AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This cell will not hold me.
I won't allow it to.
It's been ten days since I've been trapped here, pacing a trench into the floor. Zeph visits me three times a day with food and water, and he's gotten me clothing and a wash basin a few times. He's updated me on the plan he and Cirrha have hatched, but it's not time for that.
Not until I can get out of the fucking cell.
My magic is a living creature crawling beneath my skin, so close to the surface, and yet unwilling to come out no matter how hard I scratch it.
I search for Shadow, urging him to form in the shadowed corners of my cell, but despite my efforts, I am no closer to summoning my companion than I was yesterday.
"Fuck!" I yell, throwing an empty bowl against the wall.
"That's not very ladylike," a deep, sticky voice says. "You'll have to learn some manners. You're half wild."
I spin on my heel to look at a shorter, muscled man with a low brow and dark hair. A white shirt stretches across his broad chest, and a pair of loose olive green linen trousers drag the dirty floor of the prison. Isuppose, to some, he may be considered attractive, but the glint in his eyes is one I have seen before. I have seen it recently.
It's the look of a predator who thinks they've cornered their prey.
He doesn't need to tell me who he is. There is only one person in Ytopie who would look at me as if I were their next meal.
Kon.
The man who, if Himureal is to be believed, drew the blade across my parent's throats. The one who seems to believe a woman is an acceptable prize.
Like I am some trophy. Some prized heifer to be traded for a boon.
"Who are you?" I ask, feigning ignorance. "Since I arrived, I haven't had anyone but the high priest and the Frostweaver visit." I run my fingers through my white hair, marveling at how much softer it is than my natural hair ever was. It's barely even dirty as if it is impervious to the effects of my lack of hygiene.
He leans against the wall opposite my cell, crossing his arms over his broad, linen-clad chest and propping a booted foot on the wall. "I am Kon. Did the Frostweaver not mention me?"
"I can't say he did," I reply airily, sinking onto the edge of the hard cot. I pluck a round berry from the tray Zeph brought me not long ago and pop it into my mouth. "Are you one of my followers? Himureal assured me I had plenty of support to sit beside him."
The man sneers at me, his nose wrinkling in disgust. As if theidea of worshiping me is appalling. "I should say not. You see, you and I will have quite a unique relationship."
"Oh? Do tell?" I forcibly raise my tone, adopting that high-pitched female voice that many men seem to adore.
"All in good time. First, I would like to get to know you better. And for you to know me."
"We could get to know each other better with me out of this cell," I sneer, unable to control the disdain that seeps into my words.
"I prefer a captive audience." He drags his tongue across his teeth as his eyes rake my figure. Whatever he's looking for, he must find me lacking because the corner of his mouth turns down. "You're quite large for a woman, aren't you?"
I glance at my long legs, my muscular thighs, and the raw strength in my arms. I have spent almost my entire life honing my figure into one that is lethal and powerful. Being small and soft would do nothing to serve me while Racing. I am proud of the effort I put into building the body that I have today. Briefly, my mind wanders to Mace and the way he worships every inch of me. How his long, thin fingers trail across my flesh. I cross my arms over my chest. "Large? I am tall, yes, and strong. I'll never be dainty. But large is not the word I would use to describe myself. I prefer powerful."
"A good woman is not powerful. She is beautiful and demure." He stalks towards the cell, hand on his chin. His appraisal of my worth, as if he himself has any, is despicable.
Even if this man is not responsible for the death of myparents, I am sure I can find a reason to put him down like the animal he is. He speaks about my body like he's writing down a recipe. I lock eyes with him, unblinking, and he continues to dig the hole I will bury him in.
"We should reduce your strength training and allow some curves and softness to flourish on your form," he says. "You'll be such a pretty ornament on my arm."
There is no response I can give that will capture the fury his words bring in me. A woman is worth more than her appearance. She is worth more than what's between her legs.
I am not an ornament. I am not decoration to be had by a man who desires to show others he possesses someone powerful. I will be damned if I allow a man to pretend the power that emanates from me is his own.
"I quite admire your magic, though. The only Winter Seasonale. What a novelty you are."
I grit my teeth as I respond, endeavoring to hide just how angry he has made me. "I am not a Seasonale. I am not a fae. I am a God."
