Chapter 3: Blood and Honey
The damp grass soaked instantly through Granit’s running shorts where his knees hit the earth. Vanja’s wrist burned against his palm, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against his thumb. Her eyes, wide and furious, locked onto his. That flicker of fear he saw only fueled the reckless heat surging through him.
"Let go!" she hissed again, twisting violently. Her free hand came up, fingers curled, aiming for his face.
He caught that wrist too, easily. Her strength was impressive, fueled by adrenaline and rage, but his grip was iron, forged on pitches against men twice her size. He pulled. Not gently. A sharp, decisive yank that broke her balance.
She stumbled forward, colliding with his chest. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs in a soft oof. Her forehead slammed against his sternum. The scent of her – clean sweat, crushed grass, and something uniquely warm and female – flooded his senses. Her breasts pressed against him, heavy and soft even through the thin sports bra. Her hips ground against his thighs.
For one suspended second, she went utterly still. Shock. Then the fury roared back.
"Get off me!" she snarled, arching her back, trying to wrench away. Her knee jerked upwards, seeking a target.
Granit reacted purely on instinct. He shifted his weight, pinning her legs with his own, trapping her arms against her sides. He wrapped one arm around her back, crushing her against him. Her struggles were fierce, desperate, her body twisting like a wild thing caught. Her breath came in hot, angry gasps against his neck. He felt the frantic flutter of her heart against his own pounding chest. The dampness of her skin seeped into his shirt. Her ponytail whipped against his cheek.
"Stop fighting," he growled, his voice thick, unfamiliar to his own ears. It wasn't a command. It was a plea wrapped in gravel.
"Why?" she spat, her face inches from his, hazel eyes blazing with pure hatred. "So you can feel like a big man? Like you won something? Like your fucking eagle gesture?"
The mention of the gesture, the raw contempt in her voice, snapped something. Years of history, of whispered slurs and unspoken wounds, of his father’s haunted eyes and the stubborn pride that was his armor – it all condensed into a white-hot point. He didn't think. He acted.
His hand slid from her back to cup the base of her skull, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her ponytail. He tilted her head back, just enough. His mouth crashed down onto hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't asking. It was claiming. A collision of teeth and tongue and salt-sweat skin. A furious release of every coiled tension since he’d seen her standing in Xhavit’s doorway. Her lips were soft, impossibly soft beneath the bruising pressure. She froze again, rigid against him. Then, with a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest into hers, she bit down. Hard. On his lower lip.
Pain flared, sharp and bright. He tasted copper. It should have stopped him. It ignited him.
He deepened the kiss, ignoring the sting, his tongue sweeping against hers, demanding entry. And then… surrender. Sudden, shocking, total. Her body melted against his, the rigid defiance dissolving into yielding heat. Her trapped arms slid up, her hands fisting in the fabric of his damp running shirt, pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Her mouth opened fully beneath his, meeting his tongue with a desperate, answering hunger. A soft, broken moan escaped her throat, swallowed instantly by his kiss. Her nails, moments ago weapons, dug into his shoulders through the thin material, not to hurt, but to anchor herself, to pull him impossibly closer. Her hips rocked against his, seeking friction, a primal, undeniable rhythm.
The world narrowed to the taste of her – salt, iron, and something sweetly addictive – the feel of her breasts crushed against him, the frantic beat of her heart syncing with his own thunderous pulse, the damp grass cool beneath his knees, the scent of apples and earth and her overwhelming everything. Years fell away. History dissolved. There was only this heat, this desperate, clawing need.
Then, as suddenly as she surrendered, she tore herself away. A violent wrench backwards fueled by pure panic. Her hands shoved hard against his chest, sending him stumbling back onto his heels in the wet grass. She scrambled backwards, putting precious feet between them, breathing ragged, eyes wide with a different kind of terror now – shock at herself.
Granit stayed on his knees, breathing hard, lip throbbing, staring at her. Her lips were swollen, glistening. A smear of his blood darkened the corner of her mouth. Her chest heaved beneath the purple sports bra. The look on her face – raw vulnerability mixed with resurgent fury – was more devastating than any punch.
"You… you arrogant prick!" she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at the crimson smear. Her voice trembled. "You think you can just… just do that?"
He touched his own lip, fingers coming away red. The metallic tang lingered. "You kissed me back," he stated, the words rough but undeniable.
Her flush deepened. "I did not! I was… you attacked me!"
"You bit me," he countered, pushing himself slowly to his feet. His legs felt unsteady. "Then you kissed me. Hard."
She looked away, towards the gnarled apple trees, her jaw clenched. Silence stretched, thick with the memory of her moan, the feel of her nails. The morning sun felt suddenly too bright, exposing everything.
