THE SUNDERING

SEBASTIAN

Better to argue than to lust. Lusting after the woman was exactly what he was doing, driving him insane for his weakness over her.

Sebastian growled lightly, the aggravation and distaste over his inner, deviant inclination doing nothing to placate him. He knew Mato was the only woman he should have eyes for, the woman that he gave his word and his allegiance to. One day she would be the one he'd give the seed of his loins and all hard-earned fortune to. She was the reason for his whole being. Looking at the stranger with desire would ruin him and ruin any future happiness for a family and normal life of his own.

That cruel sensation pitting at the base of his spine and spreading outward didn't stop him from contemplating how he might go after his latest prey.
How he might beat her down to nothing, taking her with the darkness he kept hidden, to convince with the cruelest verve, to consume all of her with a harsh and wicked whim.
Hopefully, the win over her would annihilate the frantic madness creeping up inside of him. He grew dangerously close to eradicating his morals and a conscience that scarcely worked anymore. All of it, because of her.

Damn her for doing this to him, whoever she might be. A demon. A huntress. His enemy. His latest conquest and ploy. Whatever she was, she already owned him by that faint subjection, and for Sebastian, that meant he had to try harder to break free.

Baz gripped the battalion of weapons strapped across his hips and chest in readiness. That pitiless sensation also didn't stop him from circumspectly following her through the hallowed darkness. He could see the brightness of her hair from ahead, a beacon.

He pushed away the inclination to turn back towards the stone, the monstrous thing guarding and shielding over him with dark and crude pity. Baz huffed.
Attributing sentience to a damned rock? Maybe he'd lost the canny intellect he was known for during transit to this forsaken, unknown territory, as well as most recollection of how he got there. None of that boded well for him. He told himself that the rabid feeling sticking in his craw and creating havoc in his gut was for the greater good, that he'd find out answers, and he'd find out the reason most memories from past years were now purged from his brain.

Worse, an unfamiliar longing filled him. He gazed at the red-haired woman. Who was she?

He wanted to despise the female striding in front of him. He knew better, damn him, for giving a strange woman, any woman but Mato, control.
Control spelled disaster, and weakness of such a caliber wasn't for soldiers, but for those commoners who hadn't the need for war. It definitely wasn't for a man like him, trained and conditioned and expecting the kill. Weakness damaged. It lied and stole. They spelled ruin for him, the Assassin, the greatest soldier Yrurra ever knew.

"Who are you?"

She paused, turning. "Who do you think I am?"

He leveled his gaze. "You're my enemy."

She laughed, softly mocking. "You should know better than to assume anything. Most of the time, they're lies." Her voice slid over him like thick syrup. "You already have your answers, soldier, don't you? But I warn you. Things aren't what they seem. And you should avoid putting blame on things you don't understand."

"My memories." Desperation made his throat catch. His hand eased along the familiar hilt of his blade while he contemplated her, hating the weakness coming from doubt. "They're gone."

She chuckled again, false compassion in the sound. "I know. And like a lamb to the slaughter, you've come to me."

"We're enemies, then." Hating her was the last thing he wanted, but duty ingrained in his soul. He was a soldier, a cold-blooded warrior, a man, through and through. Bringing down his target came to him as easily as breathing. His fingers tightened on the hilt.