I consider turning right back around, but the doors don’t budge when I try. Of course.
“Rowan,” he says finally, voice low and smooth. “You clean up well.”
“Gee, thanks,” I reply, glancing down at the black satin dress he forced upon me. Well, him or his house, but I’m hoping that’s kind of the same thing. “It was either this or searching for the blood-stained leggings I should have woken up in. Who might have taken care of that?”
His mouth curves—not quite a smile, more a polite ghost of one. “My people. And you made the correct choice.”
“I’m sure,” I mutter, sliding into the nearest chair. The table’s longer than a river, but he’s close enough that the air between us vibrates with his power. “You really like dramatic entrances, don’t you?”
“Only when they serve a purpose.” His eyes glint silverunder the candlelight. “You, for instance, respond better to grandeur than authority.”
“Wow,” I say flatly. “Didn’t realize you moonlighted as my therapistandinterior decorator.”
That earns me a genuine chuckle, low and rich. “Deflection. Charming. You remind me of a child trying to hide her claws after they’ve already been stained by blood.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “You kidnapped me, remember? You don’t get to analyze me.”
“I didn’tkidnapyou, Rowan. I saved you—from them, from yourself.” He lifts his glass, studying me over the rim. “Youcame willingly.”
“Did I, though?” I should be careful with what I say, but I can’t help myself. “I’m rather certain you didn’t play fair with your offer to save me. I was half-out of my mind, and you made me think you were a good idea. Spoiler alert: you’re not.”
The faintest spark of something like amusement crosses his face. “You’ll think differently soon enough.”
He gestures toward the tabletop, where two glass plates materialize, steam curling from grilled meat and roasted vegetables that look far too normal for this nightmare castle.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“You should eat,” he counters smoothly. “Your power burned through more than magic. You need to replenish your body.”
I cross my arms, glaring at him. “How about you stop speaking in riddles and tell me what you actually want from me?”
He sets down his glass, folding his hands. “You.”
My insides churn violently. “I’m not up for grabs.”
Hetsks, almost disgustedly. I try not to be insulted, especially when he adds, “You’re practically a child, Rowan. I don’t intend to touch you, only your power. Once you fully give into your Ashmark self, you’ll hand it over to me.”
Not that I know how to do that, but I’m sure this cocky psycho does.
“What if I don’t want to?”
His smirk deepens, and he rests his chin on one hand as he leans closer to me over the table. “Oh, you’ll want to. You should consider yourself lucky. None who have come before you has been able to capture my attention the way you do. I’ll see to it myself that you do exactly what’s expected of you.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Yay me.” The words are dry. “Yet, all Iseeis a man with a god complex and bad timing. I’ve already shifted. You can’t kill me.”
“You’ll find my timing is rather impeccable,” he replies, tone soft but dangerous. “Do you know what makes you different, Rowan? What makes youfrighteningto the rest of the supernatural world?”
I give a heavy shrug. “Apparently they think I’m the only one capable of dismantling their world as they know it?”
His chuckle is low and indulgent, like I’ve said something adorable. “Because you strip away what others cling to most.”
I cock my head to the side. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His eyes narrow, studying me, but they don’t lingerlong, as if I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. “Every Ashmark is born with a singular gift—one dominant thread in the tapestry of their magic. Mine,” he gestures idly, and the candles flare brighter, “is to enhance control.”
Of course it is.
“And yours,” he continues, his smile sharpening, “is the inverse. You take control away.”
