LOGIN"Look at me... say you are mine!"
His voice was a deep, rough command that rattled the cold night air, shaking her straight to the bone. She could barely breathe. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with tears that pooled in her hair and washed into the black mud beneath her head. The darkness of the woods had settled thick around them, but his golden eyes burned through the shadows like two glowing coals, piercing right into her soul. He did not wait for her to speak. Before she could force a word past her dry, trembling lips, he thrust his hips forward, driving his massive length deep into her tight, untouched body in one sharp, unforgiving push. A high, breathless scream tore from her throat, but the sound was instantly lost to the wild wind howling through the tall pine trees above. A wall of blinding, white-hot pain split her in two. She felt as though her small body were being torn apart from the inside out, the sharp stretch of his broad frame breaking through her innocence without a second of mercy. Her back arched off the cold ground, her knees shaking as her toes dug desperately into the wet soil. She tried to push him away, her small hands slapping frantically against his hard chest, but her weak blows felt like nothing to the beast crushing her down. "Hold still," he rasped, his breath hot and ragged against her damp cheek. His jaw was set in a tight, pained line, his sharp teeth grinding together as he held himself buried deep within her. He was huge, filling her so completely that every tiny shift of his weight sent fresh waves of burning heat shooting through her lower belly. "Hold still, girl... let the fire settle." "It hurts!" she sobbed, her fingers clawing at the muddy earth beside her head as fresh tears spilled over her lashes. "Take it out! Please, it hurts so much!" He let out a low, guttural groan that vibrated straight through her chest. The agonizing fire that had been tearing through his blood for hours suddenly began to change. The moment he stretched her tight flesh, the unbearable curse in his heart eased, transforming the burning agony into a dark, heavy tide of raw pleasure. He felt her heat wrapping tightly around him, hugging his length like a velvet vise, pulsing with her fast, terrified heartbeat. Driven by a desperate, wild instinct he could not control, he pulled back slightly and drove into her again. She gasped, her fingers reflexively digging into the hard muscles of his broad shoulders as the second stroke hit her deeper than the first. He setting a fast, punishing rhythm, taking her right there in the dirt with a fierce, overwhelming passion that shattered her remaining strength. Each time his heavy hips slammed into hers, the force knocked the breath straight out of her lungs, sending heavy ripples through her small frame. He was relentless. He moved like a creature possessed, his massive chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged thuds as he buried himself inside her over and over. He took her with a raw, primal strength that made the cold forest floor feel like it was shaking beneath them. The slick, wet sound of their joining mixed with the low, wild growls rising from his throat, drowning out the rustle of the leaves and the distant howling of the night wind. "You are so soft," he muttered, his deep voice slipping into her ear like a dark spell. His mouth trailed down her jaw, his warm lips brushing against her sensitive skin while his sharp teeth lightly grazed her pulse point. "So small... yet you hold the storm in my blood. You belong to me now. Do you hear me? You are mine." She shook her head blindly, her senses spinning out of control. She could not comprehend his words, could not understand why this dangerous, beautiful monster was whispering sweet, possessive promises while ripping her world apart. The pain in her body was so sharp, yet as he kept pushing into her with that heavy, steady rhythm, the sharp bite slowly began to twist into a strange, terrifying ache that made her heart race for a completely different reason. His hand slid down her back, lifting her hips higher off the mud so he could drive deeper into her core. He set a harder, faster pace, his chest slick with sweat as he claimed her without rest. Every time he filled her, a soft, pathetic whimpering sound escaped her lips—a sweet, high-pitched noise that drove him even wilder. "Say it," he growled low in his chest, his golden eyes flashing dark as he looked down at her flushed face. His thumb brushed over her wet lip, pressing hard into her mouth. "Say you are mine, little sound." "I... I can't," she whimpered, her voice breaking into soft, breathless gasps as an unnatural warmth began to build deep in her lower belly. The strange sensation was overwhelming, coiled tight like a spring, making her hips lift up to meet his heavy thrusts without her permission. "Please... you're taking everything..." "I am taking what is mine," he rasped back, his mouth slamming down onto hers once more. He swallowed her cries, his tongue moving inside her mouth with the same possessive, rough rhythm as his hips. He held her pinned flat beneath him, his broad hands gripping her waist so tightly that his dark nails left light red marks on her pale skin. He was taking her completely—her body, her breath, her innocence—leaving no part of her untouched by his heat. The woods around them seemed to shrink away, leaving only the sound of his heavy breathing, the slapping of flesh against flesh, and the wild, unstoppable surge of his passion. He pushed her further and further over the edge, his strokes becoming faster, harder, and more erratic as the pressure inside him reached a breaking point. High above the dense forest canopy, the full moon reached its highest peak in the ink-black sky, casting a cold, silver light down through the bare branches. The silver rays hit them just as he drove into her with a final, devastating force, burying his length to the absolute hilt. A sharp, electric shock exploded through her body, causing her muscles to contract tightly around him as a wave of intense, unimaginable pleasure crashed over her mind. She