The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,116
specifically in Wodell, but also Firenze, and their equally carefully gathered weapons to rise up and take control of those lands in order to conquer Airen, enslave the Nadirii, and force all to worship the true gods.
Not to mention, pay homage, in word and coin, to the temples in the city-state of Go’Doan.
But he was not at one with this.
On this angry thought, he was torn from his path, pulled down an alley, and his head was covered with a hood.
In the sudden darkness, he opened his mouth to cry out, but before he could, he heard, “You make but a noise, you’ll regret it.”
His warrior.
He shut his mouth and felt what seemed like a large, heavy blanket enshroud him. He was then lifted over a shoulder, walked a short distance, and thrown belly down on a horse.
He could not stop himself from crying out at that, for the pain in his backside was such he could not quell it.
Not to mention the pain in his gut, where the saddle horn dug in.
“Debole,” the warrior grunted in disgust, and Drey felt him swing up on the horse.
He was not weak.
And he tired of being used.
And abused.
He worshipped Fenn more than any of his gods.
But he was wondering if that devotion was worth any of this.
They rode, too hard and too fast. Along their short journey the pain becoming excruciating, Drey knew they were going to the warrior’s house.
He also knew the warrior took him to the back for he smelled the honeysuckle that grew splendiferously at the side, before he reined in, dismounted, dragged Drey unceremoniously from his steed and carried him inside.
The Firenz walked and Drey knew he was taking him to the man’s bedchamber (for he had walked this himself numerous times) before he was tossed like a sack of nothing to the tiled floor.
G’Drey bit back his cry of pain at that, but it was of such strength, it might not have come out as a cry, but it came as a strong whimper.
The hood was torn off and Drey shook his hair out of his face as he tossed the blanket from his person and stared mutinously up at the man.
“I sent a missive,” the man said. “Yesterday. And when you are called, you come.”
His wife was standing at his side, but Drey didn’t look at her.
“I got no missive,” he retorted.
“Do not lie,” the warrior warned.
Drey leaned forward and spat, “I got…no…missive.”
And it was likely he did not because it had been confiscated by Seph.
He did not share that with the warrior.
His (current) tormentor opened his mouth to speak, but the wife spoke first.
“Sanguina,” she whispered.
He bleeds, she said.
The warrior looked, and before Drey could blink, he was on his stomach on the bed and his robes were thrown up over his arse.
He heard her shocked gasp.
And the warrior’s surprised grunt.
But it was her who spoke.
“Who did this to you?” she asked in his language.
G’Drey started to struggle to get up. “It is not your concern.”
He could not get up for the warrior held him down with a hand in the middle of his back.
G’Drey felt the bed depress at his side and another touch, a lighter one, which pulled his hair from his face.
G’Drey stilled.
Except for his chosen one, and even his chosen one could not stroke as lightly, he’d never been touched in that manner in his life.
The wife was on the bed with him.
“Who did this to you, mio piccolo buco?” she whispered.
G’Drey stared at the silks.
She had called him my little hole.
And the manner she referred to him thus made something in his stomach loosen.
Therefore, his tone was much changed when he lifted his eyes to her and replied, “I cannot say.”
She turned her head to the side and tipped it back.
“Where did you find him?” she asked her husband.
“On his way to his school,” her husband answered.
“Riding?” she inquired, sounding horrified.
“Walking,” the warrior told her.
“That is not much better,” she snapped.
And in the manner she did, something loosened further in his stomach.
“Release him,” she demanded.
“Amore,” the warrior murmured.
“Release him. You might be causing him pain,” she ordered.
The hand went out of his back.
Drey rolled to his side, gritting his teeth as his injury again made itself known.
“Do not move, priest,” she said in a gentle tone. “Why are you not abed?”
“I cannot speak of these things,” he told her.
“You should be resting,” she replied.
He shook his head.
“You must know you should be resting,” she pressed.