Do I feel guilty for the prisoner’s bracelet? I did, at first. I carried her back to the campsite, set her down, cleaned up the gash on her head and gave her my waterskin to drink from. Then she started bitching at me, and I wanted to tell her to run away again so she’d get struck a second time.
I didn’t though because I am a nice fucking person.
So far, she hasn’t tried to control me or whatever she did with Fredrick, which is interesting. It’s possible the cuff is muting her abilities, but I would have expected her to try ordering me around at least. All I’ve gotten is a little bit of whining, a lot of complaining and a generally shitty attitude, so nothing too out of the ordinary. What’s really irking me, though, is her refusal to tell me what happened when she escaped the palace. Damn female can’t see when somebody is trying to help her.
“I already told you,” she says, arms wrapped so tight around her chest, I’m surprised she’s still breathing. “Fredrick said he wantedto show me how the chair worked, and strapped himself in. I can’t help it if he’s an idiot.”
“Fredrick said you controlled his mind,” I tell her. She stiffens just a tiny bit, but I see it. There’s definitely something more going on here.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And the guard?”
Her bluster diminishes a little at the question. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“I’m talking about the one who walked you out of the palace and the ones at the gate. How did you get past them?”
“I just sweet-talked them.”
“Sweet-talked, really?”
She shrugs one shoulder and gives me a look that instantly makes my cock ache. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.
I’m getting nowhere with this. “If you tell me what you did, I’ll be better able to plead your case when we get back to Ranook.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Ha, right, because you care so darned much.” She starts for her horse.
“Katya—,” I begin.
“Can we just go now, please.” She crouches down and begins untying the hobble from around her horse’s legs. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”
“Katya,” I say, more forcefully this time.
“What?” She stops what she’s doing and glares at me.
“We’re”—I wave a hand between the two of us—“taking my horse.”
She stands and stuffs the bit of twine into her saddlebag. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Her eyes flick back and forth between me and Balor. “I am not getting on that horse with you,” she says, chin in the air like she’s some fine lady too good to ride with the likes of me.
And yes, I did wash up, so I know it’s not the smell. She’s just being an obstinate brat. “Get on the horse Katya, before Iputyou on it.”
“No.”
I have to shut my eyes and take a breath. I would rather not manhandle the girl, but if she insists. I pat Balor’s neck to settle him—I don’t need my own irritation getting him all jumpy—and start towards Katya.
“Wait,” she says, hands thrust out in front of her, eyes wide with the fear she’s been hiding beneath that attitude.
The irritation drains out of me in a rush. She’s terrified. Of course she’s terrified. I just shocked the ever-loving shit out of her and am dragging her back to the place where a bunch of men tried to torture her.
I pause my advance and fold my arms across my chest in the most nonthreatening way I can muster. “I already told you, I’m keeping you plastered to my side until we reach the palace."
“I have my own perfectly good horse,” she says, gesturing to the pretty brown bay mare she stole from some poor sad sap. “I don’t need to ride with you.” And the attitude’s back again. She folds her arms across her chest, imitating my stance, and gives me a pissy look, but I’m too distracted by the way it makes her breasts jut out to care.
“My eyes are up here,” she says.
