Page 17 of A Broken Promise

At the sight of him, I jolted on the bed. His fierce, dark brown eyes turned on me.

A vulture and his prey.

“You are awake,” he stated, his eyes sliding down my body, assessing. My heart raced, yet my figure froze, gulp stuck mid throat.

A second later, like I wasn’t even there, he turned back and walked towards the dresser.

I bunched my knees to my chest, tugging my twisted dress skirt lower to cover my bare legs. He casually pulled a few items of clothing out of the black armoire.

Get away. Run.

But the initial panic settled in and though my heart begged me, I understood well enough that even if I was one of the Magic Wielders there was nothing—nothing—I could do right now to stop the Destroyer General from melting my skin away; from burning me until I was nothing but ash.

There wasnothingI could do to even try to run.

I was wounded and hurt, tied and locked in a large manor, deep in the woods.

Alone. There was no one that would come and save me.

Nobody that could help.

I could do nothing, and I had no one.

Hopelessness was a poison that simmered through my veins. Deep anger and rage heated up inside of me, boiling, as if it were molten lava, spilling to the very ends of my limbs.

Commanding me to survive. Ordering me to take charge—to live.

I would survive or die trying.

Defiantly, I raised my eyes from underneath my bunched-up brows and stared at him. My eyes hit the back of his head. He was still facing the dresser, lazily putting clothes on. A white tunic now covered his defined back. Within a breath, the towel dropped, exposing his round and firm backside just for a second as he pulled his black leather pants up. I didn’t look away, even as my heart raced at an unknown speed. Being a slave didn’t quite grant you privacy.

He turned to me, as if feeling my stare, slowly rolling his sleeves up his tan, muscled forearms.

I tensed my jaw, fighting the panic within me. He was in his late twenties, perhaps older, though oddly young for a general. Afearedgeneral. Lord of Death, Inadios called him.

I wouldn’t let myself be tricked by his handsome features. True monsters were always hiding underneath a pretty mask.

He sauntered across the room carelessly, until he reached the bed and rested against one of the bed posts across from me. Folding his arms, he looked down at me.

“So, a Creator girl. What’s your name?” His dark brown eyes flashed with curiosity. His face was mature, and those eyes seemed ancient. A shiver went through my body.

For a split second I thought to lie—come up with a name and a story fitted for a Creator. But a part of me wanted him to know my name so if… No, when.

WhenI kill him, or he kills me, it would haunt him for the rest of his miserable existence.

“Finn,” I sharply said without backing down my stare. My eyes watered but I refused to blink. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. His face was expressionless, but I hid none of the hate in mine.

He finally unfolded his arms and put his hands in his pockets.

“You know, my father used to incinerate people if they looked at him without his permission. How the times have changed,” he said, hiseyes narrowing while the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, his voice sinful.

I wanted to kill him then. It was my life, my existence, and for him, it was all a joke…

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked and immediately regretted it.

He straightened up and stared out of the window, ignoring me.

I could feel the anger burning me from within.

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