Ren's fingers twisted even tighter into the fabric of his robe. The sensation of the cloth against his skin felt like sandpaper, every nerve ending screaming for a different kind of pressure.
He looked up at Cilian, his vision blurring. He wanted to scream at the man for being so cruel, for playing this game when they were both drowning in the same chemical heat.
"You… you know," Ren panted, a single tear escaping and rolling into his hair. "You know what it is. Stop… stop playing."
Cilian's fox-like grin didn't reach his eyes this time. His eyes were dark, stripped of their usual mockery, leaving behind something raw and starving.
He reached out with his left hand, his fingers grazing the shimmering white oil the elders had painted on Ren's throat and Ren gulped.
"I want to hear it, Ren," Cilian commanded, his thumb pressing firmly against Ren's pulse point. "I want to hear the 'Hard Heart' tell me exactly what it needs from the monster."
