Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(132)

Mala glanced at her warrior. When she had first encountered him at Selaq’s inn, just after he’d learned of his taming, Mala had thought she’d never seen such cold hatred and rage directed at her.

She had never seen him look at Barin. Vela had gifted her with the strength of ten thousand warriors, yet if ever Kavik had looked at her like that she would have fled for her life. He was death itself, not silver-fingered Rani come to gently carry a warrior into Temra’s arms, but ragged screaming death, contained within sheer muscle and bleeding from his savage stare.

Yet Barin did not flee. Not as Kavik stalked toward him, his steps fluid and strong, his sword held loosely in his grip. The warlord even spread his arms wide, robes falling open and baring his tattooed chest.

When Kavik set his blade against the side of the man’s neck, Barin looked into his eyes, grinning. He didn’t look down to see the ivory shard in Kavik’s left hand—until blood spilled from his mouth. Then he glanced down to see it embedded in his heart.

Cruel. But Mala thought Barin deserved it.

The warlord looked up, and she thought that now he saw what Kavik was. His end. His death. It was the last he saw. Kavik yanked the shard from his chest and shoved it through his eye.

Barin slid to the floor. Unmoving, Kavik stood over him with head bowed, and when Mala went to him he was staring at the man’s dead body, his chest heaving with harsh, ragged breaths. She touched his arm and he caught her against him, burying his face in her hair.

“It is done,” he said hoarsely. “It is finally done.”

Mala held him tight. Around them, chaos was exploding. Some of the guards shouted with fear, others with joy. Near the entrance to the great hall, the teary-eyed marshal was unfastening the collars of men and women tied by their leashes. Someone spoke a word, and soon it was repeated, louder and louder.

King.

So he was. She drew back and looked up at him. “Your work has only begun, warrior.”





CHAPTER 8





Later that night, her warrior followed her. When she’d left the chaos of the citadel below and climbed the stairs of the northern tower, Mala had known that he would.

She didn’t want to be inside, not this night. Instead she cleared the guards from the northern tower’s battlements and laid out a soft bed atop the stone. When Kavik found her, Mala stood at the parapet wall, looking over the city below. Barin’s fall was still being celebrated and fought over within the citadel and beyond its walls. Yet there was no one who argued with the name they were calling him now. Kavik, the king of Blackmoor.

He was still her beast.

His arms circled her waist from behind, and she leaned back against a chest as strong as these stone walls. “There is still much corruption to root out,” she said and shivered as his warm lips found her neck. “And Stranik’s passage is likely full of revenants.”

“We will root those out, too.” His gentle hand cupped her throat, holding her still as his fingers untied the side of her cuirass. “And I will return with you to your home, which will soon have far more than your strength available when they need it. Change will come to both our lands when others hear of this pass through the mountains. Everyone will be traveling this route—including more warriors. Perhaps even ten thousand of them.”

Bringing trade, riches, and trouble to both sides. Mala looked forward to it all.

But she only needed one warrior.

Unsheathing her knife, she turned in his arms and pressed the tip to the hollow of this throat. “The full moon still shines overhead. Do you intend to have me?”

His hunger lay stark upon his face. “I do.”

With a flick of her wrist, she carved a shallow crescent into his skin. Not a flinch passed through his body, but a question lay in the arch of his dark brow when blood began to slide down his chest.

“The scars upon the back of your neck are not moon blood scars, Kavik. Those cannot be offered by force. Your moon night is here with me.” As his gaze turned fiery, she flipped the knife in her hand, offering it. “Will you mark me?”

“I will.” His voice was guttural as he took the blade.

She tilted her chin back, exposing her throat to him. The sting at her neck was nothing, and yet it was everything. Hope for her future filled these drops of blood—a future with this man, blessed by the goddess who had brought them together.

Taking the knife, she let it clatter to the stone. “Vela has been given the blood that she wants. Now I will have what I want. Down, warrior.”

His grin was instant and fierce. Down he went, taking the long path. He stripped away her armor, and cold air caressed her skin. His lips followed the trickle of her moon blood, then journeyed over the swells of her breasts. Their stiffened peaks ached even before his mouth reached them, and when he had finished his heated assault upon their tips, her nipples throbbed from the suckling and her whole body was aflame. Only then did he continue down, pushing her back against the parapet wall and feasting upon her yielding flesh until she screamed.

Her hands fisted in his thick hair. “Now.”

With a growl, he lifted her against him and carried her to the soft bedding. Laying her upon it, he stepped back and removed his armor. Mala watched him undress with pleasure, stroking between her thighs as the torchlight flickered across his bared chest. His ravenous gaze fell upon her fingers. Grinning, she widened the spread of her legs.