“I’m not drinking that,” I repeat. Even I’m not sure why I’m saying this. I can see that if he wants to pour it down my throat, that’s what he’ll do. But at least I have registered my complaint. At least I’m letting him know I won’t go down without a fight.
Hopefully, they will realize they chose the wrong sister, and trade me back for Fiona. That was a running joke when I was a kid. Since my father is so rich, there was always a danger of kidnapping. But everyone always laughed and made the joke: they’ll spend an EU day with her and pay you to take her back.
Maybe that’s my tactic?
He is unmoved by my words of defiance. In fact, he seems to have expected them. His indifference has the opposite effect on me that I think it should. It’s frightening, yes. But also… attractive.
He sets the glass on the bench next to me.
My hand is flying out to knock it over before I even think about it.
But my wrist is caught before I even have time to think aboutthat.Snatched in the air, so quickly that it’s right in front of me, uncrossing from my other side, where it was tucked petulantly under my other arm. The grip on my wrist is like fleshy steel; it doesn’t hurt, but it’s forceful. Solid. Impenetrable.
“Donot,” he says quietly.
“Or what?” I say, also quietly.
Why the fuck am I saying this? I’ve always been like this. Obstinate. Refusing to do things just because someone told me to.
But this is areallyinappropriate time to be like this, to behave like this.
I just don’t know any other way.
To his silence, I add, “If you want me to drink it, you’re going to have to pour it down my throat.”
This makes something flare up inside of him. I feel it coursing through his body; it travels in his reptilian markings. I don’t know what it is. He’s Kerz, it’s impossible to tell. But itfeelsdangerous. And my body is reacting to that danger all wrong.
He crouches down, like the general did as I sat on the floor, with my hands in Petlola’s blood. It’s dried to my arms now, and no one seems to be interested in letting me wash it off. It occurs to me—too late—that I perhaps should have used the sedative as a bargaining tool, since I’m going to end up drinking it any way you slice it. But I forgot all about that blood until now.
He leans toward me, his grip on my wrist tightening so that I understand that if I move, he will crush my whole arm. I can feel the power in his grip, and his claws as they emerge and threaten my skin with their sharpness. There is no pain, just the threat of it.
The whisper of that potential violence travels over my skin and sets my heart racing, but more in the way that a sensual tickle along the inside of my thigh might.
His breath is warm against my ear as he speaks. His voice is very low, almost like the purr of a cat. A big, dangerous cat. “I want you to pick it up yourself. And drink it. And youwilldo what I want.”
For a moment, I’m convinced that I will do just that. His voice is hypnotic. Something primal, deep inside of me, throbs, and I have a feeling I have never experienced: a desire to obey him.
This must be, I think, as my eyes close and open slowly, how Fiona feels all the time. She loves men like this.
“I’ll knock it over,” I hiss at him, angry with myself for eventhinkingabout being like Fiona. Gods, what iswrongwith me?
“If you knock it over,” he says, “you will lick it from the floor.”
“Ha,” I tell him.
He can’tmakeme do that, I think. Then perhaps I say it.
That’s the last thought I have before I’m spinning in the air. The black room provides no clues as to which direction I’m going. For a second I think he’s struck me in the head, and that this is my death spiral, and I curse myself for being a stubborn idiot.
But I can still feel the floor, still see his dark robes, the floor, and feel a weight beneath my chest and my stomach.
I feel his hands, on my thighs, then… a coolness on my bottom.
I’m on his lap, and he’s pushing my dress up, pulling my underwear down.
I start to kick my feet and try to flail my arms. He is holding me down against his lap with one strong arm, and so this is mostly exhausting but ineffective.
Then I hear it: a slap. It rushes into the room, filling it with the sound of skin smacking against skin. I’m aware that I will feel it before I do. It’s sharp, biting, and then suddenly hot.
