my strength if I’m going to make a swift escape when the opportunity strikes, dunking low enough that the ripples he makes fold over my shoulders.
He reaches for the small satchel he left on the bank, loosening the leather drawstring. Cradling the pouch, he digs through the contents until he reveals a pair of prongs, yanking my heart into my throat.
Fuck—I forgot about them.
I dunk so low the water’s lapping at my chin as I scurry backward, keeping my narrowed eyes firmly locked on his—that flinty stare now puncturing me like a couple of arrowheads. “If you stick those in me, I’m going to knee you in the cock.”
“That’s an improvement on being slaughtered,” he says, charging through the water.
“You’ll certainly wish you were dead,” I warn through clenched teeth, though all my confidence dissolves the moment my back collides with the stone wall that cups this side of the pool.
Shit.
“There is only one thing that could take me back to that dark place,” he mutters, such a hard punch of honesty in his words that my heart stills, some innate part to me pausing.
Listening.
Wondering.
“And I will never let that happen again,” he finishes, drawing closer, eyeing me like I’m getting in the way of that very prerogative. Of this strange promise he seems to have made to himself.
“What’s that got to do with the pin in my shoulder?”
“Everything,” he growls, snatching me by the collar and yanking me into his atmosphere. In the same motion, I thrust my bound hands down, fist his undergarments, and hold him exactly where I need—my knee poised to spear forward and charge straight into his cock. Considering the size of my target, I’m more than confident in my chances to land a crippling blow.
We both freeze, energy prickling between us that has every cell in my body standing on edge.
His gaze softens, and he releases an exhale that’s tangible against my skin. “It’s been a long ride. I’m not untying your wrists because I’m in no mood to suture myself together this slumber, and you can’t pick that pin from your own shoulder. It’s wedged too deep in the bone.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“Your lips are already a shade paler than they usually are, your heart pumping at a faster rate. By this time next rise, you’ll have a fever, you’ll feel lethargic, heavy. By the following rise, you’ll be dead.”
I frown.
I can’t smell the infection he boasts carnal knowledge of. And unfortunately for both of us, trust is not a word I readily wield.
“So what’s it to be? The easy way or the hard? I’d prefer not to brace you against the wall if I can avoid it, but I certainly will if you give me no other choice.”
Holding his fiery gaze, I cling on with clenched fists and stony pride.
It’s not that I don’t want the pin out. I do. I’d just prefer to do it myself. The moment you let your captors weave their weapons between the cracks in your armor, you’re already slit, guts spilling.
Heart weakening.
Dying.
“You can’t be strong if you’re dead,” he murmurs, quiet enough that even Clode would struggle to catch it.
I sigh, his firm logic a blow to my spine.
I hate the sensation of my vertebrae crumbling as I loosen my hold on his undergarments and turn, resting my cheek against the mossy stone, watching the burbling waterfall pour down the jutting clefts. “How do you know about the pool’s healing properties?” I ask, trying to distract from the fact that I just yielded to this male and accepted his help.
Again.
It chafes.
I’m sure he’s collecting these favors owed, preparing to shove them down my throat at his convenience. Like when he needs somebody suffocated from the inside out or disembodied. Or something else I haven’t yet considered.
The possibilities are endless.
Kaan clears his throat, easing my collar off my wounded shoulder. “I spent most of my adolescence and a number of my later phases as a warrior of the Johkull Clan. They have always nested close to these mountains and recently claimed the crater formed by the fallen Sabersythe moon, Orvah.”
I frown, his scars suddenly making a lot more sense …
“I used to sneak here during the slumber, soak until I no longer bled, then ride back before the aurora rose.”
“You’re the King,” I murmur as he threads his prongs into my wound, making all the nerves beneath my tongue tingle. My next words are wrangled past clenched teeth. “Why did … you spend most of … your adolescence in … a warrior clan?”
“Because my pah sent me there when I was nine after it was discovered I could only hear Ignos and Bulder,” he mutters, pincers digging through my flesh while a warm leak of blood dribbles down my shoulder, leaching into the water. “Said that if I survived their harsh and grueling training methods, I might earn his respect.”
My heart squeezes painfully.
Creators …
If that male were still alive, I’d slit him from chin to navel, then braid his fucking entrails while he was still conscious.
“What … h-haaappened to … him?”
“I cut off his head, then fed him to Rygun.”
The words land like a kick to the ribs, almost winding me.
Deserved, but—
“Wh-why?”