let out a loud, breathless cry, her entire frame trembling violently beneath his heavy weight as the raw impact of his passion completely consumed her senses, leaving her utterly broken and helpless in the dark.Chapter 63: The Red Ribbon in Brielle's Hair"I can get you out of this village, and I will not ask for a thing you cannot give."Lyra did not turn her head.She sat on the floor of Hesta's cottage with her back against the wall and the little kitchen knife resting across her knee, and she watched the door that had just closed. It was past midnight. The fire had burned down to a bed of orange coals. On the cot, under three blankets and a layer of river stones that Hesta had warmed and cooled and warmed again, her son lay with his small fists clenched and his breath rasping, and the light under his skin pulsed slow and dull and red.A figure stood in the shadow of the door with a shawl over her head."Everything you offer," said Lyra, "is a hook.""That is true." Brielle pushed back the shawl. "But sometimes a hook is the only thing hanging in the water."She looked different.The bruise on her cheek had faded to the yellow of old butter. Her hair had been combed and pinned, and the cr
"Put that down, Lyra."Her father said it from the middle of the square, with his hands held out in front of him like a man calming a horse.It was dawn. A thin grey light lay over the cobbles, and a mist drifted off the well, and the red hands on the doors looked almost black in it. Lyra stood on the top step of the cellar stairs with the sky above her for the first time in a night and a day. The kitchen knife was in her right fist. Her left arm was hooked around her stepmother's neck, and the old woman's breath came in short, sobbing wheezes against her sleeve.Behind her, Brielle stood in the cellar doorway, white to the lips, with a bruise across her cheek the color of a ripe plum.Four of Gorath's men had been at the head of the stairs when she came up. They had seen the knife at the throat of the woman who would be their lord's mother in law, and they had stopped, uncertain, while somebody ran to fetch the master of the house. Now they ringed the stair at a careful distance. Pas
"Smell his lips, my lord."Lyra said it quietly.She stood with her back against the wall of the cellar and the small knife held low at her side, and she did not raise her voice. Across the flagstones, Brielle had stopped in the middle of her crossing, one slippered foot in front of the other, with the baby in her arms and a smile spreading over her wet face. Gorath had not moved from the foot of the stairs. His huge red hand was still held out, palm up, waiting."What did you say, widow?""The boy's mouth." Lyra did not look at her stepsister. She looked at the warlord, steadily, the way she had once looked at a hanging rope. "Put your nose to it. If I am lying, my father's men can drown me in the river with my son.""Lyra," Brielle breathed, sweetly. "Do not make a scene."Gorath's pale eyes slid from one woman to the other. He had the look of a man at a market stall who has been offered two loaves and told only one of them is poisoned."Give him here," he said.Brielle laid the bab
"You pointed at my window in front of everyone. You gave me to him."The kitchen knife shook in Brielle's hand.It was a small, ordinary knife, the kind used for peeling turnips, and she held it low and out in front of her like a girl who had never held a weapon in her life. Candle stub, cold cellar, the breath of both of them rising in thin white threads. Lyra stood on the bottom step with her chained wrists hanging in front of her and thirty armed men waiting above, and she looked at the stepsister she had not seen in nearly a year.She had changed. Brielle had been a round cheeked woman of twenty when Lyra left, with ribbons in her braids and a way of tilting her head when she wanted something. Now she was tall and pale, in a nightgown and a man's coat, with her hair hacked off at the shoulder, and her eyes were red and wide and brimming. She looked like the victim in a ballad. That was what Lyra noticed first.She had always looked like that when she wanted something."Give me my
"I asked," said Gorath, "whose child that is."He did not raise his voice. He had no need. The square had gone so quiet that Lyra could hear the creak of his saddle leather as he swung down, and the chime of the iron rings in his beard, and the slow, wet drip from a spear point where somebody's blood had not yet dried. Thirty riders sat their horses in a ring around the cart. Not one of them moved. Behind every shutter in the village, a hundred held breaths gathered like smoke."My lord," said her father.His voice cracked on the second word. He had slid down from his grey horse without being asked and stood with his cap crushed in both hands, and sweat ran in thin lines through the dust on his face. "A foundling, my lord. A babe left on the church step. My wife took pity, as women do. We meant to give him to the priest, only...""A foundling." Gorath rolled the word around his mouth like a bone. "That is a great deal of pity for a house with two daughters and a debt.""The cold, my l
"You will marry Warlord Gorath at the new moon, or the boy goes into the river."The cart hit a rut, and the chain on Lyra's wrists bit down to the bone.She did not cry out. She lifted her head from the boards, slowly, the way a cat lifts its head when something moves in the grass, and she looked at the man riding beside the tailgate on his tall grey horse. He had not shaved in three days. There was blood on his sleeve, someone else's, from the river. He did not look at her. He looked straight down the road ahead with the leather strap swinging at his belt, as though he were speaking to the weather."Say that again," said Lyra, "and I will finish what the mill hook started."Nobody in the cart moved.There were four men with her in the back, riding on the benches with their spears across their knees, and not one of them was looking at her either. They had been looking at her for the first hour. They had looked at her chained wrists and her bound feet and the blood dried black on her







