From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,186

cane cut from a tree in the Blood Forest, and he make you partially undress.” He grasped the bars as my heart thundered against my ribs. “And he told you that you deserved it. That it was for your own good. But in reality, all it did was fulfill his sick need to inflict pain.”

“How?” I whispered.

One side of his lips curled up. “I can be very compelling.”

I looked away and, suddenly, I saw the Duke in my mind’s eye, his arms stretched out, and the cane shoved through his heart. A tremor rocked me as my gaze swung back to Hawke. “You killed him.”

Hawke smiled then, and it was a smile I’d never seen from him before. It wasn’t closed-lipped this time. Even from where I stood, I could see the hint of fang. Another tremor rippled through me.

“I did,” he answered. “And I never enjoyed watching the life seep out of someone’s eyes more than I did while watching the Duke die.

I stared.

“He had it coming, and trust me when I say his very slow and very painful death had nothing to do with him being an Ascended. I would’ve gotten to the Lord eventually,” he added. “But you took care of that sick bastard yourself.”

I didn’t… I didn’t know what to think of that. He’d killed the Duke, and he would’ve killed the Lord because—

Cutting off those thoughts, I shook my head. I couldn’t understand why he would’ve felt driven to do what he’d done, considering where we stood now. I didn’t need to understand. At least that’s what I told myself. It didn’t matter. Neither did the deep, hidden part of me that was thrilled to know that there was a possibility that what he’d done to me had played a part in the Duke’s ultimate demise.

“Just because the Duke and the Lord were horrible and evil, that doesn’t make you any better,” I told him. “That doesn’t make all Ascended guilty.”

“You know absolutely nothing, Poppy.”

My hands curled into fists as I resisted the urge to shriek, but then he unlocked the door. Every muscle in me tensed.

I glared at him as he entered the cell. I wished there was some sort of weapon, though I knew even if I was armed to the teeth, there would be very little I could do. He was faster, stronger, and he could take me with a flick of his wrist.

But I would go down fighting.

“You and I need to talk,” he said as he closed the doors behind him.

“No, we don’t.”

“Well, you really don’t have a choice, do you?” His gaze dropped to the cuffs around my wrists. He took a step toward me and then halted. His nostrils flared as the pupils of his eyes dilated. “You’re injured.”

My blood. He scented my blood. Mouth dry, I stepped back. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t.” His gaze swept over me, stopping at my midsection. “You’re bleeding.”

“Barely,” I told him.

Within the blink of an eye, he was directly in front of me. Gasping, I stumbled against the wall. How had he hidden such speed before? He reached for the hem of my tunic, and panic exploded.

“Don’t touch me!” I side-stepped him, wincing as pain radiated up my side. He stiffened, staring down at me as my heart slammed against my ribs. “Don’t.”

He arched a brow. “You had no problem with me touching you last night.”

Heat swamped my skin as my lips pulled back in a snarl. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” I hissed. “I wish it never happened.”

Gods, that was the truth. I wanted nothing more than to forget how what we’d done had felt beautiful and life-altering, how it had felt so incredibly right.

I was a fool.

His jaw hardened, and a long moment passed. “Be that as it may, you are still wounded, Princess, and you will allow me to look at it.”

Breathing heavily, I lifted my chin. “And if I don’t?”

His laugh reminded me of before, but now it was tinged with cold amusement. “As if you could stop me,” he stated softly, and the truth of what he said was soul-shattering. “You can either allow me to help you or…”

My fingers tingled from how tightly I’d balled my hands into fists. “Or, you will force me?”

Hawke said nothing.

A burn started in my chest as I stared back at him, hating him, hating myself for feeling what I’d promised I would never feel again.

Helpless.

I could refuse and make this very difficult, but what good would that do in the