Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Sana’a spotted Killen’s silver gaze as it scorched the Känˌdôrs’ behinds as they scrambled out the door.

With a smirk, he turned to her, pulling up close to her at the bar as she flicked up a finger and signalled for another round.

Killen ordered his drink, too, eyes trained on her.

When their refreshments arrived, he leaned into her. ‘Damn Switchblade,’ he rasped. ‘You’re like a wild gyrfalcon in flight, deflecting flycatchers and mean little peckers with killer instincts.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve seen dullards like him before. I learnt a long time ago how to read a situation: when to act nice, ignore them, be firm, and when to blade their balls off.’

He threw his head back and laughed, his rumble sustained. ‘Woman, you’re a treasure.’

She gave him a coy smile that he returned.

Her heart fluttered in response.

Damn. She was struggling to control her reactions to him.

And how he’d cleared the room with his quiet menace, not by starting any mess and being a jackass, which he could have, by fokkin’ up her bully.

Instead, Killen had said just one word, and the Känˌdôr and his douche goblins had run with their koya between their legs.

Even when he trained with her, making mistakes and wielding his sword with less tact, he still simmered with power and intrigue.

It was undeniable.

She was drawn to the man.

His rugged features and muscular physique appealed to her primal instincts, stirring a hunger deep within her.

The way he moved, the strength in his muscles, was intoxicating.

She was mesmerised by how his sweat glistened on his skin, an invitation to trace her fingers along his sculpted form.

Like a moth to a flame, she was unable to resist the magnetic pull between them.

Yet she had to because focusing on him would only take her eyes off her prize.

He interrupted her musing. ‘Your blades? Impressive. You hide them well.’

‘They conceal themselves well.’

He cocked his head at her. ‘They’re sentient?’

‘To some extent.’

‘I can believe that. I saw the one you had at his throat change form midair. It’s freakish, khany’s.’

She gave him a lingering look and sucked down some of her drink. ‘They are special. I’ve worked with them so long that I can’t remember not having them nearby. I first learnt how to use the SHärds under my father’s mastery, for he was already a great Shotel warrior. Until -,’

She clamped her lips shut and blinked her eyes. Then, his gentle touch brushed her forearm, setting off a rush of unexpected emotion. Forcing her to bite her inner cheek to stop herself from moaning.

With a set jaw, she took another pull of her drink. ‘Enough about me. Tell me about your hawkstone. Where the heck does one pick it up from?’

Sana’a had avoided asking too much about it until now, wanting to keep a professional distance between them, not keen to get too personal, too deep with him. Now, that careful sentiment didn’t seem to matter a whit.

He gave her a searching look, jerked his chin to acknowledge the switch of the topic and leaned back, sipping from his glass. ‘Not your local marketplace, that’s for sure.’

‘So where did you get it?’

‘It’s a birthstone you’re born with. All Katánians have one, but as you’ve worked out already, mine is different, more potent.’

She raised a brow. ‘Potent? Ego much, Kíríga?’

He bestowed her with another of his sloppy, sensual lip twists. ‘Believe what you will. Tis true. It has power even beyond me.’

‘And to think I thought you Katánians were just obsessed with looks and wealth, plastering jewels on your foreheads, in the height of exhibitionism.’

He leaned forward. ‘Touch it. I know you want to.’

The calculating, tempting, pushy energy coming off him in waves was the same he radiated during their intense sessions. When their bodies moved in sync as they danced with their swords.

Every clash and parry sent sparks flying, mirroring the electricity that crackled between them. Time ceased to exist in those moments, and all that mattered was the palpable tension that engulfed them.

Like it was now, as he stared at her, daring her, his muscled hand propped on the bar.

‘Daggit, I’ll stroke your fokkin’ forehead.’

Cursing under her breath, she reached a hand to the dermis above his glittering eyes. His skin was scorching as her fingers traced around the jewel, which was smooth with diamond-like facets.

She didn’t miss that his chest was rising and falling faster, just as hers was as she skimmed his lodestone.

The gem flared, a low flash that only she sensed as a jolt of awareness rushed through her.

For a moment, she swore shadows of figures with blades, slashing their way through multitudes, appearing behind Killen.

She flinched and pulled back. ‘Fokk, that thing is alive.’

She gave him a quick swing to the back of his head, and he growled with a smile, evading her swipe with a swift side move and fast adeptness.

