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As he wrenches himself away from me, sliding back into his seat like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet, I frown. “What, is someone worse than you going to grab me or something?”
Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt, Kal gives me a stern look. One I feel straight to my core.
“There are many things out there worse than me, little one. And it’s not a matter of if they come for you, but when.” His voice is flat, unwavering, whatever episode he had seconds ago completely forgotten as his mask of composition morphs back into place. “I didn’t marry you so you could fuck around and get yourself killed, so when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen. Don’t make me regret trying to protect you.”
“You’ve also said you’re using me,” I point out, crossing my ankles as the driver slows to a stop. “That I’m no good to you if I’m dead. So, which is it? Did you marry me to save me, or to wield me like a weapon?”
Our vehicle shifts into park, jarring us slightly forward as it shuts off. A moment later, Kal’s door swings open, a uniformed, gray-haired man standing just outside, a stoic expression on his aged face. Reaching over, Kal unbuckles my seat belt, then slips from the car, leaving me without an answer.
Rolling my eyes, I follow in his direction. Heat from the sun grazes my skin as I step out, pulling my backpack along with me. We’re parked at the end of a curved driveway, and I’m too busy gawking at the massive wrought iron gate to notice Kal’s fingers wrapping around my forearm, yanking me back when I try to go through it.
“You’re not a weapon,” he says, his touch burning me from the inside out. “You’re a pawn. That ring on your finger makes you my pawn. Don’t forget that.”
Resentment notches against my sternum, defiance rearing its head like an angry welt bubbling against my skin. “Or what, Kallum? What else are you planning on doing to me? Gonna lock me up in your house and throw away the key?”
His nostrils flare, eyes lingering on mine like he can’t help himself, but then he’s moving forward and dragging me along behind him.
The gate opens automatically, revealing a perfectly manicured lawn bordered by tall privacy hedges, the far end of which overlooks the ocean. A massive house with gray siding, a wraparound porch, and three brick chimneys sits at the center of the lot, the only freestanding structure visible once we step inside the gate.
“Jesus,” I breathe, staring up at the building with wide eyes. “Is this where you live?”
“Technically, yes. Though I admit I don’t spend much time here.”
“Hm. Pretty spacious for one person.”
“The Asphodel used to be a hotel. I purchased it some years ago and renovated it into a residential property.”
The Asphodel. How strangely fitting.
I can’t help wondering if he senses the irony of his home being named after part of the Greek Underworld.
Kal glances at me as we stop at the front door, a tendril of black hair falling over his forehead as he tips his chin down. My fingers twitch, the urge to brush the lock away making my body vibrate as I rebel against it, grateful for the restraint he has on me.
Wanting my new husband shouldn’t stir such a profound disgust within my bones—under normal circumstances, it’d be expected. Warranted.
Yet as he stares at me in silence for several beats, I’m reminded once again that none of this is normal. Least of all, my reaction to being forced into a marriage at the threat of harm to my loved ones.
I should’ve been more disturbed as I watched my fiancé’s life leave his body.
I should’ve put up more of a fight when his murderer asked for—no, took—my hand.
Should’ve scraped and kicked my way out of it, the way Papá taught me.
The way I know Kal would have if the situation were reversed.
Clearing my throat, I tear my eyes from his, and he drops my arm the second our stare breaks. Reaching into his pants pocket for a set of keys, he pulls one free and pushes it into the brass doorknob, turning until we hear the lock unlatch.
A little thrill shoots through me as his hand finds my lower back, his icy skin somehow blazing through the material of my shirt, making my insides all gooey. I repress the sensation, trying to focus on the open entryway we walk into.
Imperial staircases separate the two floors, an arched doorway splitting the two and leading down a long hallway. The floors are a deep cherrywood, polished to the point I can see my reflection in them, while the furniture all looks as though it was ordered straight from a Pottery Barn catalog.
An elegant crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the cream-colored walls are sparse, punctuated only by occasional gold-framed hotel-grade art.
Down the hall, I see a white kitchen with marble countertops and the seascape through a bay window above the sink, separated by a stretch of lawn and more privacy hedges.
With his palm still trained on my back, Kal guides me to the left side of the staircase, motioning for me to take the steps up. Gripping the rail so tight it makes my knuckles ache, I walk a few paces ahead of him, trying to ignore the way his touch intoxicates me.
Honestly, Elena, get it together.
