Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Very afraid. I’ve never done something so stupid, so reckless, something that is so not Elyse.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” It’s merely a question, but I’m still stuck on the way his voice sounds, how low it is, carrying with it a different level of darkness.
Shit.
I shake my head and stare down at my trembling hands. “I’m not.” My voice squeaks out, sounding high and stupidly suspicious. “I mean, no reason.” I couldn’t be any more obvious if I tried.
Stalking closer, he cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “What did you do, Ely?”
I flinch at the nickname but don't answer; nor do I call him out on using it like I usually do. I’m far too worried about what might happen to me next than to squabble over something so stupid. No response is a good response, right?
Wrong.
He clicks his tongue at me.”Oh, Little Prey, what have you done?”
I'm not sure that nickname is any better, but at least he—my father—never called me by that one, so the sound of it on someone's lips doesn't make me want to curl up and die.
Somehow I manage to swallow around the knot in my throat and keep myself from vomiting. “N-nothing. Just packed your clothes like you asked. Now that I think about it, we should probably get going. You wanted to leave immediately, right?”
He steps closer when I shift to my knees to stand, halting my movements with a hand planted on my shoulder. The weight of it is heavy, pressing down on me, and that dark, pensive gaze of his roams over the suitcase, the bed, and the floor around me. Like a damn bloodhound, he’s sniffing for the scent, seeking out my crimes.
“Mmm, not so fast. You’re acting way too guilty to have just packed my clothes.”
Fuck. He knows. Like a predator, he peers around the room, stopping only when his gaze reaches the closet. Please, lord. If you spare me, I promise not to do anything else so insanely stupid… maybe, like for a whole day.
The ground beneath me crumbles when he lifts his hand, the pressure on my shoulder disappearing. I need to get out of this room. If I can escape, then I might be okay. I rush to stand right as he takes three massive steps in the direction of the closet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand press against the door. He shoves it open, and I know there’s no way he isn’t seeing the destruction I’ve caused.
Move, dammit, I order my body, but I’m too consumed by the raw fear that my body has frozen itself.
“What the fuck?” His booming voice trails off, and the sound of plastic shifting, as if he’s moving it out of the way, filters into my ears.
I try to ignore the sounds and stare intently at my feet, wondering how I can make myself smaller. What’s done is done, but what can I do to make the punishment less? Because he will punish me. He hasn’t before, but I’ve also never made such a stupid choice either.
“Elyse...” My ears burn, my name punctuated sharply, just like the skin I cut with his blade. Even knowing he expects me to say something or react, at least, I don’t move, and I don’t respond.
When he steps out of the closet, I’m left confused. His face is perfectly blank; there’s no expression whatsoever, except for the tight clenching of his jaw, accentuating his jaw, making him appear more like the cruel beast he is. His body language is another story, though. There’s no missing the anger that rolls off him in waves, threatening to sweep me under and drag me into its dark depths. My eyes dart down to his clenched fist, which is strangling a scrap of gray material. He holds it up for me to see as if I don’t know what it is he’s shoving against my nose. As if I don’t know I’ve dug my own grave in one irrational act of vengeance.
6
Elyse
“What the fuck is this?” The words are spoken through clenched teeth.
I can tell he’s restraining himself, but barely. I’ve seen him angry many times, over various things, and while he’s been mean and downright terrifying to others, he seems to hold back a little with me. That doesn’t lessen my fear of him right now, though.
My lungs burn with a need for oxygen, and I force a ragged breath into them. His face shows nothing; it’s like he’s a robot, incapable of showing any emotion, but I know better. I can hear his rage, feel it in every word he speaks, and see it in the tight clench of his fingers. See it in the veins bulging in his neck and flames of revenge burning in his eyes.