He was getting fast.

Over time, their training had become more fluid and more synchronised.

In the íkhara, their swords danced through the air as if driven by an invisible force, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Each parry and thrust was filled with an undeniable energy, a longing that surpassed their roles as teachers and students.

Just like whateverthefokk this conversation was now at the kantina.

His eyes glittered, and she shivered. His jaw clenched as he chewed on his ever-present mood lifter.

‘What’s that you keep chomping down on in your mouth?’ she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

He lifted a brow. ‘Want some?’

‘Depends on why you’re jonesing for it so hard. Never seen you a day without it rolling around on your tongue.’

He shook his head, his silver hair falling about his temple. ‘It’s not addictive. It’s klaw, a stimulant herb native to the fissured deserts of its northern regions where I grew up. The indigenous Devansi have turned to it for its medicinal properties for centuries if not millennia.’

‘What does it relieve?’

He shrugged. ‘Many ailments including allergies, blood diseases, edema, cancers and skin injuries. Even back pain and headaches. It helped me when I had lost my sight, and my migraines were torturous, to say the least.’

She reared back a little in surprise. ‘You were blind?’

‘Naam. Little known fact. For most of my formative years, all I perceived were shadows and the hereafter visions my hawkstone shared with me.’

‘The cause?’ Sana’a asked, deeply intrigued.

His lips twisted. ‘Your freakin SHärd on Devansi. It took my sight by trying to extract the lodestone from me. I spent years in darkness and pain because of it. Klaw helped manage my agony.’

Her eyes clouded with concern. ‘Sorry to hear.’

‘De nada, not your fault, khany’s. No need to apologise,’ he rumbled, his eyes gleaming with emotion.

She sensed his pull and searched his face for a long time, her gaze lingering on his eyes. ‘How’d you find your healing?’

‘From the SHärd, if you can believe it,’ he rasped. After its deranged madness was over, it let me go; then it healed me. Klaw remained. Still, I use it because I like the flavour. It also helps ease my muscles after training.

‘How so?’

‘It kicks anti-inflammatory ass.’

She huffed. ‘Sounds miraculous.’

‘Try it,’ he invited in a husky timbre.

He reached into his waistband and produced a brown pouch, extending it over her left hand.

She opened her palm, and he shook a few leaves onto it.

‘What the heck do I do now?’ she said, giving him some side-eye.

‘Place them in your mouth and chew.’

She lifted her hand to her face and then paused midway. ‘Are you about to get me hooked?’

He chuckled. ‘This isn’t koko, beautiful. It’s natural and good for you. Perhaps it’ll ease some of that snark you carry around like a cloak.’

She glowered at him while shoving the leaves between her lips.

At first, the taste of a bitter and smoky essence overpowered her. She choked, and tears pricked her eyes, but still, she powered on, chewing down.

The texture was rough against her tongue. But the leaves soon melded into a paste that turned into a smooth, gum-like consistency, giving off the hint of mint and a subtle smokiness she now associated with Killen.

A spicy, minty warmth spread throughout her body. With a gasp, its potency surged into her blood, easing her muscles and lifting the ache in her joints.

She breathed in, buoyant, liberated and lighter than she’d felt in years. Not even tikό made her this euphoric or pain-free.

She must have sighed out loud because Killen leaned into her dazed face. ‘Good?’

‘Better than. Is there more of that where it came from?’

‘I brought a satisfactory supply with me,’ he murmured.

He added a slow, smokin’ hot smile that set off a pounding in her chest and throbbing between her legs. ‘You only have to ask.’

‘Sante.’

That was when he reached a finger under her chin and lifted it. ‘Don’t think I don’t see your agony Sana’a. I’ve caught you struggling after a long day of training. Something ails you.’

She couldn’t meet his penetrating gaze, and her heart shuttered as she scrambled to hide her secrets.

He leaned in. ‘Not wanting to step out of bounds, khany’s, but I’ve seen you wince after training. But I won’t push you. Share with me when you feel ready to do so. Meanwhile, I’m happy to deal klaw to you.’

He winked.

She reacted, her eyes narrowing. Freakin Killen. He had a way of seeing right to her core and compelling her hidden truths.

