Page 15

But it doesn’t explain what she was doing in that room or why she stole the papers.

I drop the money pouch on the ground between us as a cold, violent urge travels through me. Force is the simplest way to achieve my goals. If the woman won’t answer my questions, I’ll make her.

“Strip.”

Chapter Seven

Esme

My mouth hangs open as my brain launches into a babbling loop for the second time tonight.

Did he just demand that I strip?

Nothing emerges except a small, confused whine that I loathe instantly.

Surely he can’t mean…

“I won’t ask twice.” He withdraws the dagger from his side but doesn’t point it at me. He doesn’t need to. The message is clear.

All the levity has left his voice and his face. Even his body language changed. He’s still, and all the more frightening for the show of restraint.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach for my boot the way I would a coiled snake.

My hands tremble as I undo the laces, my fear tripling the task’s difficulty. When I yank the boot off and he doesn’t react, I remove the second one and place it beside the first.

“Stand up. Keep going.” He gestures with the knife, the metal glinting against the flames.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth as I stare up at his looming figure. His eyes are locked on me, tracking every action with the focus of a predator watching prey try to run. I spy no leering, oily smile, only clinical attention, like I’m a puzzle he’s attempting to piece together. Not at all what I expected after our encounter in the alley.

Matched by what I did to him. Were his reactions faked? Did I make more of our interaction than he did? Was I the one leering and taking things to a level that wasn’t there? Or was I so bad that he’s lost all interest in me and reduced me to some…thing to be examined?

Rising on my sock-clad feet, trying to hide how my legs shake and struggle to bear weight, I slowly inflate my lungs to settle my nerves. I cast my mind out for any magical animals nearby I can sic on him, but I only sense mundane minds.

This is really happening. My first time stripping in front of a man, and he regards me with indifference.

Shivers ripple through my body as I loosen the tie on my leggings, desperately hoping he won’t see the dampness between my legs. I can’t believe I’m aroused by this horror show, but despite my shame, my body betrays me. He does nothing. Not even his breathing alters. His lack of a lustful response eases my stress over pushing my trousers down, though I struggle with the wrist restraints. I have to kick my feet free of the material while my face flames with embarrassment.

I stop to gauge his reaction.

He’s not even looking at me!

Using a stick from the wood pile, he lifts my clothes and gives them a shake. With that minimal inspection complete, his focus shifts to me in my tunic and undergarments.

In the cold air, goosebumps erupt across my skin, spreading upward from my calves to my thighs, then to places I’d rather not think about.

“Tunic next. Toss it over here.” He casually issues the order as if he forces women to undress by firelight in the middle of nowhere all the time.

Maybe he does.

At this point, I’d believe anything about him.

What kind of man does this to another person? Strips and ridicules her with cold eyes that see everything? Maybe I don’t want to know.

I pull the tunic over my head. The fabric snags on my braid, dragging strands loose, and for a moment, I’m tangled, blind, and struggling. Hot, irrational panic surges through me.

It figures that I’d screw up the first time I get naked in front of a man this badly.

The tunic falls free, and my braid flops against my back. Striving not to think of what I’m doing or how ridiculous I look, I fling the clothing at the man’s face.