risk.
Anger tightened Mahon’s eyes and drew his lips away from white teeth. Snarling, he backhanded her.
She fell into the bed, rolling onto her hands and knees. Pain lanced her side, and she placed one hand against it carefully as she struggled to her feet.
Mahon mumbled a word she couldn’t quite understand. A ring of light appeared over his hands. He jabbed his fingers forward, throwing the ring at her. Heat wafted off it in waves.
She lunged to the side, almost managing to move out of the way, but it hit her arm. The impact of it pushed her off balance, knocking her to the floor. Before she could get her bearings back, he grabbed her wrists, dragging her up and onto the middle of the bed. His power bit into her skin with untamed energy.
Kira reached out, claws extended, but the big cat suddenly pulled back, as if driven off by an unseen force.
He stretched her hands near the wooden headboard and closed his eyes, mumbling a few more words. Creaks and groans jerked her attention up, and she saw the wood stretching and winding around her wrists. Struggling did little to help.
Mahon leaned back far enough to look her over. His hand brushed the exposed skin of her midriff where her shirt had ridden up. “Lovely skin you have there. Shame you decided not to make this easier on both of us.”
She jerked underneath him, not wanting him to touch her. “Screw you. Why are you doing this to me?”
He held his palm out facing the open doorway. Vines and branches crept toward the hole, sliding up and blocking it until no one could get in or out without a sturdy ax. From his jacket, he retrieved a set of knives and other wicked looking tools, carefully laying them out beside her. “You have a mouth on you. Women of my day wouldn’t talk to a man like that. Times have certainly changed.” He picked up a sharp knife, looking at its blade as he continued, “These kinds of tattoos don’t leave their owner. They must be given. Sure, I could take it, but it would be useless.”
Kira moved back to Angelique’s lower back, keeping herself out of sight. It wasn’t often her familiar did that. Somehow, Angelique got the impression Kira knew what this guy was.
Mahon lowered the jagged-edged knife toward her, and her eyes widened. He slid it under the fabric of her shirt, slicing it open. “You will give me your power, even if it is the last thing you do. I have done things to make people beg and promise anything just to end the momentary pain.” Sighing, he brushed aside the ripped shirt. He set aside the knife in the neat row he’d made and retrieved a small flask.
His fingers delicately brushed the area around her bruise. “Nasty looking injury.” He brought one of the bottles closer so she could see. Inside were ants almost as big as her thumbs. He retrieved one of them, which serenely sat on his palm. He gave her a good view, and then he lowered the ant near the wound.
She struggled, moving her waist despite the agony to her side. Her bound hands prevented her from getting far.
Mahon pressed his hand onto her lower stomach, restricting her movement. She kicked her legs, but he started whispering foreign words. Something twisted over her ankles and held them still. A bright flash of pain shot through her torso as the ant stung her side, setting off warning bells in her head. The intense anguish went on for what felt like hours. Her vision darkened into a tunnel of light.
The man picked up one of the knives. With her eyes squeezed shut, she stayed awake and aware. She waited for the sting of him slicing into her, but it never came. A snapping sound piqued her curiosity, and she slowly opened her eyes. The druid held up the chopped corpse of the ant. Its head cleanly removed from the neck.
“Some tribes use ants to make nice stitches by placing the pinchers against the flesh and having the ant bite.” He shrugged. “Not that you need any.” He looked back at the body of the ant and chuckled. “Bullet ants
Anger tightened Mahon’s eyes and drew his lips away from white teeth. Snarling, he backhanded her.
She fell into the bed, rolling onto her hands and knees. Pain lanced her side, and she placed one hand against it carefully as she struggled to her feet.
Mahon mumbled a word she couldn’t quite understand. A ring of light appeared over his hands. He jabbed his fingers forward, throwing the ring at her. Heat wafted off it in waves.
She lunged to the side, almost managing to move out of the way, but it hit her arm. The impact of it pushed her off balance, knocking her to the floor. Before she could get her bearings back, he grabbed her wrists, dragging her up and onto the middle of the bed. His power bit into her skin with untamed energy.
Kira reached out, claws extended, but the big cat suddenly pulled back, as if driven off by an unseen force.
He stretched her hands near the wooden headboard and closed his eyes, mumbling a few more words. Creaks and groans jerked her attention up, and she saw the wood stretching and winding around her wrists. Struggling did little to help.
Mahon leaned back far enough to look her over. His hand brushed the exposed skin of her midriff where her shirt had ridden up. “Lovely skin you have there. Shame you decided not to make this easier on both of us.”
She jerked underneath him, not wanting him to touch her. “Screw you. Why are you doing this to me?”
He held his palm out facing the open doorway. Vines and branches crept toward the hole, sliding up and blocking it until no one could get in or out without a sturdy ax. From his jacket, he retrieved a set of knives and other wicked looking tools, carefully laying them out beside her. “You have a mouth on you. Women of my day wouldn’t talk to a man like that. Times have certainly changed.” He picked up a sharp knife, looking at its blade as he continued, “These kinds of tattoos don’t leave their owner. They must be given. Sure, I could take it, but it would be useless.”
Kira moved back to Angelique’s lower back, keeping herself out of sight. It wasn’t often her familiar did that. Somehow, Angelique got the impression Kira knew what this guy was.
Mahon lowered the jagged-edged knife toward her, and her eyes widened. He slid it under the fabric of her shirt, slicing it open. “You will give me your power, even if it is the last thing you do. I have done things to make people beg and promise anything just to end the momentary pain.” Sighing, he brushed aside the ripped shirt. He set aside the knife in the neat row he’d made and retrieved a small flask.
His fingers delicately brushed the area around her bruise. “Nasty looking injury.” He brought one of the bottles closer so she could see. Inside were ants almost as big as her thumbs. He retrieved one of them, which serenely sat on his palm. He gave her a good view, and then he lowered the ant near the wound.
She struggled, moving her waist despite the agony to her side. Her bound hands prevented her from getting far.
Mahon pressed his hand onto her lower stomach, restricting her movement. She kicked her legs, but he started whispering foreign words. Something twisted over her ankles and held them still. A bright flash of pain shot through her torso as the ant stung her side, setting off warning bells in her head. The intense anguish went on for what felt like hours. Her vision darkened into a tunnel of light.
The man picked up one of the knives. With her eyes squeezed shut, she stayed awake and aware. She waited for the sting of him slicing into her, but it never came. A snapping sound piqued her curiosity, and she slowly opened her eyes. The druid held up the chopped corpse of the ant. Its head cleanly removed from the neck.
“Some tribes use ants to make nice stitches by placing the pinchers against the flesh and having the ant bite.” He shrugged. “Not that you need any.” He looked back at the body of the ant and chuckled. “Bullet ants
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