Page 51 of No One’s Daughter

I wanted to scream as my rage threatened to boil over.

I tried again and again to somehow reach that part within me that had helped me escape the witch’s house… but nothing happened.

I still hadn’t really processed the part where I’d used magic.

Magic.

For some reason, it was easier to accept being a vampire. Magic seemed too elusive, far too powerful with too much potential.

The engine of the car sprung to life.

The fucker took no care in how he drove, and I was sure he was swerving deliberately, causing me to knock from side to side without the ability to brace myself thanks to my bound hands and feet.

I’d kill him for this.

Someday.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Or anytime soon realistically. But someday, I would end him. I held onto that thought like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to myself.

Every bump in the road jarred me, every sharp turn threw me against the sides of the boot as he drove me further and further from the life I knew. My rage had simmered into despair. Despair and worry for Claire, for work. And oh fuck, for Lucretia.

The car slowed suddenly, gravel crunching beneath the tyres as it rolled to a stop. The engine cut out and silence followed, until familiar footsteps approached.

I braced myself.

I flinched when the boot opened and a bright light from a street lamp directly above me shone in my face. When my vision adjusted, I quickly realised that we were still in the countryside, and from what little I could make out, we were parked by a sad little excuse for a petrol station.

“Still alive I see,” he said with what I could swear was a smirk. The wanker enjoyed my suffering.

I wanted to punch him in his pretty face, wipe that look clean off. But that wouldn’t get me anywhere. I was very aware of how little power I actually had in this situation. So I took a deep breath and swallowed my pride, forcing it down.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice deliberately softer, less snappy.

His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in them as he leaned back a fraction, stretching his arms above his head in a slow, deliberate motion, showing off his free range of movement. The one that I was severely lacking, tied up like a pig for slaughter.

“For…” he prompted, voice full of boredom.

His t-shirt rode up slightly as he moved, exposing the smallest strip of skin above his waistband—dark hair trailing just beneath it—and I snapped my gaze away immediately, focusing very hard on literally anything else.

I did not need to think about that.

About him, about how he’d felt—

No.

Absolutely not.

It had been adrenaline, the thrill of being alive, nothing more.

“Sorry for running from you,” I said quickly, then adding, “and for trying to kick you,” for good measure.

“Mm. Sure you are.”

“I am,” I insisted, meeting his gaze again. “I just… panicked.”

Which wasn’t entirely a lie. I shifted slightly, very aware that I was still half-folded in the boot.

“I can’t stay in here,” I added, quieter now. “Please.”