Blood Oath (Darkest Drae #1)(19)

He’d done something. I tensed as my mind rattled, still in the throes of his kiss fog.

In a much louder voice, Irrik yelled, “Open the gate.”

He turned back to me and grabbed my wrist as I shifted my weight to run. What happened to me? I felt my lips. How did he do that? Change my thoughts like that? Make me act like I was drunk. I . . .

“Ryn,” he said in a voice that brokered no argument. “Look at me.”

Yeah, right.

“Drak,” he swore. “How are you doing this?” He pushed his hand into the hair at the nape of my neck as he pressed his weight into me from my chest to my knees. Tingles crawled over my skin, and panic pounded in my chest. I desperately wanted to avoid him. Fear at what was to come bubbled within. Trapped between him and the stone wall, I tried to turn my head. I did not want him to kiss me. I raised my hands to claw at him, and he released my neck to grab my wrists. He pulled my arms up above my head, trapping them in one hand, and threaded his other hand back into my hair.

“Please don’t,” I begged, tears dripping from my eyes.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I only want to keep you safe.” Fiery urgency pulsed between us. Irrik’s kisses were harder this time, and I could taste the saltiness of my tears on his lips. He kneaded my back, and his teeth grazed my lower lip.

My will seeped away until it disappeared. I gripped his arms as my legs decided they were done for the day. But he didn’t stop. His lips were wet and warm, and his tongue teased me, pushing and tangling with mine in a passionate embrace. He drew my lower lip into his mouth, and I groaned with pleasure. Colors and stars burst behind my eyelids. I craved more, some primal instinct urging me closer to the man kissing me, and I pushed into him, pulling him to me.

Nothing else mattered but this right now. Just him and me.

“Lord Irrik,” a woman said. “I see you’ve found some prey.”





8





Irrik jerked away, holding me at arm’s length, and my body screamed for him. My mind streamlined through the haze. Lord Irrik was all I saw.

“I need to report.”

“She’s too pretty—lavender eyes and that long hair,” a woman said with a shake of her head.

I didn’t care about her.

“Yes,” Irrik said, jaw clenched. “Can you get her ready?”

The woman sighed and tugged at my sleeve. “Come with me, missy. You can’t go to the king looking all ‘innocent harvest girl.’”

The young woman had mousy brown hair drawn back in a low ponytail that accentuated ghastly scars on both her cheeks. Her face was splotchy and her eyes red, like she’d been crying before coming to get me, but the brutality of the scars had me transfixed. Like I was reading a map of some horrific journey she’d endured.

“Quick now,” she said, pulling me up the courtyard, toward a side entrance into the king’s castle. The way was a blur I knew I’d never be able to retrace.

I blinked, trying to make sense of her tears. “Did the king do that to you?”

Her eyes widened, and she darted a glance behind her and then past me before whispering, “Shoot, missy. You don’t know nothing, do you?”

I shook my head slowly, and my bottom lip trembled as a deep sadness assailed me. What I was sad for eluded me. I only knew that Irrik wanted to help.

Irrik!

I whirled, searching for him.

“He’s gone to report to the king to give us time. I saw that kiss. I’ve never seen him kiss a girl before, just the breath usually. Probably why you’re wavering like you’ve spent three days on the brew. Don’t be angry at Irrik, though. He tries to make it hurt less, and having you look so pretty could make it worse, especially if one of the guards takes a fancy to you. Come on now. Let’s hurry and see what we can do. Won’t be long before the king loses patience, and then no one’s safe.”

The girl tugged me up two flights of narrow stone steps, squeezing past several other scurrying people. We climbed more intervals of winding stairs before arriving on a long, narrow landing. She ushered me into a small room with a chamber pot and a large shining square object where a girl who looked just like my escort stood next to another girl with hair the same as mine. “There are two of you?”

The scar-faced girl barked a short laugh. “Never seen a mirror before, have you? Well, don’t fall in love. You won’t look that way for long, but it’s all for your own good.”

She extracted several jars from an old set of drawers and opened them. Dabbing her fingers into one, she rubbed an ointment on my cheeks and then another one in my eyes. My eyes immediately burned and watered.

“Mistress Moons, missy. You’re one of those people who look decent when they cry. No good,” she muttered. The girl returned the ointment and grabbed another one.

This time, my vision blurred and the burning was so fierce I couldn’t open my eyes because of the pain.

I felt her grab a fistful of my cinnamon hair, Mum’s hair. My heart clenched, and emptiness swirled deep inside. When I heard the sawing of a knife, I tried to twist away.

“Don’t be moving now. I don’t want to nick you in the neck. Whatever you use to dye your hair has left it a clumped mess.”

I wiped at my eyes, tears streaming as they tried to clear whatever noxious substance the girl had rubbed there. Something about it smelled like the soap Mum used for my hair, and I wanted to tell the girl about the soap because she was mistaken, it wasn’t dye. Suddenly, my head felt lighter on my left side, and I watched as the heavy strands fell to the floor.