Page 69 of Campfires & Canines
She glides up the stairs without glancing back at me.
"Thundercunt," I growl the second the door closes.
Queasy, I close my eyes and slow my breathing, keeping my wrists stationary to try and minimize the pain.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I start searching the space. Maybe there’s a way out. Unlikely, but I have to try.
There are no windows. The only door is the one at the top of the stairs, and it's locked. I can't even hear anything through it.
Hopeless, I flop on the sofa. How am I going to get home to Slate? Tears drip down the sides of my face, soaking into my hair.The shock of the situation is starting to fade and depression settles over me like a weight.
I jolt awake to the sound of the door swooshing open. Scrambling to an upright position, I rub the crust from my eyelashes. I'm not ready to go head-to-head with Sienna again, but maybe this time she'll cut these awful zip ties.
Instead, an athletic figure with bright blonde hair ducks down the stairs. I leap to my feet, my fury surging.
"What the absolute fuck, Jasper!"
Not my best opening, especially when I need to ask for something. But I thought he was my friend. Or a casual, friendly acquaintance. Not someone who is pure evil.
He tilts his head, a cocky smile pasted on his face. I want to beat it off him. "Good to see you again, Hazel,” he says, setting my battered backpack down on the tiny table near the kitchen.
"Go to hell," I spit.
"Already there, love,” he mutters, so quietly I question if I heard it.
He reaches me and tries to grab my wrists. I jump away.
"You kidnapped me, you twatwaffle," I growl.
"My mother kidnapped you," he says flatly.
"Are you kidding me?" The exhaustion and rage are making me woozy, but I am not done with this fight.
"You need to calm down. Getting upset will only make things worse," he chides me.
"Did you tell me to calm down?" I snarl.
"I'm trying to help you," he promises, pulling a small pair of scissors out of his pocket. I’ve never heard this sober tone from him before. His trademark cockiness is gone. Now, worry lines his eyes.
He takes my wrists and snips the zip ties. I eye the scissors as he slips them into his pocket. Do I think I could wrestle them away from him and use them to escape? No. But I'm desperate at the moment.
I rotate my wrists, exhaling through my teeth.
"Hazel," he begins.
I ignore him, grabbing my backpack and riffling through it. My phone is missing, but everything else is there. Grabbing my spare leggings, I hold up a finger. “I need a minute.”
He pauses, his brows furrowing. I head straight to the bathroom. He can wait.
Purple bruises bloom down my hip. After changing out of my ruined jeans, I take extra care to wash the raw skin around my wrists. And then, in an attempt to delay dealing with Jasper, I attempt to finger-comb my hair. It's ridiculously tangled, but bedhead followed by a kidnapping will do that to a girl.
"I'm sorry," he says as soon as I open the bathroom door.
"Are you?" I ask, resting my hand against the door frame. I have no desire to get closer to him.
"Yes."
"Your mother said my mark will fade and I'll be your mate instead." I jump right to the point. I need to know where he stands.
