Her silence was driving him mad.
His wife, who usually was so quick to retort or make her presence known, was silent. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since she asked him to help her. Hadn’t uttered a sound as he carried her through the rain and mud back to their hut. Nor when he had stripped her out of her wet clothes and changed her into dry ones. She hasn’t spoke or moved after he placed her on the bed.
Or when the storm clouds traded with inky blackness of night.
He had distanced himself, staring at her from across the room. Her small frame was huddled atop their bed, her dainty feet bare on the floor. The slip he had changed her into was too big for her frame, it dipped down and exposed her shoulder. His gaze trailed down her back, to her long hair that shined like gold and fluttered in the firelight like birdwings.
His pretty, broken little bird.
He was going to make her sing.
He didn’t bother to muffle his steps, so he knew she heard him coming for her. She didn’t move when he brushed his hand down her slim back. His hand curved, trailing upward until it grasped her neck. He felt her pulse against his fingertips, reveling in the steady rhythm. He flexed, pressing into the delicate skin.
It was a warning.
And like the docile pet she was, she heeled to the unspoken command.
She broke.
“I’m a killer,” she choked. “I killed him, me, and that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life….and I don’t know how.” She looked up at him, and even when her eyes sparkled with tears and gut-wrenching anguish, she was still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
“Leawyn,” he rumbled. Covetous and angry, because he knew which he she was speaking of. He had banned the name from every leaving her pretty lips.
“Everytime I close my eyes, I see him.”
Her voice was no more than a whisper, but he heard it as if she shouted it. He tensed, irrational jealousy coursing through his veins and making his blood hot, but the haunting pain in the words made his cold heart ache.
“I feel the bow in my hands. Hear the tautness of the string... feel the fletching leave my fingers.” She was facing him, but her gaze was dazed, staring sightlessly over his shoulder.
“It haunts me, Xavier.”
“You saved my life.” He crouched in front of her. His fingers left indents in her chin when he held it hostage. “Are you saying you regret that?”
Her expression crumbled.
“No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’d lie, steal, cheat, and kill for you. I’ll do anything for you, Xavier. And that terrifies me.”
She focused on him, her beautiful blue eyes a pool of tears she didn’t let fall.
“What kind of person does that make me?”
“Strong," he hissed. His grip left her chin to trade up for her hair. Holding it tight in his fist, he tilted her head back and forced her to look at him when he went nose to nose with her. “A survivor, a protector, a warrior, a—”
“A killer.”
He couldn’t stand it any longer. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
With a snarl, he stood, bringing her up with him. He ignored her cry when he used his grip on her hair to drag her outside with him.
“Xavier, stop!” She yelped, stumbling, having trouble finding her footing in the mud. She gripped his wrist, trying to pry his hands out of her hair. He hasn’t treated her this way since the beginning of their marriage.
But he didn’t let go, and he didn’t stop.
When their destination became apparent, she tried to dig in her heels, her face ashen.
“No.” She started to fight him again. “No! Please, no!”
There were two guards stationed in front. “Give me your bow,” he barked, snatching it up with one hand when they quickly complied. The other opened the door.
They stalked inside, Leawyn crying and begging him as they went. The door slammed shut behind them when he launched her forward, making her fall onto her hands and knees.
There were twenty prisoners, some healthier than others.
He grabbed one by the neck at random, dragged him forward and forced him onto his knees in front of Leawyn.
He tossed the bow so that it landed directly in front of her. He held out an arrow.
“Kill him.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”
He tilted his head down to the prisoner he still held in his grasp. “Kill him.” It was an order.
She shook her head. “No.” She pushed herself up hastily so that she sat back on her heels.
“No!”
He regarded her coolly. “Why not? You’re a killer, aren’t you?” He mocked, his lips quirking—but it wasn’t even close to a smile. He held out the arrow again.
“Take it.”
“Xavier…” she whimpered. “Please don’t do this.” His features twisted, a snarl on his lips.
“Take it!” He bellowed.
Her breaths were choppy, and her shoulders heaved.
But he didn’t care.
He couldn’t.
“Now,” he said calmly, standing taller once she finally did what he bid. “Pick up the bow and notch the arrow.”
“Xavier—”
“Now, Leawyn.”
“No!” She sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.
“You’re a killer!” He yelled, his voice carrying over her cries. “You said so yourself, so this should be easy for you. You’ll do anything for me, right? Then, grab your bow, and kill him. Do it!”
She didn’t move.
He jerked the prisoner forward, staring her in the eyes cruelly. “Pick up that bow, right now. I won’t ask you again.” His threat was clear.
She coughed, trying to find her breath from her sobbing. Picking up the bow, she notched it unsteadily. He easily contained the prisoners struggles, who now plead for his life. He yanked the prisoner’s head back by his hair, baring his throat.
“You see him, don’t you?” Xavier said, his voice deceptively light. “You look at this scum—who helped in the destruction of your tribe, who lifted a blade to our people, who’s kin killed everything, and everyone you’ve ever loved— but all you see is him!” He spat, disgusted.
“Please, Xavier,” she choked. “Stop.”
“He deserved to die, Leawyn.” He screamed at her, pushing her boundaries in more ways than one. “Just like this one does.” He urged the prisoner closer.
“He is the enemy. You’re the lady chief of this tribe, and my wife,” he growled, full of menace and meaning. “And I am ordering you to kill him.”
The bow was shaking in her hands as she looked at the prisoner, stared into his eyes.
Then he saw it.
The waver in Leawyn, the weakness, the uncertainty.
The moral consciousness.
The lightness.
With a cry, she lowered the bow, dropping it and scrambling back from it like it was a demon. “I can’t do it,” she said, broken. “I can’t kill him.”
Without pause, Xavier yanked the dagger from his hip, and before Leawyn could stop him, he slit his captive’s throat. She screamed, flinching when his blood splattered across her face but Xavier didn’t care. He let the body go, and it dropped, flapping around like a fish, before it stilled laying in a pool of blood.
He crouched in front of her, moved a red-tipped strand of hair away from her forehead. He waited for her gaze to meet his, and when they did, they were wide and red-rimmed.
Shocked.
Destroyed.
Scared.
He lifted his hand that was coated in blood so that it hovered between them.
“You’re not the killer, Leawyn,” he told her quietly. “I am.”