He pulls me through the camp, his grip firm and unyielding, until we reach the tent in the center. The moment we're inside, I wrench my hand free, rubbing my wrist as I retreat into the corner, putting as much distance as I can between us.
He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn't care. He strides across the tent, rummaging through a metal chest filled with weapons and armor.
On his way out, he pauses, glancing back at me over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. In a low, accented growling voice that leaves no room for argument, he commands, " stay!"
And then he's gone, disappearing into the night.
Left alone with my thoughts, I wander through the dimly lit tent. In the far corner, a stretch of fur fabric lies neatly in place, undoubtedly the sleeping area. I don't approach it, instead I find myself sifting through the parchments, laying scattered on a small wooden table, their strange, unreadable script giving nothing away. I turn my attention to the armor chest, but it's locked, just as I expected.
With a heavy sigh, I sink to the floor in the corner of the tent, curling into myself as sleep claims me.
I drift in and out of slumber, the noises of the camp just outside my tent breaking my rest every so often. The harsh, accented growls of soldiers barking orders and the occasional cries from the slaves make my skin crawl. I send pleas to which ever gods listening to watch over the poor girls.
The commander didn't return untill well past dark. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly through the room. I feigned sleep, though my senses were acutely aware of every movement he made. Through half - lidded eyes, I watched him as he moved silently, his silhouette sharp in the dim light.
The flicker of a match, followed by the soft glow of an oil lamp, cut through the darkness, casting shadows across the room. He set the lamp down on the table, its warm light illuminating his frame. Slowly, he began to undress. My gaze lingered on every taught muscle, as he peeled the layers of his uniform. I couldn't help but gawk, my breath catching at the sight of his defined physique, feeling my cheeks flush as I drooled like some kind of pervert.
He left the room briefly, only to return moments later, his heavy footsteps cutting through the silence once again. Panic gripped me as I saw him stride toward me, jolting upright, I scrambled back, trying to put distance between us.
My eyes, however, betrayed me. I tried to avoid looking at him, but my gaze unwillingly lingered on the delicious v cut leading into the waistband of his trousers, hanging dangerously low on his hips.
In his hand, he held a sizzling hot skewer of meat, the rancid smell making my stomach to churn. He brought the stick closer as if in offering, the nauseating smell coupled with my raging hatred towards him made me lash out, without thinking, my hand swiped at the skewer, Knocking it from his grasp, straight to the floor.
He didn't move at first, standing eerily still. His eyes, cold and unreadable, met mine, then with a calm, deliberate motion, he bent to my level, his fingers curling around the skewer.
I barely had time to react before he seized me by the nape, the sharp pull bringing tears to my eyes. But I refuse to let them fall, meeting his eyes with a defiance that I hope masked my trembling. His eyes were cold, like steel, daring me to defy him again.
Without breaking eye contact , he took a slow bite of the meat, chewing deliberately, and before I could turn away, his hand clamped my jaw open, slowly, he brought his mouth to mine, pressing the remnants past my lips. I tasted the raw, charred flavor, bile rising as I struggled, but his hand held me firm, leaving me no choice but to swallow.
He doesn't stop with just one bite. Each time he leans in, pressing the meat to my lips, our tongue seemed to tangle, it was raw, animalistic. His fingers linger a little longer, his gaze more intense, until the stick is empty.
With a dark, satisfied glint in his eyes, he tightens his grip on my jaw, his breath, hot and ragged, brushes against my cheek as he leans in close.
" When next you try to defy me,"
He growls, his voice dangerously low, " remember you have it better than the others."
When he finally let go, I stumbled back, wiping my mouth furiously with the back of my palm, feeling a wave of shame, anger and hatred twist inside me.
He watched, unflinching - a challenge, as though daring me to fight back. For a moment, I felt a surge of Rage, my hand clenching into a fist. But I knew better than to act.
But even as he storms out, the lingering heat remained, I could feel the slickness between my thighs, and I cursed myself for it.
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THANK YOU ALL FOR READING
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I decided to add a little bit of spice in this chapter, expect more in the coming chapters as this is just the beginning of their story 😉
Xoxo
JanA
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Tsehaì
RomanceNOTE: This book was formerly titled IX chel. America would do anything to return back to the future, after slipping through the fabric of time, but escaping is nearly impossible when she's hunted by the tyrant Queen who sees her existence as a thre...
