“What a pity.”
He looks down at me for another moment before turning away. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, little pixie. I have all sorts of games to show you.”
The blatantly sexual innuendo in his words makes my body light up like a damn firecracker. Heat pools between my legs, and I leap off the bed and storm towards the door to slam it behind him.
Dammit, I hate him!
***
Because I really don’t want to face him, I spend the next few days hiding in my room. I only come out when I really need to, to grab some food, mostly. But apart from that, I just stay locked away in here with the door closed. I am a prisoner here, after all, so I might as well play the part. Honestly, I just can’t be around him. Between the physical reaction and my burning hatred for the man, it’s confusing and annoying and embarrassing.
It’s late in the afternoon, almost early evening, when I hear a scuffle outside my bedroom door.
Perking up, I sit up straighter on my bed and set my book down, suddenly tense.
The door opens, but just a crack, and something small shoots across my floor and rolls right under my bed before the door slams closed again.
I stand up on the bed. Was it a rat or something? What the hell was that? Did he just release a rat in my room? No, it was too big to be a rat. Although rats can be pretty big.
A dull, loud popping sound disrupts my thoughts. I squeal in fright.
Within seconds of the rat idea forming, it disappears, and thick gray smoke billows from under my bed. The air fills so quickly, it’s like someone has thrown a blanket over my eyes. I start gagging and choking on it as it reaches every crevice.
My eyes begin to water, and I can barely breathe at all.
Practically falling off my bed, I stumble towards the door, and I tug it open in panic.
I spill from the room and land on the floor right at his feet.
Looking up at him, I try to focus through watery vision. He reaches out and pulls my door closed to stop the smoke from escaping the room into the hallway.
“A smoke bomb?” I cough, barely able to speak.
“I had to get you out of your room somehow. Do you want to join me for dinner?”
“A fucking smoke bomb!” I say again, pushing myself to my feet. He wraps his hand around my waist to help me up.
“Harmless, but annoying,” he muses.
“Harmless? I almost died in there! I couldn’t breathe!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Pixie. You only would’ve suffered permanent damage if you were too stubborn to leave the room,” he smirks. “Then again, youarerather stubborn,” he adds cheekily.
“I could have died! You force me to marry you only to try and murder me in the first week! What is the point!” I shout, stomping my foot down because there is so much anger inside me, I don’t know what to do with it.
My eyes sting, my throat is burning. All I can smell is smoke.
“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you,” he says defensively. “I was right outside the door.”
Ignoring him, I shove him hard in the chest.
He doesn’t budge.
I shove him again, trying even harder.
This time, he grabs both of my wrists and takes a sudden step towards me as he lifts my hands above my head and pushes me up against the wall.
I gasp in fight as he pushes his body over mine, pinning me in place.
