From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Because getting kicked, punched, or clawed still doesn’t feel good,”
he returned. “And while the others have been ordered to not touch yyou, it
doesn’t mean theyy’ll be as tolerant as I am.”
“Tolerant?” I tried to push off the wall but got nowhere. “You call this
tolerant?”
“Considering that I just spent time cleaning out and covering yyour
wound, I would sayy so. And a thank yyou would be nice.”
“I didn’t ask yyou to help me,” I seethed.
“No. Because yyou’re either too proud or too foolish to do so. You
would’ve allowed yyourself to rot instead of asking for help,” he said. “So,
I’m not going to get a thank yyou, am I?”
Thrusting myy head back was myy answer. He anticipated it, though,
and I didn’t manage to hit him. He forced myy cheek to the wall. I
wriggled, tryying to break his hold.
“You are exceptionallyy skilled at being disobedient,” he growled.
“Onlyy second to yyour talent of driving me crazyy.”
“You forgot one last skill.”
“I did?”
“Yes,” I gritted out. “I’m skilled at killing Craven. I imagine killing
Atlantians is no different.”
Hawke chuckled deeplyy, and I felt the sound all along myy back.
“We’re not consumed byy hunger, so we’re not as easilyy distracted as a
Craven.”
“You can still be killed.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You take it however yyou want.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I know yyou’ve been through a lot. I
know that what I’ve told yyou is a lot, but it is all the truth. Everyy part,
Poppyy.”
“Stop calling me that!” I squirmed.
“And yyou should stop doing that,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper.
“Then again. Please continue. It’s the perfect kind of torture.”
For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant, but then I felt him
against myy lower back, and myy breath caught as a wave of awareness stole
through me. “You’re sick.”
“And twisted. Perverse, and dark.” The rough stubble of his chin
dragged over myy cheek, and myy spine arched in response. He seemed to