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My heart started beating faster, the breath sawing in and out of my lungs. I curled my good hand inward, my nails digging into my palm until the pain mixed with everything else I felt. But he didn’t splinter the door inward. Instead he turned the knob gently and pushed it open slowly. I had a feeling he did it that way to give me time to gather my bearings… to brace myself for his presence.
And then his massive body was standing in the entrance, his shoulders broader than the width of that opening, the top of his head getting “cut off” by the frame. He was enormous, bigger than I remembered in just the short time he’d had me here.
I licked my lips, my hunger, pain, and thirst fading as this hot coil moved within my belly before spreading to lower parts of me… parts I wanted to ignore. I shouldn’t have been feeling any kind of… anything aside from hatred and fear of this situation. But there was still no denying my body’s reaction. And I hated that I couldn’t ignore it.
I remembered the way his eyes had glowed as I stared at him and ran, as I gauged how fast he was and when—not if—he’d catch me. That couldn’t have been normal or natural. It had to have been a trick of the light. But even as rationalization told me that—that no human’s eyes glowed—there was this tingling deep within me that said maybe, just maybe, nothing was as it seemed.
He took a step into the room, having to twist his body to the side slightly in order to get his shoulders through, having to curl forward so his head didn’t hit the top of the frame. And then he was inside with me, making the room seem smaller than it really was.
Anger filled me so swiftly I saw red, my rage so intense I clenched my hands together, not caring about the pain that speared up one of my arms from the wound on my palm.
“Fuck. You,” I grated, straining against the bed frame until the metal creaked from how hard I pulled against it. “Come closer,” I urged in a saccharine, sickly sweet voice. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He watched me with these calculating, intelligent eyes. “Come closer so I can do to you what you’ve done to me.” Granted, he hadn’t actually—literally—given me any of these wounds, but it was because of him that I had gotten hurt and was currently strung up like some kind of sacrifice. “If you get within biting distance, I swear to God I'll take a chunk out of you.” I’d never been a violent person, but I was feeling so fierce right now I couldn't think straight.
I looked at the tray he held and curled my lip in disgust.
“If you think I’m going to eat that shit, you’re stupider than I thought.” I felt my eyes flare when the asshole smirked, actually fucking smirked at my tantrum.
“Okay,” he finally said in that deep voice. “You’ll have tae eat and drink eventually. I’ll come back when ye’ve calmed down.” He turned and left, but not before I gave him a few choice words on where he could shove that tray.
18
Darragh
True to his word, my captor stayed away for a good long time, enough that I was starving, thirsty, and would have done anything for a glass of water. And as much as I wanted to keep fighting… I was tired. So tired, and it wasn’t just in my body but my mind too.
I stared out that window again, tracing the patterns of the curtains when I heard the bedroom door open once more. My body tensed instantly on its own as I turned my head and stared at him.
He stared at me, and I was at least thankful the bastard wasn’t wearing a smug expression on his face as if he’d read my mind and knew the fight had died in me. For the time being anyway. He stepped farther inside and held out his arms, as if he came with a peace offering. He held a tray in one large hand and a bundle of logs in the other. He walked over to the fireplace and set the wood down, and I tracked him the whole time, expecting him to pounce on me at any moment.
My gaze zeroed in on that tray again as he moved back around to my side, but not before grabbing my backpack—my shoes sitting beside it—and setting it on the edge of the bed. I knew I had a shocked look on my face as my gaze kept bouncing back and forth between the bag and the tray.
I focused on the tray again and stared at the glass of water that sat beside a plate, but the angle didn’t allow me to see what was on said china. Whatever it was, steam rose up, and I smelled that it was meat of some kind. My mouth started to water, and my stomach cramped as if I was Pavlov’s dog and they’d just rang the bell for dinner.
