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.”