Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

My entire body stiffens. I should’ve known that I didn’t really get off the hook. Maybe he sent his mender to me so that I could be tended to so I could be well enough for him to have his way with me.

Bile rises in my throat, burning the back of my tongue, my body locked in place. “What are you doing?” I ask, acidic fear coating my voice.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

But the commander doesn’t answer me. Instead, he stalks over to the other side of the tent where the extra pile of furs is located.

I hold my breath, fingers curled tightly on my coverings, clutching them for dear life as he leans down and starts to undo his boots. Breath gets caught in my throat as I watch him take off one, then the other. They land with a thump that matches the heavy beat in my chest.

I can’t help but think of the way he walked in on me, at what parts of my naked flesh he probably saw.

His fingers go up to his chest plate next, the black metal slipping off with a few rough tugs of the belted loops at either side. He sets it aside, and then begins to loosen the brown leather straps that crisscross over his chest to remove his black leather jerkin.

I’m just beginning to question how he’s going to take that off when the spikes along his arms and down his spine retract. Slowly, they sink beneath his skin, disappearing from view one by one, and as soon as they’re gone, he pulls off the jerkin, hanging it up on the tent pole above.

You’d think that in only a simple long-sleeved tunic and pants that he’d be less intimidating, but he’s not. The circular holes in his sleeves remind me of what lies beneath.

My entire body begins to tremble when he yanks the hem of his tunic out of his pants.

I bite my bottom lip so hard that I nearly tear the split open even more. No. This can’t happen. No, no, no. 

I’m so stupid. Why did I let my guard down? Why did I ever consider that this wouldn’t happen?

Maybe the tincture Hojat gave me was spiked with something to knock me out. It probably wasn’t Ruxroot at all. Why would the mender of Fourth’s army care if I was in pain, anyway? I’m only being kept so I can serve as a taunt, a ransom, a threat to Midas.

I’m at my weakest. After the night and day I endured, I’m injured, exhausted, now drugged, and I’m left alone at the mercy of the most feared army commander in the world.

Anger kicks my stomach with a painful lurch. I’m angry at the commander for being such a vile person. I’m angry at Hojat for tricking me into a sense of calm. Angry at the Red Raids for attacking and capturing me in the first place.

But more than anything, I’m angry at myself, for always finding myself in situations like this one.

When Commander Rip moves toward me, I jerk upright and scrabble as far back on the pallet as I can without tearing straight through the material of the tent behind me. “Stay right there! Don’t come any closer.”

Rip pauses, the hint of scales on his cheeks shining in the miniscule light. Taking in my posture and my expression, a scowl darkens his face.

A scream is on the back of my curling tongue, ready to unleash, though I doubt it will do me any good. But I won’t be silent.  

The commander moves again, and my scream is ready to rent in the air…but he doesn’t cross over to me.

Instead, he grabs a metal covering I hadn’t noticed before and places it over the coals.

I watch, not daring to breathe, as he then picks up his boots and armor, propping everything up neatly beside the rocks. He moves to the lantern, turning down the flame until it extinguishes, bathing us in flickering darkness. The only light comes from the slits in the vented lid, the red-hot coals still brimming with heat beneath.

My tense body is ready to spring up, my teeth clamped so tightly that my jaw hurts, but he doesn’t come toward me.

I squint in the darkness, my body trembling all over, but instead of making his way over to me, he turns and goes to the other pile of furs in the corner of the tent.

When he pulls them back and slips under them, stretching out to lie down, I realize that they aren’t just an extra pile of furs, it’s another sleeping pallet.

My mind stutters.

What? What?

A flinch back, my heart beating wildly in my chest, like I’m a fish who was just released back into water, off the hook and back into safety.

I blink in shock, staring at his shadowed form. He’s not forcing himself on me. He’s not coming near.

He’s just…lying on the second pallet. A pallet, I notice, which is extra long to accommodate his height.

“Is this a trick?” I find myself asking, my voice shaky with uneven breath. I’m still clutching the bundle of snow in my hand, my grip so hard that my fingernails are nearly piercing the cloth. I immediately let go and drop it to the floor.

He says nothing as he straightens the furs around him to his liking, and I realize something I should have before.

Why the tent has so many comforts, why it’s set apart from the others, why there are so many furs, even the whole floor lined with them. No one would do that for a damn prisoner’s tent. But they would if the prisoner has to share with the commander.

My breath hitches. “This is your tent.”

He’s lying on his back, telling me that his spikes are still tucked away. “Of course it’s my tent,” he answers.  

“Why? Why did you put me in your tent?” I demand, still sitting up, knees bent in front of me as I huddle inside my furs.

Black eyes cut over to me across the space. “You’d prefer sleeping in the snow?”

“Shouldn’t I be with the other prisoners? The other saddles and guards?”

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.”

Wariness floods me. “Why?”

When he doesn’t answer, I narrow my eyes, glaring at his shadowed silhouette. “Are you keeping me in here so that your disgusting men won’t abuse me in the middle of the night without your permission?”

I see him tense. I see it, but I feel it even more. His irritation presses into the air and threatens to bruise.

He slowly sits up on one bent elbow, staring hard at me with an anger I want no part of. “I trust my soldiers implicitly,” he bites out. “They wouldn’t touch you. It’s you I don’t trust. That’s why you sleep here, in my tent. Your loyalty to the Golden King speaks of your character, and I won’t allow my soldiers to bear any brunt of your plots.”

My mouth drops open in shock.

He’s keeping me in here so that I don’t do anything to them? The idea is so ludicrous it’s nearly laughable. Yet the way he degraded my character…

I shouldn’t care, not in the least. But I do. This male, who lies about what he is, who commands a vicious, barbaric army, dares to look down on me? He’s known as Commander Rip, for Divine’s sake. He rips foes’ heads off and leaves them to bleed on the ground while his king leaves rotten corpses of fallen soldiers in his wake.  

“I don’t want to be in here with you,” I grit out.

He lies back down, seeming not to care in the slightest. “Captives don’t get to choose where they sleep. Be grateful that you have it as good as you do.”

That sets my hackles rising again as I try to decipher the underlying message. “What’s that supposed to mean? Where are the other saddles? The guards?”

He doesn’t answer me. The bastard just slings an arm over his eyes, like he’s ready to tuck in.

“I asked you a question, Commander.”

“And I chose not to answer,” he replies without moving his arm. “Now be quiet and rest. Unless you need a gag to help suppress the urge to speak?”

My lips press together tightly. He’s awful enough to follow through, so instead of being forced to sleep around a gag all night, I make myself lie back down.

Despite the tincture trying to drag me under, I keep my back against the tent and my eyes on him for over an hour, just in case this is all a trick, just in case he’s waiting to attack when I’m at my most vulnerable during sleep.

But the longer I try to stay awake, the heavier my eyes become.

Every blink stings, like my lids are trying to hold onto each other, scraping against my eyes when I force them open again and again.

Losing the battle, sleep starts to drag me under with the aid of the alcohol and pain suppressant. I finally succumb to the exhaustion that’s been riding me, and I fall asleep, dreaming in the tent of the enemy.