Page 71 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“And your plan was to hold a tiny knife to my throat?”
Quinn gritted her teeth, her heart still raging. “This is a scalpel. It may be tiny, but it’s very sharp.”
“Sorry.” His lips twitched. “You think your very sharp, tiny knife is going to be able to kill an immortal?”
“Well . . .” Quinn’s knuckles curled tighter around the handle. “When you put it that way . . .”
This was going utterly horribly. Not only was she threatening a dangerous immortal, but he was taunting her—playing with her.
Like prey.
“So, to be clear”—his smile widened, and his eyes sparkled—“the great, brilliantly talented, brilliantly intelligent Quinnevere Ashelle hadn’t thought this through? Is that right?”
Oh, he was so pleased with himself. The arrogant prick. Emrys loved it when she was wrong. Loved to throw it in her face.
With that spirit in mind, he leaned into the knife, and his eyes darkened with amusement as if he were saying, and what will you do now, little ballerina?
“What in all the fucking mirrors are you doing?” Quinn sucked in a breath and tried to steady her unusually shaky fingers. “I said it was a sharp tiny knife, and that is your fucking carotid artery.”
“It is.”
“Emrys.”
“Quinnevere.” He pulled her name out like he was tasting chocolate.
“I hate you.”
“I know.” He curled his fingers around the scalpel, plucked it from her grip, and slid it inside his impeccably tailored suit jacket. “You have mentioned this several times now.”
Emrys finally stepped back, freeing her from the wall, but as he did it, she noticed the freckle on his middle finger. She froze like a glass sculpture.
Spiders of fear crept down her body, and she gulped. She knew he was a vampire, but it wasn’t until she saw the freckle that it fully hit her. He was the Emrys Avalon from the Blood Rebellion. The human who led the war and became a king.
“How many people have you killed?” She stepped farther away from him, trying to get closer to the door. Her fear returned with a vengeance.
“Too many.” His throat bobbed.
She moved again, now directly in front of the door.
“I know you didn’t kill Jane, but . . . you’re a—” Flashes of her nightmares returned. A vampire standing over her, blood dripping from his fangs. Her breath hitched, her fingers biting into the metal door handle.
“I am no monster.” He took a hesitant step toward her. “At least not the type you are so afraid of.”
She wasn’t sure what to believe, but she wanted tobelieve him. “But you’re a—”
In a blink, he pinned her against the door, his strength superhuman. Again, he flinched as if touching her physically hurt. With a hand around her neck, he hissed, “Yes . . . is that what you want to hear? Is this what you expect me to do?” In a blink, his fangs appeared, and before she could move or gasp, his fangs glided against her jugular. “Is this what you imagine I would do?”
“Yes.” She trembled but held her head high. Fear spiked in Quinn’s blood. If he wanted to kill her, there would be no way of escaping. Her heart played percussion in her ears.
His fangs retracted, and he was left with his lips on her ivory skin, the blue of her veins lining her neck. He softly kissed the spot before he loosened his grip and stood at his full height once more.
Dragonfly wings scraped along the lining of her stomach, sending a tingling sensation through her body. Her heart didn’t believe Emrys was evil. She didn’t believe that he wanted to hurt her, especially when he had every opportunity to compel her to do his bidding, injure her, or kill her.
She rubbed her neck, feeling a phantom sensation where his fingers touched.
He hadn’t even left a bruise.
With all that power and speed, he showed intense control.
