A Game Worth Playing

"Strip"

The woman stiffened, eyes going wide. "What?"

Azgar chuckled. "Your clothes are covered in hay. Change into something else."

She exhaled shakily. "No."

He took a step closer. "Either you take it off, or I will do it for you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't—"

Before she could finish, he gripped the thick fabric and pulled.

She yelped, arms flying to cover herself.

Azgar tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her flushed skin, the delicate curve of her waist.

He smirked, amusement flickering in his eyes. Southern women. Always a different flavor from the northern ones he was used to. Less fiery. More foolish. A different kind of sweetness to sink his teeth into.

Not that he was in the mood for that.

Not now. He preferred his partners willing, eager—active. Not half-delirious with fever, barely able to stand.

Turning away, he strode to the table where the food from earlier had long since cooled. He could feel her confused stare on his back. 

She thought I was going to bed her. The realization nearly made him laugh. She's not wrong—just not tonight.

The soft rustle of fabric caught his attention. He glanced back.

The woman had changed, but she wore the northern robes all wrong, the ties loose, the folds twisted in a way that would have made any northern seamstress faint.

He let out a low chuckle and walked back over, watching her bristle as he adjusted the cloth, securing the ties properly before giving her a slow, mocking pat on the head.

Her fierce scowl only deepened as she smacked his hand away.

"Come," he ordered, dragging her toward the table without waiting for her to resist. He gestured to the food. "Eat."

She frowned. "What?"

"You tried to run," he said easily, pulling out a chair. "This is your punishment."

She stiffened as if expecting something far worse. Then, realizing he was serious, she set her jaw. "I'm not hungry."

Azgar's smile faded. "Eat."

"I said—"

Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the waist, hauled her onto his lap, and caged her in with his arm.

The woman stiffened in shock, her hands flying to push against his chest. "Let me go!"

His grip didn't budge. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter—colder. "I don't like repeating myself. I especially don't like my orders disobeyed."

She stilled, her body going rigid.

Smart girl.

She swallowed, her pulse hammering against his hold. His grip loosened just slightly, allowing her a sliver of space. He gestured toward the food again.

"Eat."

She hesitated. He felt the tension in her spine, the war in her mind. But slowly, reluctantly, she reached for the bread.

He smirked.

A quiet knock at the door made her tense again. Azgar barely glanced up as one of his men entered, a bowl in his hands. The scent of bitter herbs filled the air.

"My lord." They stopped short, eyes widening at the sight of the woman in Azgar's lap.

She went rigid. Her mortification was almost tangible, and Azgar, for his part, was thoroughly entertained.

The servant lowered their gaze quickly and bowed as they set the bowl on the table. "The medicine you asked for, my lord."

Azgar nodded. "Leave."

He could see the way she watched their mouths, trying to decipher what they were saying.

The servant hesitated, giving the woman one last glance before hurrying out.

They finished the meal in tense silence. She ate enough to satisfy him, though her every movement was stiff, her face turned away as if refusing to acknowledge the way she remained on his lap.

When the plates were cleared, Azgar reached for the medicine.

"Drink."

She looked at the bowl, then at him, and shook her head.

"No."

He lifted it toward her. "Little rabbit."

"I'm not drinking that."

He sighed. "Again, you test my patience."

She lifted her chin. "I will not drink it."

Azgar considered her for a long moment. Then, he smirked.

"Fine."

Before she could react, he took the bowl, poured some of the medicine into his mouth, and yanked her head back by the hair.

She let out a startled cry—just as he crushed his lips against hers.

Her mouth parted in shock, and he took full advantage, letting the bitter liquid spill from him into her. She choked, swallowed out of instinct, her struggles flaring wildly.

He tightened his grip, his other arm wrapping around her waist to keep her firmly in place.

The medicine was bitter, but he barely tasted it.

The warmth of her mouth, the way she fought even as her body betrayed her—it was all far more interesting.

The kiss may have lasted longer than necessary. But who was going to stop him?

Her hands clawed at his chest, a useless attempt to push him away. He let her struggle, savoring the fire in her movements, the anger in her muffled sounds. This little rabbit still has her fangs, he thought, amusement curling in his chest.

Then she bit him.

A sharp sting spread through his lower lip, the taste of iron following soon after.

Azgar pulled back slowly, his tongue running over the small wound. His gaze locked onto hers, taking in the wide, furious eyes, the ragged breaths, the unmistakable mix of fear and rage twisting her features.

His blood roared.

Yes. This little rabbit was going to be worth his while.

The woman panted, her body still tense in his hold. Her fingers were curled into fists, her entire being vibrating with restrained fury. He could see the horror in her eyes, the realization that she had no control, that no matter how hard she fought, she was his.

He leaned in again, letting his lips brush against her ear, smirking when she flinched.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" His voice was low, teasing.

She trembled, whether from fever or rage, he wasn't sure. Perhaps both.

Then, in a sudden burst of movement, she wrenched herself from his lap and scrambled backward, knocking over the chair in her haste.

Azgar tilted his head, watching with lazy amusement as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing harsh and uneven.

"If you ever do that again," she hissed, her voice shaking, "I will kill you."

He chuckled. "If?" He rose to his feet, stepping toward her, watching with satisfaction as she instinctively backed away until she hit the edge of the bed.

"Little rabbit, I intend to do far more than that."

"You should rest," he said, his tone turning deceptively soft. "I'd hate for you to collapse before our fun has even begun."

Her eyes darted to the door. He could almost see the thoughts running through her mind.

He sighed. "Don't make me chase you again, little rabbit. You already failed once tonight."

The woman's jaw clenched. She stayed rooted to the spot, breathing hard, every muscle in her body coiled tight.

Azgar smirked.

Then, with one swift motion, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him.

She struggled instantly, shoving at his chest, kicking at his legs, but he was stronger, faster. With ease, he lifted her into his arms and turned toward the bed.

"No—! Let go of me!" She thrashed, her nails digging into his skin, but he only chuckled.

He dropped her onto the furs, caging her beneath him before she could scramble away. The heavy pelts were pulled over them both, locking her in.

The woman pushed at his chest again, twisting against him. "You bastard—"

"You're being too loud," he murmured, unbothered by her fury. He caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head as he settled his weight against her, effectively trapping her beneath him.

She thrashed, her breath hot and ragged, but there was no space to move. No escape.

Azgar tilted his head, looking down at her with something like amusement.

"You know," he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful, "I thought you were smarter than this."

She stilled, her lips parting slightly.

He smirked. "You didn't even notice you were sick, and yet you thought you could slip away into the night? A little disappointing."

Her brow furrowed, her thoughts visibly shifting.

Yes. Think, little rabbit.

He watched her closely, curious what conclusion she would come to. Would she realize the foolishness of her attempted escape? Or would she sink further into her defiance?

Either way, it would be entertaining.

She was still fighting sleep, he could tell. Even as exhaustion crept through her, she was forcing herself to stay awake.

Azgar exhaled, his smirk turning cruel.

"Sleep," he murmured, tightening his hold just slightly. "Maybe you'll wake up from this nightmare."

Her breath hitched.

For a long moment, she just stared at him. He could see the war behind her eyes, the battle between exhaustion and pride.

But in the end, her body betrayed her.

Slowly, her lashes fluttered. Her breath evened out, her muscles going slack beneath him.

Azgar watched her for a moment longer, then finally allowed himself to relax against her.

His little rabbit.

She was going to be so much fun.