Page 83 of A Drop of Anguish
It’s not a statue. Not abstract art. Not décor.
My mouth dries, and the breath rushes from my lungs.
It’s a set of silver handcuffs, crushed into a heap, as if—well, as if a massively powerful being crushed them between his hands.
Why—
“Something wrong?”
I suck in my lost breath and turn to Thompson with a smile I’m certain is more manic than happy. “Nope. I’m wonderful. Let’s get the hell out of this room.” I rush past him.
Jarron has nothing personal in his room for show. Except that.
Except the handcuffs he used to show me how much power I have over him, crushed into a ball.
34
Dangerous Party Games
Idon’t remember sitting down on the couch beside the flickering fire table outside or the others settling in around me. I don’t pay attention to what they’re saying; the chatter just floats around me like dust to be ignored.
I stare at the red and orange flames, my mind entirely elsewhere.
What does it mean? Jarron left those handcuffs, which he used to lock himself, hands up, to his bedpost and told me I had complete control over him.
Nothing happened that night, not really. I touched him in PG-13 places and then stopped it. It was more of an idea. He’d willingly submit to me. Be and do anything I wanted.
Even if it’s nothing.
I think the stopping was part of me proving I really did have control. Because I could see how much he wanted more. And my body was not far behind his. But there was so much between us I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to rush anything physical.
Jarron is a million times more powerful than I am, yet he insisted I have power over him. I tasted that power that night, and it was delicious. I wanted more.
I still do.
So, what, exactly, do those crumpled handcuffs mean?
Does he want to remind me of that moment? Or is the fact that they’re crushed mean I don’t have a right to that control anymore?
I don’t know what to think, honestly.
“She just needs a minute.”
I blink rapidly, my mind finally coming down from the avalanche of thoughts. “What?”
The blond from earlier is back and smirking at me with a decidedly unkind expression.
“She was talking to you,” Manuela says. “But you were—”
“Right, yeah sorry. What were you asking?” I force a smile.
“I was just telling her all the potions you used in the fight against those wolves,” Thompson says casually. “Stunning spells and poison, that’s all I know for sure.”
Poison. Right.
“Yes, I asked,” the blond drawls, “how you killed that shifter. I’ve never heard of a human killing an Elite with potions.”
“You’ve never heard of poisons?” Manuela rolls her eyes.
