“No.”
“Stubborn thing.” I clicked my tongue at her, tucking my hand back into the pocket of my trousers. “What will it be?”
During our banter, she had let her hair down, which only meant one beautiful thing:needles.
She pushed through one of the doors. I assumedthat she would try her luck at going around through the connecting rooms.
She was slippery, but I was faster.
I kicked open the third door, hitting her with it before she could exit, and she fell back.
“I’m tired of this game.” I stepped toward the weak body on the floor. She clutched that same needle in her hand. It made me feel all nostalgic when I remembered the tingle of the poison inside of it.
“Don’t lie. You love games,” she sneered.
“Of course, but I would rather you think it through more meticulously next time.” I smiled, stepping closer.
She scurried back, but I stepped down on her skirt and leaned over her.
“Let’s play a new game, my choice this time.”
She kicked out a boot, and I grasped her by the ankle.
She swung her arm and buried the needle in my calf.
I twisted the ankle sharply inward. The yelp that came from her just exhilarated me more, edging me further.
“I think it’s time we had a drink together. You like drinking, don’t you?” I yanked the needle from my leg and tossed it away.
She did not answer, her shoulders tense.
“I will take that as a yes.” I grinned, then dragged her harshly across the floor by her ankle.
“No!” She thrashed and kicked. There were pitiful attempts at grabbing furniture, hallway corners, doorframes, anything she could. She even grasped at the rug, her nails leaving trails of disturbed fibers all the way to my study.
“Unhand me!” she shouted. “I’ll scream!”
“This isn’t your town house. The only one you’ll be screaming for isme.” I dragged her through the large double doors. There was a tall arched window behind an intricately carvedexecutive desk, books covering the walls. Overall, it was a standard study—not that I used it for anything.
Today, though, it would be of great use.
I shoved her in front of the desk but left the doors open—an escape route, just out of reach.
She winced, glaring at me with fire that could have only come directly from the Phlegethon itself.
“Relax. It’s just a drink,” I said innocently, moving to the corner to fill two glasses. Whatever she spiked my decanter with had no scent, but I was sure she would tell me what it was with a little pressure. I returned to her, leaning on the front of the desk. She did not move from her spot on the floor.
How obedient.
I brought my own glass to my lips, parting them as I breathed in the burning scent. I snapped a side-eye at her. “You know, you should have the first drink. It’s only polite that a guest enjoy anything first.”
I lowered a glass to her, but she shook her head.
“Alina Lis is refusing a drink? Now I know that something must be terribly wrong.” I gave her a look of faux concern.
“I prefer a different mood for drinking.”
“Tell me, Alina, did you tamper with my bourbon?”
