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“Will do. Hey, by the way, what do you do around here?”
He shrugs and gestures vaguely in the air. “This and that. Mostly I carry stuff from one place to another.” His eyes glance down my body again like he can’t help himself, and I feel a strange surge of pride. Thomas isn’t my type at all—he’s not tall enough for starters and he’s not even twenty if I had to bet—but it’s nice to be admired a little bit.
A noise from our left draws my attention. It’s half a growl and half a curse. I look over and Fynn’s coming toward us, leaning on his cane, limping faster than he normally does, his face twisted into rage as he gets closer and closer. I blink rapidly in shock at the look in his eyes—it’s pure madness. He’s like a charging bull intent on goring me to death.
“What are you doing with her?” he snaps at Thomas. He stops by my elbow and grabs my arm roughly in his free hand hard enough to make me suck in a pained breath.
“Sir, I was just, uh, showing her to the sauna.” Thomas gestures weakly at the door. He’s totally white now and I think his hands are trembling. “She stopped me and—”
“I saw the way you were looking at her.” Fynn steps forward, the veins on his neck standing out from his mindless anger. It’s terrifying the way the danger rolls off him in waves and even though it’s not directed toward me, I feel my knees going weak. “You think I wouldn’t notice you eye-fucking Mirella, you little twat? You fucking insect?”
“Sir, I wasn’t—”
“Fuck off, kid. You’re fired. If I ever see you in this place again, I will kill you. Do you understand me? I will cut your fucking throat and wash my hands in your blood. The last thing you’ll see is my smile. Now fuck off, or are you going to stand there and piss your pants?”
Thomas takes two steps backwards, shaking and pale, before he turns and hurries away. I gape after him, trying to make sense of what just happened, before I try to wrench my arm from Fynn’s grasp.
But I can’t manage it. He holds me tightly as I stare up into his enraged face.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shove at his muscular chest, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. “Are you freaking crazy? He was just doing his job. I asked him for directions.”
“It isn’t his job to look at you like he wants to fuck you. That’s for me and me alone.”
“Screw you, Fynn. I’m not yours to play around with, I’m just your physical therapist. There’s no fucking, there’s nothing between us at all, and you don’t get to just fire people for absolutely nothing.”
His nostrils flare and he turns, limping, stumbling toward the door and dragging me along. I protest but his grip is like iron. He manages to get it open without releasing my arm and shoves me inside. I whirl to yell but he’s already on me, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him go. He’s actually walking pretty normally, thought I can tell he’s in total agony, and my professional brain notices some small patterns in his motions, little hitches, little stutters, small things I can easily correct but will make a big difference.
And then he shoves me into the sauna. He snaps the lights on and cranks up the heat. His massive frame looms in the doorway as I face him, trembling with rage, the backs of my legs grazing against the wooden bench. The whole room is outlined in wood with no other touches: simple and basic.
“You are such a psycho,” I say as I throw my towel down on the bench. “Go find that kid and apologize to him. Go tell him he’s not fired.”
“Sit down.” His voice is measured now, more controlled. He turns to the bed of heated stones on the right side, dips a ladle into a small bucket of water, and dumps it on. Steam rises into the air. “Don’t move.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
More water, more steam. He watches me as he does it.
“Take off the shirt.”
I tug at my cover-up. “Fynn, you’re not listening to me. You just went crazy on some staff kid just because you didn’t like the way he was looking at me. But you don’t own me. You don’t have any right—”
He pours more water, then turns and steps closer. I let out a surprised whimper when he grabs the edge of my cover-up and yanks it over my head roughly. I gasp, and struggle, but that only helps him get it off.
“You don’t seem to understand, princess. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
He tosses my cover-up aside, steps away before I can slap him in the face, and stares, his eyes moving down my flesh like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip of my skin, every imperfection.
