She yanked her hand away from him, feeling the sparks from that stupid contact already running wild in her veins, her body betraying her for reacting this way.
It made her even more infuriated.
Even her body wasn't supporting her in this.
“You are a mad man!” She hissed. “A Mad Beast of whatever you are! What was that for?!”
“You are hurt.” His voice held that calmness that infuriated her and once again, he reached for her hand.
“No!” She moved away.
“I’m not done.”
“I said no!”
“There is more.”
“I will clean it myself!” She snapped, heading towards the door and now feeling the sting of the cut that went right through her palm.
He stopped her easily, his hand anchoring around her waist and redirecting her.
“Why leave? I have all the things you need.”
“I don't want your tongue anywhere near me,” she gritted as he pushed her onto the sofa, forcing her to stay there.
When she fought him, he pinned her down. “Sit. Down.”
Still, she stayed.
She didn't have enough time to fight him, he was fast and soon enough, he was back with some herbs. Aniya had to hold onto her veil, so the wind of his movement wouldn't push it off her face.
When he took a seat next to her, his presence felt more consuming than ever. He took her hand and started his elaborate process of caring for her hand without his tongue.
It was torture to sit there and ignore the betraying sparks, but she was angry enough to give them no effect.
While he took care of her hand, she looked away, watching the wall intently like it was the most interesting thing in the Realms.
“Ik’la,” his voice was quietly, booming lightly against the walls.
“It means Blood,” he paused, looking up at her as he wrapped her hand with a piece of white cloth. “That is not the only thing it means though.” She wasn't looking at him still.
He fell into silence, until he felt her curious gaze on him.
She didn't speak. She didn't have to.
“At the marking of one’s fated mate, blood is exchanged.” He let her hand go, trailing his hand up her hand instead, as he spoke, allowing his mark to hover over his mark on her neck. He kept his gaze locked with his, imprisoning her attention. Aniya didn't fight it, she couldn't think to. “A gulp with the blood from here…” he pulled the part of her veil that covered some part of the mark away, “in it…” then he let her veil go, allowing his hovering fingers to trail down to her chest, where her heart was beating beneath, “goes straight to the heart and rescinds there.” They were both too engrossed in his explanation, and he pressed his hand against her chest instinctively, “It is part of the process to carry the other in you forever.”
It suddenly felt like they had no troubles between them, no fights. Just two people sitting on a sofa.
His eyes zeroed on her neck and his hand slipped away from her chest, down to her injured hand. “It deepens the bond to take your mate’s blood that way.”
“Does it taste good?” Her voice sounded foreign to even her own ears. Quiet and strained with an emotion she couldn't desire. She leaned forward instinctively to see his face. It was hard to see with his focus on her injured hand.
He looked up at her, with a lazy smile on his face and maybe… just maybe… her heart had skipped a beat. One that wasn't the doings of the bond.
Maybe…
She really wasn't sure.
She couldn't think.
She wasn't thinking.
“It tastes like blood.”
“So, it doesn't contain a certain flavor from the Matebond? It isn't sweet.”
He threw his head back in laughter and she watched him as his adams apple bobbed.
When he looked back at her, there was a spark in his eyes.
“No.”
“How does it feel then?”
His thumb caressed the base of her wrist as he spoke. His eyes not leaving hers. “It feels good, Aniya. It felt very good.”
She smiled and mindlessly, her hand moved to his neck, trailing over the bare skin.
“Ik’la Ikrus,” she whispered.
He froze, his eyes darkening too fast.
Here came the consequences of silent whispers.