Safe.
In Midnight.
I’m in constant danger of being thralled, assassinated, or drained because I’m human, upsetting the monarchy, and generally disgusting to vampires.
Instead of adding on, I glance at Kaison who seems lost in serious thought.
I do believe him. . . kind of.
Which scares me and makes me want to push him out of my inner sphere even harder. So I disconnect. Like pulling a plug, I let go of all emotions, feeling myself empty out.
I feel nothing.
Not for him.
Not even for myself.
This is the way things should be. I need to keep it this way. We can play but it’s nothing more than that. We aren’t friends. We are temporary allies, using our sexual chemistry to pass the time. Because that’s all it is. Chemistry.
And I can walk away from chemistry at any time.
Chapter 25
A Weak Bag of Bones
CHARMING
“Hit the door with your face.” My father’s voice is cold and merciless as he commands it.
The insidious grip of his thrall takes hold, my body no longer my own. With rising horror, I watch helplessly as my face slams into the unyielding wood, pain exploding through my skull.
“Stop that,” he barks, and my body jerks to a halt. Part of me still always hopes it will be over quickly, but he’s far from done showing me his displeasure.
Not that I wasn’t expecting this. This is a monthly, sometimes weekly known tactic of correction he’s used on me since I was a boy. He’s punished me for far less, and publicly shackling myself to a human bride is by far one of my worst trespasses.
“Punch the wall.”
I grit my teeth, straining against the invisible bonds of my father's will. But it's useless. I'm a prisoner in my own flesh,a marionette dancing to his twisted tune. The helplessness is almost worse than the pain, a sickening reminder of how utterly powerless I am. Unable to stop it, my knuckles crack into stone. Bones break, sending screaming pain through my body and brain. Blood covers my knuckles and drips onto the ground, and the swelling in my face is starting to make it difficult to see.
“You are worthless,” he hisses. “You are weak.”
Rage and humiliation war inside me, a toxic cocktail that burns like acid in my veins. I want to scream, to lash out, to make him feel even a fraction of the agony he's inflicting on me. But I can't. I can only endure, my hatred festering in my hidden depths.
By the time he’s done, I can barely see out of one eye and my hands are as useful as two bags filled with broken shards of bone.
He pulls out a blue handkerchief from a pocket and dabs the droplets of my blood that landed on his hand. “You hadonejob. Marry. Strengthen our rule. Instead, you chose a lowly human to drag our name through the mud. You careless, insipid boy. You think of no one but yourself and play your stupid games. The next time you feel compelled to chase novelty, I want you to remember this. How when you follow your whims, you only hurt yourself.”
Then he drops the handkerchief to the ground and leaves me there shaking with pain, rage, and the regret I didn’t kill him.
The only thing that kept me from lunging at him with murderous intent—other than the fact I’m so beaten I’ve the strength of a kitten and he’d thrall me again almost instantly—is that I managed to make him believe I’m incompetent.
Soon, he will find out how veryverywrong he is.
I begin the long journey to get blood, staggering like a drunk man.
Resentment simmers until it heats into anger.
Anger festers until it becomes rage.
