Page 44 of Ash and Roses
I pull away from him, once again breaking our connection.Fighting or fucking,I remind myself. “What did you mean when you came in and scared me half to death?” His eyes crinkle in confusion, so I repeat his words to the best of my memory, putting on a voice with an air of arrogance for good measure. “I hope you’re not planning to use that on me.”
His lips twitch up in a knowing smile, and I hate how much I love it. He picks up the knife on the table and examines it, twirling the blade in his hands. “This is a fine knife, but it’s no good for you. If you were planning to stab me, you should have gone with something smaller.”
“You mean something more suited to my delicate female hands?” I don’t even need to invent the anger that boils inside me now, and stabbing him doesn’t sound like all that bad an idea.
He laughs at me, and that only makes it worse. “Gender has nothing to do with it. Smaller knives are easier to wield. Even I would use something more compact, and knives are my preferred weapon. I can use a sword, a spear, even a bow—but none are as much fun as a good knife.” He winks.
The sex must have been too good last night. Either that, or he knows I’m rearing for a fight and he’s not biting just to enrage me more. “It’s no surprise you would associate weaponry with fun.”
The words are meant to sting, but if they do, he doesn’t show it. “Have you ever used one? Aside from your pitiful attempt to save me from Morgan, of course.”
“I wasnottrying to save you.”
“Whatever you say, Stabby.” He winks at me again, and that’s as much as I can take.
“Suddenly, I’m not hungry,” I mutter, sliding off the table.
He snatches my wrist so I can’t get far. “Yes, you are.”
“Get your hands off me!” I hit and shove at his chest with my uninjured hand, and hate how firm and warm it is.Fighting or fucking. Fighting or fucking. Fighting or fucking.
“You really want to do this?” He flashes me a wicked smile before scooping me up and slinging me over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?!” I screech, pounding at his back with my fists, legs flailing in the air.Please take me to the bedroom.“Put me down!”
“It’s a good thing I took that knife from you. With all that squirming, you’d probably cut yourself again.”
“Give it to me and we’ll see who gets cut.”
He chuckles to himself and pats a hand on my backside. “Not a chance.”
“Where are you taking me?”Bed. Table. The floor. I don’t care, I just want you inside me.
“To teach you how to properly wield a knife.”
The last thing I see before he carries me out of the kitchen is the little survivor mouse making a beeline for what remains of the citrin jam. At least someone will get to enjoy it.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
QUINN
“Ihave legs, you know,” she grumbles as I carry her towards the training grounds. She’s stopped fighting, and I can almost swear there’s disappointment behind her words. I could feel the desire radiating out of her in the kitchen, but this is more important than any other fun we could be having. Besides—what happened last night was a one off. It was my mistake and entirely unfair to her.But fuck, what I would give to taste her.
“Very nice legs,” I agree, working to mask the sudden arousal at the thought of what lingers between them. “But this is more fun.”
“You can’t treat me like this.” That’s where she’s wrong. I would have never done this had she not wanted me to—had her thoughts not been screaming at me to take her right there on that table. She’s only upset about the destination, not the action itself.
I set her down on the low stone wall that encircles one of the smaller dirt rings. I don’t know how many times I’d been flung over that same wall while sparring with Evan. Broke my arm once, too. My father was furious. Not with Evan, of course. ‘Only a fool tries to break a fall like that,’ he’d said repeatedly until well past my arm was healed. I never stuck my arms out in front of me again, though, so I can’t say he didn’t drive in the point.
I push the memory from my mind and focus on the reason we’re out here. I catch her looking around as if nervous, but she has nothing to fear from the wolves. They’ll be far enough away now, following the prey animals. Wanting to ease her fears, I pretend I haven’t noticed hers. “Before we begin, I should thank you for last night.”
“Don’t thank me for sex.”
“That’s not—” I shake my head. It’s not worth it to argue. She still wants to fight, so I’m better off just giving her what she wants. “Forget it.”
I hold up the large knife she’d taken with her to the kitchen until I’m certain I have her attention. With an abrupt spin, I whip it away from me. It lands only just off the center of the target. Annoyance blisters inside me, but I force it back down before she has the chance to see it on my face. Ishouldhave been able to make that shot, but it seems it’s been far too long since I’d practiced. Still, my aim was sure enough, evident by the slight widening of her eyes.
I lift my shirt to reveal a belt of knives. When I’d noticed her missing—along with the largest knife in the room—I went back to my tower to collect these. They’re my personal collection, and although I haven’t used them for months, I still maintained the blades so they keep their edge. She’s lucky the one she’d taken had an edge at all. I shudder to think of what would have happened if she actually needed to use it. Which is exactly why I brought her here.