Page 85 of Wicked Chains
He leads me out of the hall, but before we reach the door, Helena calls after us.
“This isn’t over, Rose Smith. I’ll see you on your knees before I’m finished.”
Ash turns, his face carved from stone. “Say that again.”
Helena just cackles.
He pauses, looks at Helena, and does something I never would have expected.
He raises his hand and gestures. “You want to see someone kneel?” he says. “Then kneel.”
There’s a power in his voice, a supernatural authority that reverberates through the hall.
Helena scoffs, but her knees tremble.
“I said, kneel.”
The command is laced with magic. Helena might be a centuries old, powerful witch, but Ash?
Ash has control of my natural magic.
For a second, it looks like Helena might be able to fight it, but then she drops to her knees.
The room gasps. Thorne’s phone, because of course she wouldn’t miss a chance to capture my imminent demise on video, clatters to the floor.
Ash holds her there for a full minute, the ultimate humiliation, before he releases her.
Helena rises awkwardly, her face gone white with rage, and stalks out of the room, her little coven lackeys long gone.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t try to pull away. I glance back at Lucien and Soren, who are watching what has just unfolded, but they aren’t intervening.
Helena Wickersly will never, ever forget this.
I’m toast.
Thirty-Eight
Rose
I don’t remember getting from the dining hall to my room. One minute I’m watching Ash force Helena to her knees in front of the entire school, the next I’m sprawled face down on my bed, clutching my pillow like it’s a life preserver. I don’t summon Hank, I don’t want him to get upset seeing me like this.
If I live to be a hundred—highly unlikely after today—I’ll still remember every second of what happened. Helena’s voice, the hush in the room, the bone-deep certainty that if Ash hadn’t intervened, I would have ended up in the infirmary, or in the grave. The way he called me his, like I belong to him.
Part of me liked being protected, even if it was by the world’s biggest asshole. I hate myself for that. I scream into the pillow until my throat goes raw.
“Rose?”
The voice is soft, just a whisper. I sit up so fast my head spins.
Drake is standing in the corner, almost hidden in the shadow, and his arms are crossed over his chest.
“You saw,” I say. My voice is not a question.
“I saw.” He steps out of the darkness, and the surrounding air goes cold with his presence. “I wanted to help.”
I wave my hand. “Nothing you could have done.” Come to think of it, I did see the lights flicker.
Drake sits on the edge of my bed. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
