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“Learn the proper way to deal with a king,” I mocked, inching the chain behind my back. “That’s not happening.” As a distraction, and okay, yes, to be contrary, I kicked the books off the table. Guilt instantly filled me. I’d just mistreated precious tomes, the magical device able to transport you anywhere in the world, in any time period, to experience a completely different reality.
He worked his jaw but eased onto the velvet settee. His dark hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled. Rolling up his wrist cuffs, he announced, “I moved Mirren and Gavina to an undisclosed location.”
“Smart. Sorcha is a killer ready to endanger her own child to gain control of you and our people.”
A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “That I allowed you to get so close to her—” His handsballed into fists.
“Closer than you’re willing to admit. But I only ever helped Mirren.”
He glowered. Again, no ring twisting. “You offered me a kiss. I accept.” He crooked his finger at me. “Come here.”
My eyes widened. “What about dishonoring yourself?”
“I’ll learn to live with the guilt.”
That didn’t sound like him, and I wasn’t sure what to think. At least I knew what to do. My heart raced as I stood, careful to keep the chain hidden. Exaggerating the roll of my hips, I sauntered over.
His nostrils flared. As soon as I reached striking distance, I acted, lunging to lock a shackle on his wrist, then my own. Triumph flooded me.
“Now that that’s done,” he said with a dry tone.
Wait. “You let me do that?”
“Obviously.” He wound the metal links around his hand and yanked me closer.
Uh-oh. I’d bound myself to trouble. “I’m not kissing you,” I informed him. “That was a onetime offer.”What are you doing? Accept, accept!But I didn’t. I couldn’t. “You don’t get to kiss me while denying who I am to you. If you want anything from me, you’ll admit I’m your Elle and the woman masquerading as Isobel is Sorcha.”
He sat before me for a long while, doing his smoldering thing. I didn’t look away from him, didn’t back down. Finally, he unlocked the chain from us both, stood, and stomped from the room. Another point Elle.
Over the next two days, he returned again and again. Always bearing fresh cuts and bruises, as if coming straight from battle. With Tavish?
I asked him the same question each time. “Is Isobel acting strange?”
He never failed to reply. “She isn’t up for discussion.”
He didn’t request another kiss, and I didn’t offer. He always left soon after he arrived, as if he only needed, or wanted, to see me and know I was okay.
In my spare time, I searched for a way out of the room and read the books he’d given me. A treasure trove of information about the immortal world. What I learned helped me cobble together a plan.
On the third morning, the door burst open as I ran my palms over the wall, searching for a secret passage.
“Tell me about yourself,” Callen demanded. He stalked to the makeshift wet bar he’d stocked last night, proving he trusted me not to turn the bottles into weapons, then plopped into the recliner near the settee, a glass of iced whiskey in hand. “If I’m to judge you for your insides, I should know more about you, Miss Elizabeth Darcy, special education teacher from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.”
I’d bet he’d ordered a highly detailed background check on me. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine,” I said, continuing my search for the door unabashed. “But for my generosity, I expect two facts to start.”
A slight incline of his head. “Ask.”
“You know the first. Is fake Isobel acting strange?”
He took a gulp of his drink, as if he required fortification. “Like you, she remains locked up until I render a verdict. She…isn’t happy.”
Seriously? He’d believed me enough to take steps against her? That was big. Huge! I glided to the settee and eased down before him. “Second question. Why are you always injured?”
He pursed his lips. “Tavish claims you are his woman, and he wants you back. His wolves attack often.”
So the war raged on. “He’s lying and eager to kill yourtruefated,” I said, hooking a stray lock behind my ear. AsCallen glowered, I added, “Your turn. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me one of your favorite memories as a child.” He practically spit the words at me, as if each one contained a piece of his resentment.
