I climb onto the bed. She tries to kick me, but I catch her ankle effortlessly. I crawl over her, pinning her legs with my weight.
"I can't leave you roaming the house, Ivy. If they breach the perimeter while I’m gone, I need to know exactly where you are. I need to know you are safe."
"I’ll stay here!" she cries, tears spilling over. "I promise! I’ll lock the door! Please, don't tie me up. Please, Silas. It’s... I’m claustrophobic. You know that!"
"I know," I soothe, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "But fear is better than death."
I grab her left wrist.
"Give it to me."
"No!" She fights me. She scratches at my arm, her nails leaving red welts on my skin. "I’m not an animal! You can't chain me up!"
"I can do whatever is necessary to keep you breathing," I growl.
I pin her wrist to the thick mahogany post of the headboard. The wood is carved with intricate vines. It is solid as rock.
Click.
The cold metal bites into her skin. She gasps, a sound of pure defeat.
I lock the other cuff around the bedpost.
She pulls at it instantly. The chain rattles. It holds firm. She is tethered. She has maybe six inches of movement. Enough to sit up, enough to lie down, but not enough to leave the bed.
She looks at me, her chest heaving, hate and terror warring in her eyes.
"I hate you," she spits. "You’re sick."
"I am thorough," I correct her.
I check the fit of the cuff. Tight enough that she can't slip her hand through, loose enough that it won't cut off circulation unless she struggles violently.
"Stop fighting it," I advise softly. "You’ll only bruise yourself."
I stand up, adjusting my rifle.
"I will be back," I promise. "The house is sealed. Marta is in the safe room in the cellar. The guards have kill-on-sight orders for anyone approaching the house."
"What if you don't come back?" she whispers. The question hangs in the air, fragile and terrifying.
If I don't come back, she dies here. Chained to this bed. Starving. Or worse, Nikolai finds her like this.
The thought makes my blood run cold.
I lean down. I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me.
"I always come back," I vow. "I am the thing in the dark, Ivy. Nothing out there is scarier than me."
I kiss her hard. It’s a kiss of possession, a branding. I taste her fear, her salt.
"Wait for me."
I turn and walk to the door.
"Silas!" she screams, the sound tearing at my gut.
I don't look back. I can't. If I look back at her—chained, vulnerable, beautiful—I won't leave. And if I don't leave, the threat remains.
