For a second, she looks lost, dazed, blinking up at us as if she’s just surfaced from some half–remembered nightmare. And then, realization dawns. Her gaze sharpens, and fury twists across her face as she hauls back, slamming her fist into Silas’s face, catching him on the jaw.
“Damn!” he snarls, stumbling back, his grip slipping as she wriggles free and hits the floor, her ankle twisting beneath her as she lands. She lets out a small gasp of pain, but her expression doesn’t falter–she’s already moving, pushing herself up, limping down the hall in a desperate, silent sprint.
For a moment, I just watch her. There’s something about the way she moves, the way her eyes dart, fueled by panic and fury, that pulls me in. She’s nothing more than a shadow in the darkened hall, a tiny figure barely managing to stay upright. But there’s a raw determination in her, and as she stumbles toward the end of the hall, I find myself almost admiring her resolve.
But then instinct takes over. I reach her in a few long strides, catching her by the arm and spinning her around, pressing her back against the cold stone wall. She fights, her hands pushing against my chest, nails scraping against my shirt, but I don’t move, pinning her there, my gaze steady on hers.
“Stop, I murmur, my voice low, calm. Her eyes blaze with defiance, her breaths coming in shallow, fast bursts, but she can feel the power difference, the inevitability of it. She knows, deep down, that she’s not going anywhere.
“Let me go,” she hisses, her voice a breathy snarl, but I just tilt my head, watching the anger play across her face, taking in every detail–the tension in her jaw, the slight quiver in her lip. She presses her hands harder against me, but the effort is futile, her strength meaningless against mine. I press a little closer, the stone of the wall cold against her back, my gaze hardening.
“You’re in no position to demand anything,” I say, my voice a quiet, dangerous rumble. “So unless you want to make things worse, I suggest you stop fighting.”
She stares up at me, chest heaving, her gaze daring, every inch of her body braced for whatever’s coming next. I hold her there, letting the silence stretch, feeling her breath catch as she realizes there’s nothing left for her to do but yield. Slowly, she stops pushing, her shoulders slumping just slightly, though her eyes stay sharp, furious.
When I’m sure she’s done fighting, I release her, grabbing her arm to guide her down the hall. She stumbles slightly, her limp more pronounced now, but she doesn’t resist, keeping her gaze ahead, her jaw set in defiance. I lead her down a side corridor, the light dimming further, the silence stretching between us, heavy and charged.
We reach one of the guest rooms at the far end of the house, a cold, empty space with bare walls and a single, narrow bed. I push open the door, guiding her inside before stepping back, watching her as she takes in the room. Her eyes flick to the windows, catching the faint glint of locks, to the walls stripped of anything familiar, anything warm.
I hold her gaze, letting the weight of the silence settle. “You’re not going anywhere,” I say, my voice low, final. “So get comfortable.”
Her eyes flash, a faint flicker of something like fear mixing with the fury, but before she can respond, I close the door, the heavy thud echoing through the hall like a lock snapping shut.