She thought as much even as she whispered, her voice flat. ‘I have an autoimmune disease that causes extreme fatigue, loss of motor control and muscle weakness after exercise, heavy exertion, or illness. My overactive defence system disrupts my body’s normal communication between my nerves and muscles. So I have to take tikό, a muscle relaxant to help.’

He tilted his head, his expression sombre. ‘The more I discover about you, Sana’a, the more there is to admire.’

She shook her head and shrugged. ‘It’s nothing to applaud.’

‘It’s the resilience, woman, that I appreciate.’

She shut her eyes from his silver laser focus.

Something about the herb had relaxed her to the core, even though she’d typically be fleeing a conversation like this one.

His evident care also touched the dark depths of her cold soul, which she couldn’t deal with right now.

Can we talk about something else now?’ she sighed.

‘This discussion making you uncomfortable?’ he rumbled.

‘It’s making me something,’ she told him, giving him a pointed look. ‘Not sure we can unsheathe that blade yet. Back to inane topics. Please.’

He conceded with a small smile, leading their dialogue to safer waters.

They fell into topics such as the wild ksa weather, the latest gossip about the kəthi kavaliers and how Sana’a had beaten the best of them.

They discussed their favourite meals, Killen’s face lighting up as he described his most cherished dishes.

She realised that good food was his passion as he described an array of mouthwatering, succulent grilled meats, fragrant spices, and sides of tangy pickled vegetables. His rich, descriptive and graphic speech almost brought them to life.

More so, she was captivated by the dip of his rasp and the warmth in his eyes as he painted vivid pictures with his expressions.

Oblivious to them, midnight fell, and the bar around them faded into the background.

Their conversation became more peaceful and intimate, and their sentiments took on a weight that echoed in the depths of their beings.

But beneath the surface, the unspoken tension between them quickened.

Their eyes often clashed, gazes lingering for a moment too long before one or the other looked away, their cheeks flushing with desire and restraint.

On occasion, Killen’s fingers grazed Sana’a’s arm whenever they reached for a drink or passed the other a plate of food.

Each touch sent shivers down her spine, igniting a fire deep within her as the atmosphere grew heavy with need, craving and anticipation.

Sana’a light-headedness ratcheted as the klaw kicked in, and the drinks she downed kept coming.

When a small band started up a set in the corner of the bar, the lively music called to her.

She set her beverage down and began dancing in the walkway beside their table.

Killen’s eyes glittered as he watched her over the edge of his beer glass.

When she leaned in to pull him up, he shook his head. ‘Not my thing, but you? You’re incredible. Dance on.’

‘You don’t like to?’

‘When I do, I like it slow, remember?’

Her cheeks flushed as she recalled their initial meeting.

The air was thick with tight emotion as their eyes locked, raw desire flickering in the depths of their gazes.

Without a word, Killen closed the distance between them, his hand gently cupping her cheek.

Sana’a’s breath hitched as his touch sent shockwaves through her.

The contact was electrifying, sending waves of potency coursing through her veins.

Her resolve crumbled, the walls she had erected around her heart weakening with each passing moment in his presence.

Their eyes met again, the intensity of their gazes locking them in a silent battle of longing and restraint.

Killen swayed closer, his lips inches away from Sana’a’s.

She didn’t say a word when he reached a lean finger. He ran it down the side of her face, along her nape, and lower still to the swell of her breast.

He flicked his thumb over the tip of her turgid nipple under her tunic, and she let out a sound.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers as he tweaked it once more.

‘Killen,’ she warned with low conviction.

‘Want me to stop?’

She darted her eyes around them.

‘No one’s paying us any mind,’ he growled. ‘We’re not the only ones making the most of the night.’

True to his word, a few more loved-up couples scattered amongst the kantina were just as unrestrained in their dark corners.

His finger kept teasing her nipple through her tunic, even as his tongue found her ear, licking her lobe with such gentleness she shuddered, clutching onto his shirt.

His breath, hot and laden with need, mingled with her shorter, keening pants.

The world around them faded as their lips met.

His firm and insistent over hers,

Her tongue teased his, and he groaned, savouring her.

Time seemed to stand still as they explored the depths of their desire, their mouths moving in perfect synchronicity.

It was a dance of fire and ice, a collision of passion and restraint that left them both breathless and wanting more.

Their bodies pressed tight, the heat between them burning hotter than the sun. Sana’a’s hands roamed across Killen’s chest, igniting every inch of her skin with fiery kisses.

