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Perfect.
I reached for the hardcover and brushed my fingertips on the golden details on the cover.
“What are you doing here?”
A scream escaped my lips. Jesus, I almost had a heart attack. I thought I was alone. Trembling, I turned around, trying to locate the chilling voice. In the dim light, I recognized the silhouette standing nearby—my walking nightmare. He had been seated on the sofa but was now standing, his eyes fixed on my hands.
His dark mood froze me in place.
I hated how he affected me.
I hugged the book to my chest as he approached me slowly.
Crap. I didn’t know he was in the house, let alone this room.
Gathering the little bravery I had left, I inhaled deeply, turned around, put the book back on the shelf, and searched for another one that had caught my interest before. As I tiptoed to reach it, the hairs on my neck rose. A powerful hand with silver-ringed fingers grabbed the book before I could.
“Are you deaf ?” His nose nudged the side of my neck.
He smelled like spices, smoke, faint alcohol, and something else I couldn’t identify. The mix was exquisite, and I stopped myself from inhaling deeply, desperately wanting it to envelop me.
It was the first time in days that I heard his husky voice, and the hair on my arms rose at the sound. After I was taken against my will, he would come every night for a few minutes to hand me some pictures, never acknowledging my presence.
Now he demands my devotion whenever he pleases, expecting me to jump at his every whim, like some emotionally deprived housewife.
I took the book from his rough hands, delicately brushing his fingers, and tried to escape the cage his arms formed around me.
“I hate to repeat myself, but I’m in an amiable mood today,” he began, his tone laced with annoyance. “So, I am going to ask this question one more time.” He took a strand of my hair away from my face. “What are you doing here?” he repeated calmly.
What’s wrong with him?
He is the one who allowed me to explore this room.
“I just wanted to read, gosh! Can you give me a break?” I spat, pushing past him toward the door.
I bit my lip to stifle the tears. Then it dawned on me. His aim was to see me beg, to humiliate me.
Coming to a sudden halt, I realized that if I wanted to leave this place with any semblance of dignity, I couldn’t let him see me break down. Not again.
“I don’t know what you want from me, but I won’t follow your orders like some kind of slave.”
Still facing the door, I clutched the book to my chest and closed my eyes.
“For someone named Volk, you act more like a dog,” I continued, gathering courage from an invisible force.
Turning around, I met his angry gaze for the first time tonight.
“All that barking for nothing,” I whispered.
I barely finished before he rushed at me, grabbing my neck painfully. My stomach churned as I tried to swallow the nauseous worry stuck in my throat. His gaze locked with mine, and an electric tension filled the air, our breaths quickening in sync.
“You act as if you’re untouchable, as if nothing could ever reach you,” I said, my voice strained, my chest tightening with each word. “I feel sorry for you. For not being able to feel anything—joy, sadness, or even pain.”
“You don’t know what real pain feels like,” he spat with rage, his eyes dark as death, his grip around my neck tightening. Instinctively, I put my hands over his, a protective reflex, fearing he might choke me.
“I may not know what real pain is,” I continued, gripping his hand tighter, “but I do know that anger can only take you so far.”
Something even darker filled his raven eyes, freezing me in place like Medusa’s stare.
