Rexton’s face is inches from mine, his mask of indifference remaining as he chokes me before my father. Before the King of Wrath. Before the man I desperately need to view me as strong and capable.
My anger boils, and power warms my limbs before flaring out. It’s so potent, it burns, and Rexton seems uncomfortable for a brief second before almost immediately recovering. I can’t break free. I can’t breathe. I’m losing.
I kick, but my legs meet nothing but air. I claw, but Rexton refuses to loosen his grip. I gasp for air, but my lungs remain empty.
I’m going to lose everything.
Tears well up in my eyes. They’re unwelcome and the absolute last thing I need right now. I attempt to blink them away, but it doesn’t fucking work. I’ve never lost a fight, not since entering adulthood.
My spats with my fathers don’t count.
The tears continue to build, and Rexton gives my throat a warning squeeze before vanishing. He does so before my tears leak out, saving me the humiliation of crying, but the damage is already done.
Rexton appears on the opposite side of the room. I should stop. I should regroup and plan. I should take a calculated approach. I can’t. My wrath is too powerful, too uncontrollable. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to.
I scramble to my feet, then teleport toward Rexton. This attempt isn’t meant to subdue. I aim to rip out his heart, to tear it from his body. I aim to kill him.
Fingers close around my throat, and I’m thrown onto my back just as before.
Rexton’s less gentle this time, and a pained whine slips from my throat as I slam against the hard ground. It hurts, and the back of my head smacks against the floor with a sickening crack.
If I were human, I’d be dead. There’s no doubt about it, and I already know I’ll have a pounding headache this evening. That’s a problem for later.
All I can think about is killing Rexton. Fantasies of his death flash through my mind, each more gruesome than the last. I want to rip out his heart. I want to tear through his organs. I want to split his fucking head in half, then slam it to the ground until he’s nothing more than fractured bones and mashed brain matter.
I don’t try to remove his hand from my throat. I don’t need to breathe.
I reach for Rexton instead, aiming for his eyes. I’ll rip them out.
He releases my throat just long enough to pin my wrists to the ground. I could teleport away, but there’s a good chance he’ll tag along with me. Freeing my hands isn’t an option, so I attackwith my teeth instead. I snap them toward his throat, toward his esophagus, but I can’t reach.
What’s Aziel doing? Why isn’t he helping me? I’m his daughter, for fuck’s sake, and he’s sitting behind his desk watching another man pin me to the ground. It’s twisted, and I turn my head just enough to shoot him a dirty glare.
He refuses to look me in the eye.Coward.
“Are you finished?” Rexton asks.
He’s not even winded, and he’s still staring at me with that infuriating, emotionless look. I hate it.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
“Cassia?” Rexton repeats. “Are you finished?”
He tightens his grip on my wrists, forcing my attention to them. He’s going to leave bruises. People will see them. People will know. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them know I lost control, that I fought Rexton and lost.
Was this his plan all along?
I try and fail to pry myself free. “Let me go!”
Rexton doesn’t move. I buck underneath him, but he’s too fucking heavy. How much does this man weigh?
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rexton says. “But I will.”
I spit, but the sight of my saliva dripping down his cheek provides no satisfaction. The only thing that will quell this inferno inside me is his blood. I need to see it pooling underneath him.
Rexton wipes his cheek with his shoulder, removing my spit. I search for his anger, anything I can potentially use to gain the upper hand, but he gives nothing. Whoisthis man? Did Aziel tell him this would happen? Did he warn Rexton of my attack and tell him how to defend himself?
Is everybody against me?
