Page 73 of Campfires & Canines
"Feeling more cooperative today?" she begins.
"I should rip out your eyes with my nails," I hiss before I can think better of it.
Sienna's laugh is shards of ice. "I appreciate the passion. Don't you, Jasper?" She smiles at her son and then turns her sinister expression back on me. I step away, gripping the countertop.
"But you won't. If you raise a hand against me, I'll break you and enjoy it." Her soft voice is brimming with threat. She looms closer.
She pinches my shirt and stretches it, the neckline revealing the healing claim mark. I hope it's healing, not lightening.
"Fading already," she smirks. My stomach drops. As she retreats, she murmurs. "Just like his dad, couldn't get the job done."
I'm on her before I realize it. I have no idea what I think I can accomplish, but I'm clawing at her face like a crazed housecat. She catches my right hand. I kick her in the shin and try to pull free.
With a smooth, practiced movement, she twists and snaps my wrist. My snarl becomes a scream.
Agony shoots up my arm. She releases me and I collapse to my knees, cradling my wrist. My heart is racing and every beat throbs down my arm.
Jasper stands beside me, and I hear his apathetic voice. "Satisfied now? I'd appreciate if you didn't do that again; I don't like my things broken." His tone sharpens.
"Feeling possessive?" she sniggers.
"Didn’t you say she's mine?" he counters. "I'll handle breaking her. I'm happy to keep you informed of our progress."
His voice is haughty. Nausea rolls over me, fear heightening my pain.
"Of course. I look forward to it. I’ll see you both at dinner."
I try to stand, but my vision goes spotty and I sink back down with a grimace. The door shuts with a dull thunk. I suck in a ragged breath and slowly let it out.
Jasper runs his hand down my back, and I hunch lower, snapping, "Don't touch me!"
"Hey, let me help you." His soft tone is so at odds with the heartless man he was a moment ago, I feel whiplashed.
Jasper grips my waist and supports me as I painfully hobble to the sofa. I can’t help but curl over my right arm, a low whine accompanying each exhale.
He grabs a first-aid kit from the bathroom and crouches down in front of me. As he reaches for my arm, he makes low shushing noises. It takes all my self-control to allow him to handle my wrist. Gingerly, he wraps it to form a sort of soft cast.
Biting my lip, I unsuccessfully will the tears away. After a few long moments, the pain starts to subside to a tolerable level, as long as I don't move.
"She is foul," I growl, glancing down at my wrist. He did an impressive job. "Why do I get the feeling you've done this before?"
Tension creases the corners of his mouth.
“What did she mean about dinner?” I ask.
“She’s decided you’re joining us for family dinner,” he says.
“No, thank you,” I quip without thinking. But maybe it’s an opportunity. “I guess I could,” I amend my answer.
“Not optional.” He turns his back to me, heading into the kitchenette. I focus on my yoga breathing for pain management while he hand washes my glass and fork from last night that I stranded in the sink.
"Doing okay?"
I narrow my eyes, refusing to reply to stupid questions. My wrist still feels like it went through a meat grinder. Besides, it's time he provided some answers.
"I need you to answer a few things, please."
"Sure." He slouches beside me and folds his hands behind his head.
