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Do I?
I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to think. Why can't I think? Why can't I remember?
"We met at the bar." I look to him for confirmation, though I don't really need it. I know I was at the bar. That, I remember clearly. Genevieve and Jessa dragged me out to celebrate my birthday. Only, like usual, my coworkers ran off to dance with two guys from the office across from ours, and I was left to my own devices.
A stranger kept me company at the bar while I finished my drink. When he found out it was my birthday, he insisted on buying me another drink. Was it this man? I scrutinize him, trying to remember. He doesn't strike me as the kind of person you forget. There's something about him that fascinates me.
It's not his overly long black hair or green eyes. It's not his striking, ruggedly beautiful features. It's not even the fact that, thanks to a trick of the light, he seems to glow faintly. It's a sense of rightness and belonging, as if he's nestled into some deep-down place inside of me and taken up residence.
I don't know how else to explain it. But yesterday, I knew with absolute certainty that I was alone in this world. I was the keeper of my owl soul, the forger of my own destiny. But with this man close, I'm faced with the unshakable realization that I was dead wrong yesterday.
It's almost as if Ifeelhim burrowing deep into some corner of my soul that he's carved out just for himself. The thought is pure madness, yet with his eyes on me, I feel it anyway. It's disconcerting as hell.
There's no such thing as soulmates. There's no such thing as destiny. And even if there were, mine certainly isn't at the hands of a handsome man who kidnapped me from a bar.
But I add another certainty to my list. Thisisn'tthe man who bought me a drink last night. I remember nothing about that man. It's as if a shadow sat beside me, one indistinguishable from every other shadow. He has no shape, no face, no features. Nothing.
I give up trying to remember him and move on.
"I fainted?"
"Nei, Valkyrie. You did not." My handsome captor's lips twist, his stance rigid. He's intimidating, standing with his feet planted and his arms crossed over his massive chest. His simple blue t-shirt stretches across the broad wall of his chest, clinging to every muscle beneath. "You were drugged."
"Youdruggedme?" I hiss, jumping to my feet as indignation courses through me. "Oh, I can't wait to smother you with this freaking pillow!"
His gaze drops to the pillow in my hands, a lazy smile turning up the right side of his mouth. "I much prefer when you're sleeping on the pillow,elskan-ljós."
"Then you shouldn't have drugged and kidnapped me," I say, my voice saccharine. "Because I don't care what you prefer. Idon'tplan to be a good little prisoner."
Maybe I shouldn't antagonize a man who has already proven he's willing to drug and kidnap me, but I can't help myself. Being silent isn't in my nature. I learned a long time ago to stand up for myself. I've faced bullies before. I've survived the unthinkable. I'll survive this man too. He may be three times my size, but I'll fight him every step of the way before I just roll over and give up.
"I didn't drug you, Valkyrie. Nor are you a prisoner here."
"Really? Then you'll let me leave right now?"
His jaw clenches tight, giving me my answer before he ever speaks a word.
"I didn't think so," I say flatly.
"The man you set on fire in the alley drugged you,elskan-ljós. There are more like him out there."
"The man I…?" I stare at him in horror. "I didn't set anyone on fire!"
Good grief. Maybe he isn't a crazy axe-wielding murderer. He's mentally ill. It doesn't excuse him drugging and kidnapping me, of course. But it gives me hope that maybe he doesn't want to hurt me. Maybe he thinks he's helping me.
"Ja, you did. Last night."
"No, I…" Another flicker of memory resurfaces, even more incomplete than the last. A pale face surrounded by dark shadow. A cold hand around my throat. This man's face surrounded by a radiant light as the pale man screams a shrill, pain-filled sound and goes up in flames.
The memories are brutal, but the sudden, unshakable knowledge that he isn't lying is even worse. I killed that man.Worse, I wanted him dead. In that moment, with his hand around my throat, I wanted him howling in agony.
My God. He's not lying.
I fling the pillow, diving for the small trashcan beside the bed as my stomach turns. I land on my knees beside it, pulling it into my arms just in time to vomit up everything in my stomach.
My eyes water as the leftover alcohol and nachos reemerges, pouring from my lips into the trashcan.
"Skíta," my handsome captor says. "Forgive me, Valkyrie. I shouldn’t have told you that way." He says it as if there's some easier way to inform someone that they murdered someone.
