She leaned her head back and turned to the window.
“Yes. I believe I do.”
I rolled my eyes and tapped on my phone. She was back—in my car, on the way to my home. Now I could get back to the prime minister.
Chapter 40
Lielit
The anger didn’t fade. I scrubbed my teeth so hard that I spotted blood on the toothbrush. With a grunt, I rinsed my mouth out and washed the brush before sticking it back in the holder. I searched the cabinet for mouthwash as thoughts of tears, hugs, and lies churned through my head.
I hadn’t lied to protect Blaidd—but to protect my family.
Okay. A partial fib. But it was enough to make the truth palatable for them. I framed it as an initial abduction, followed by a gradual getting to know each other. Their scepticism was natural, and I told them his interest had been a massive misunderstanding. The lies I’d fabricated during the helicopter ride back to London were absurd—but still better than the truth.
I didn’t blame them when they started accusing me of Stockholm syndrome.
That was when I lifted my top and showed them my belly.
It stunned everyone into silence.
For ten whole seconds.
I groaned when I heard him in the bedroom. The bed was large enough for us both to keep our distance, but that didn’t change the fact that I was in his space—again.
I spat the mouthwash into the sink and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, staring at my reflection.
Don’t do it, Bouda warned.
What? I thought. A little bleach on his toothbrush won’t kill him.
Instead, I squeezed a little toothpaste out and smeared the aqua-blue sludge across the pristine white porcelain sink.
Guaranteed it wouldn’t be there in the morning.
I didn’t think it possible, but you’re diabolical, Bouda tittered.
I grinned.
It was the first real smile of the day.
It didn’t last.
The thought of how satisfied he must feel every time he won crept in—how easily he tallied lives like numbers. His body count was probably in the hundreds. Maybe thousands.
He’s rubbing off on me, I told Bouda with a sigh.
Have you considered how much of yourself you’ve already rubbed onto him?she purred.
I wasn’t dead—I’d multiplied. I wasn’t on his stupid island. Fenrir wasn’t a dick. The cohabitation contract was a farce. Even if I married him, divorce was always an option.
The bond wasn’t.
The final bite was in my hands.
Or my jaw.
Had he ever conceded to anything—or anyone—in his life?