She hissed at the length of his heated steel against her tummy, throbbing with hunger and need and her wet pussy overflowing.

Moaning, Sana’a pulled away. ‘We can’t do this.’

His eyes shadowed over as they gazed at each other for a long moment.

‘Why?’ He rasped, eyes half-mast with desire.

‘We’re playing with fire and with the future of Katánē,’ Sana’a murmured.

Her voice was filled with the frustration of craving and the weight of their forbidden attraction, with consequences that loomed over them like a dark cloud.

Her words, too, seemed to pierce his desire, and she saw his eyes cloud over.

She sensed his indecision as it slid over her like an icy foreboding. Killen was struggling to trust her. She was sure of that. Was it because she had once almost bladed him? Or did he have other misgivings?

She narrowed her gaze at the doubt dancing in his silver eyes, yet he still pushed through, need pulsing through his eyes. ‘Would exploring this connection jeopardise everything we’ve worked for?’

‘You’re the Kíríga, the usurper, the future King of this mad planet. You must serve your kingdom first and maintain the delicate balance of power in your hands. Messing about with a hashashin is a risk you can’t afford to take.’

Killen’s eyes softened, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. ‘I never expected you,’ he admitted, his voice rumbling with a vulnerability Sana’a had not witnessed before. ‘But I can’t deny what I feel. It’s consuming me.’

The shikari leaned into his touch, her heart racing. ‘You’re knocking me around too, Sable,’ she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. ‘But we need to be careful. A lack of focus could destroy everything we’ve both worked so hard for.’

Killen nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and resignation. ‘I know. But fokk convention Sana’a, maybe this is meant to be.’

She’d no quick retort; she just stared up at him, at the beauty and raw honesty on his face.

‘I think we need to leave,’ she whispered after a beat.

‘But not before this.’

He leaned in, lifted his hand, pushed it into her hair and retook her lips in a warm, pliant, knee-weakening kiss.

He groaned, sucking on her tongue.

His waist and hips moved, in a dance of their own making, grinding his rigid hard cock against her mound.

She thrust back, giving herself over to pleasure in the darkened corner of the bar.

Flames of hunger licked her clit, and she almost burst into a conflagration when he tore his lips from hers in a ragged, low roar.

Pulling away, he murmured, ‘You’re the one I desire, Sana’a. Make no mistake about that.’

Then his muscled forearms came around her and held her tight.

When he let her go, it was like the kätu; the utter mysticism and beauty of the night fell away.

She cursed, breathless and fighting for control. ‘Fokk you, Sable. Don’t play with my heart because you will fall in love alone.’

He gave a small laugh. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he rasped. ‘There’s somewhere I want to show you.’

He rose and grabbed her arm, tracked down the bar owner, paid his bill, and led her outside.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. ‘Where’s that?’ she murmured.

‘Fly with me.’

‘Depends on where we’re going?’

He flicked her a side glance. ‘Don’t you ever trust, lower your guard, let go, let flow?’

‘Nada, never. I’m always watching my back.’

‘Is that because you’ve never had someone to watch it for you?’

She fell silent as they walked along the darkened avenue, mulling his words.

Cloaked and stealthed to the world around them, their shoulders and arms touched on occasion, synced in movement and rhythm to each other.

‘Perhaps,’ she finally admitted.

‘What if I had your back, khany’s?’

‘Now, in this street or forever?’

He stopped her, turning her to face him. ‘I don’t commit to things without lack of thought, beautiful. When I give my word, it is bond.’

She tried to ignore how much she reacted to what he was saying.

A scorching need, underscored by longing for the image he painted, flared inside her.

Even now, he stared at her with a heated insistence. His eyes glistened as if he was teasing her. Urging her to grasp his head, pull his head to hers, take in his hot tongue and grind her hips along his steel length.

She muffled a groan at the thought as her face suffused with red heat as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

‘Soar with me.’

Fokk that rasp. She wanted him, needed to stroke him.

Sana’a was still pulsing from their kisses, but intoxicating as Killen Sable was, he was a craving she could not get hooked on.

She had an oath to fulfil, two blades to discharge, three tragedies to revenge, four slays to complete, and five fates to decide.

Seconds later, that pledge and the promise to herself were forgotten when Killen was lifted into his arms and ascended into the skies above Kos.