The morning sun felt suddenly too bright, exposing everything. Vanja wiped her mouth again, the smear of Granit’s blood stark against her pale skin. Her chest still heaved, the frantic rhythm echoing the frantic pulse in his own throat.
Granit touched his split lip, wincing at the sting. The coppery taste lingered. "You drew blood," he stated flatly, watching her reaction.
"Good," she shot back, though her voice lacked its earlier venom. Her gaze flickered from his bleeding lip to his eyes, then away, towards the ancient apple trees heavy with fruit. The sweet scent felt incongruous against the raw tension crackling between them.
Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, filled only by their ragged breathing and the distant buzz of insects. The damp grass soaked into Granit’s knees. He pushed himself fully upright, towering over her where she still crouched defensively. "Why?" he demanded, the word rough. "Why bite? Why kiss back?"
Vanja scrambled to her feet, putting more distance between them. She hugged her arms around herself, suddenly looking younger, vulnerable beneath the fierce facade. "Because you're an idiot!" Her voice cracked. "Because you grabbed me! Because... because of him!"
"Him?" Granit’s brow furrowed, confusion momentarily overriding the anger and lingering heat. "Who?"
"Argon!" Vanja spat the name like a curse, her green eyes flashing with renewed accusation. "At Xhavit’s! The way you looked at him! The way you spoke about him!"
Granit blinked. The name landed like a physical blow, unexpected and jarring. Jealousy, sharp and ugly, twisted in his gut. "Argon?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping, dangerous. "What about him? You seemed pretty cozy."
Vanja stared at him, incredulity replacing the anger. A disbelieving laugh escaped her, sharp and brittle. "Cozy? Are you serious? You think...?" She shook her head, blonde ponytail swinging. "Granit, you colossal fool."
"Explain it then!" His voice rose, frustration boiling over. The image of her laughing easily with another man at his uncle’s house burned fresh. "Who is he to you?"
Vanja met his glare head-on, a strange mix of exasperation and defiance in her eyes. "Yes! I love Argon! He is my family!" She threw the words at him, challenging him to misunderstand.
"Family?" Granit echoed, suspicion warring with a dawning, horrifying realization. The pieces clicked – the shared ease, the protective stance Argon had taken. "What kind of family?"
Vanja rolled her eyes, a genuine, exasperated laugh bubbling up this time, chasing away the last traces of panic. "The cousin kind, you idiot! Argon is my cousin! My mother's sister's son!" She gestured vaguely towards the direction of the town. "He drove me here yesterday!"
The world tilted. The fierce, possessive jealousy that had fueled his anger since Podujevo evaporated, leaving him feeling abruptly, profoundly stupid. Heat flooded his face, hotter than the Kosovo sun. "Your...cousin?" The words sounded thick, ridiculous.
"Yes!" Vanja laughed again, the sound lighter now, tinged with disbelief at his assumption. "You thought... what? That I'd just wander into your uncle's house and flirt with random men?" She shook her head, a small, incredulous smile playing on her lips. "You really are unbelievable."
Granit stared at her. The smear of his blood was still faintly visible on her chin. Her lips were swollen from his kiss. Her eyes, no longer blazing with fury, held a complex mixture of amusement, lingering shock, and something else he couldn't quite name. The absurdity of his jealousy crashed over him, followed by a wave of intense, overwhelming relief. The tension that had held him rigid since their collision dissolved, replaced by a different kind of heat, softer but no less potent.
He closed the distance between them in two strides. This time, there was no grabbing, no force. He simply stopped inches from her, his dark eyes locked onto hers. The scent of apples and crushed grass and her skin filled his senses. "Your cousin," he murmured, the words barely audible.
Vanja didn't retreat. She tilted her head back slightly to meet his gaze, her smile fading into something more serious, more searching. Her breath hitched. "Yes," she whispered.
Granit lifted his hand slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. His thumb brushed gently over the smear of blood on her chin, wiping it away. His touch lingered on her jawline, tracing the delicate line. He saw the flutter of her pulse in her throat. Saw the echo of that desperate hunger reflected in her widened eyes.
He leaned down. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving her every chance to stop him. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes drifted shut.
His mouth covered hers. Not a collision this time. An exploration. Soft. Seeking. A silent apology and a question all in one. Her response was immediate, yielding. Her lips softened beneath his, moving tentatively at first, then with growing certainty. Her hands rose, not to push, but to rest lightly against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the damp fabric of his shirt. The kiss deepened naturally, a slow, sweet slide of lips and tentative tongue, tasting salt and earth and the faint metallic tang of his blood, now mingled with the warmth of her. Her sigh vibrated against his mouth. The orchard, the past, the world outside the crumbling stone walls, ceased to exist. There was only the soft crush of apples underfoot, the dappled sunlight warming their skin, and the profound, unexpected rightness of her mouth on his.