11
A pathetic temper tantrum
ZARA
There’s not a chance I’m trusting that asshole. Not one single chance and he can go to hell if he thinks I’m going to obey him.
My eyes lock onto the rock that he bent me over before he fucked me, and I hate him even more. I loathe him. Really loathe him. I’m trapped inside this cold, damp cave and I don’t know if it’s more miserable than I am. Nothing is comforting about this place, and it’s the perfect setting for being trapped with someone I hate. The shadows jump over the jagged walls and I stare at the fire, wondering how it got started and how long it’s been burning.
“You were cold.”
Kade stretches out in front of me, one arm tucked under his head and the other draped lazily across his stomach. He’s perfectly at ease and I doubt he feels the chill or tension humming between us. If he does, he doesn’t care about it.
That annoys me even more.
The ebon chain pulses faintly between us and I can’t ignore its maddening presence. It’s a shackle that won’t break and it ties us together, no matter how much either of us wants to rip it apart. It keeps tugging at my awareness, a constant reminder that I’m not free. That I’ll never be free. And that it’s all his fault.
He shifts, and the small movement draws my attention. Kade’s watching me and every breath he draws is deliberate, measured, like he’s doing it just to piss me off.
I hate him.
But the longer we lie here in silence, the more the traitorous, welcome warmth curls inside my chest. It’s spreading to my limbs and invading my soul, and the more I try to shake it, the more I feel its presence. It’s the bond. It has to be the bond. It’s the only reason I notice the way the firelight dances across his cheekbones or the way his lashes cast shadows over his sharp, infuriatingly perfect face.
I press my nails into my palms, willing the thoughts away. It doesn’t matter how good he looks lying there, or how his voice sometimes softens when he’s not thinking about controlling me. He’s still a warlock. A cold, calculating warlock who will never see me as anything but a tool. A thing to be controlled and bent to his will.
And I’m not going to let him use me.
I destroyed the sigil and the warlocks’ hold on my coven. I was strong and cunning enough to manage that feat of magic, which means I’m more than capable of withstanding Kade. More than that, I can beat him at his own game and if anyone’s going to be used here, it’s him.
My magic stirs faintly, like a spark catching wind. It’s been creeping back in bits and pieces since he found me and fucked me. Kade doesn’t know yet. I’ve been keeping it hidden andthis morning I’ve fought to keep it under control. I’ll have to contain my power and make him believe I’m weak.
Delaying will give my magic time to grow. Time to return. It’s a twinge right now, but soon it’ll build and I’ll be able to use it when it matters. When Kade’s least expecting it and I stand the best chance of destroying him.
For now, I let him think I’m powerless. Let him believe I’m cooperating because I have no choice.
I shift and pull a blanket up over my shoulder. My eyes meet his ebony ones and the asshole smirks as I feign surprise morphing into shock. He moves his hand back to me and adjusts the wool, making damn sure I’ve noted the presence of the rug.
“You’re…”
He nods.
“My magic is returning.” Those eyes spark with light and their gleam is malicious. “Is yours, Zara?”
I shift under the blanket, letting the rough fabric scrape against my arms just enough to keep me grounded. I look away and he huffs, delighted he’s better than me.
“I see.” The asshole couldn’t sound more smug if he tried. His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For keeping you warm,” he says simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “For the best fuck you’ve ever had.”
My jaw tightens, and I clench the blanket in my fists. I want to argue, to spit some cutting remark back at him, but the truth lodges in my throat like a stone. He did keep me warm overnight. He did fuck me properly,but that doesn’t mean it was anything more than a fluke, and it doesn’t mean I liked it.
And it doesn’t mean I owe him.
His smirk grows, and he props himself up on one elbow, studying me like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“You’re a fascinating little thing, Zara. So full of fire. So determined to pretend you don’t care.”
