Page 40 of Detonation
I roll my eyes. “He seems a bit delusional as it is right now. I'm just thankful that he hasn't made any sexual advances on me again." I shiver with the memory.
She places her hands on my shoulders and I meet her gaze in the mirror, her eyes gentle and prodding. "Again?"
Her sympathy comes off her in waves, like she already knows what happened, and I lift my chin in defiance to it, pushing back the debilitating pain that continues to overwhelm me when I think of that day. Has it only been such little time?
"Yes,” I say, confirming her suspicions with the vehemence dripping like poison from my lips as I seethe. “I'd kill the fucker if I could but he's sharing the body with someone I love dearly. Anshar is just a leech on his soul and I need to rip him out.Yesterday."
Liviana looks down at my shoulders and dusts off the imaginary lint, busying herself. "Strong women aren't simply born—they’re forged.” Meeting my gaze in the mirror from under her eyelashes, she smirks. “It seems I'm not the only strong one around here."
Chills run across my arms at her words.
She's right. Iamstrong. I might have been broken before but I put myself together. It may not be a clean job but gorilla glue is holding my jagged pieces and I’m not liable to fall apart again.
She grabs the simple, black, satin gown that's laid out on my bed. "Time to get your battle armor on."
I'd never thought of the female body and sexuality as a weapon before but just a few hours with this woman have opened my eyes to a new world.
She walks back to me with the dress draped over her arm. Her voice firm with no give, she says with full confidence, "One day, you will look at Anshar and tell him that no one is in charge of writing your story but you."
The corners of my lips tug up. "I'll tell him that as his soul leaves this plane."
She hums her agreement and helps me into the strapless dress, lacing up the back as I stare into the mirror. The bold, winged slashes of my eyeliner and the dark, smokey, eye makeup make me feel more daring than I ever have in my life. At first, I questioned why she was curling my already wavy hair, arranging for it to hang down to my stomach, but it all makes sense now. I look polished and ready.
When she said we were getting ready for war, called this dress my battle armor, she wasn’t kidding.
I choke and cough, feeling a lot less graceful than I was moments ago, as she clinches the last of the lace tight around my waist. Luckily, it's a flared dress so I'll have plenty of room to run if needed; I just won't be able to breathe while doing it.
Where are my smelling salts? Hopefully, all those miles that I ran under Raven will be enough to save me.
As she ties off the ribbon, a knock comes from the door. Without waiting for permission, Anshar strolls into the room, his dark, lustful eyes ogling me. I feel slimy and disgusting from the eye-fuck and a lot less brave.
He's wearing the same black slacks from earlier but has replaced his white dress shirt with a pure red one. I suppose he likes the color of blood. The memory of him licking my blood from my chin in my first life makes me shiver. He mistakes it for lust and smirks at me.
Liviana curtsies but he disregards her and she rises quickly, gathering her supplies to rush out. Trying to not let the fear of being alone with him paralyze me is harder than I’d imagined.
Anshar turns to pour two glasses of amber liquor for us from the bottle sitting on my entry table. Just before she pulls the door closed behind her, Liviana meets my eyes and takes an inaudible deep breath in and out, telling me to relax. I do as she says before turning to Anshar, not letting him see the interaction between my handmaid and me.
Just as I give him all my attention, he turns toward me and crosses the short distance between us. When he offers me one of the glasses, I force a smile and mumble an unconvincing ‘thanks.’
Lifting the glass to my lips, I take a sniff to scent if anything’s off with the alcohol, uncaring if he notices—though I doubt it would do any good. Fae aren’t blessed with shifter noses.
He chuckles. "You must know I would do nothing to hurt you, my beloved?"
I bite back my retort about how he’s hurt me plenty already—by raping me, by breaking my ribs and my fingers, and by taking one of my men from me. And that’s just in this life.
Sipping the bourbon, I let the harsh taste burn away the words dying to come out. I can’t stand to stay in this closed space with him. "Should we move this to the dining room? I'm starving." For the first time in either life, that’s a lie.
He cocks his head at me. "Ah, yes. You’ve always appreciated food since we were kids. Do you remember our Sunday breakfasts?"
I nod, a small pang resounding in my heart at the memories of us as children together. He was such a sweet boy.How did everything go so wrong? I know the loss of his brother took him down a dark path but I’d thought we’d gotten him through to the other side.
Could my refusal of his proposal really have been the only reason he unraveled? There were plenty of other women out there for him who would have loved him the way he deserved.
This isn’t on me, no matter how much it feels like it is. After he fled the kingdom in our first life, I tortured myself with the what-ifs and the whys. What if I hadn’t rejected him? What if wehadgotten married? Would it have been so bad?
But thisisn’ton me. It’s onhim.
I need to place him firmly as the enemy in my mind. I couldn’t do that last time, couldn’t comprehend seeing my best friend in the face of a monster. I had faith that the boy I grew up with wouldn’t go through with those despicable plans, was certain that it was just his hurt lashing out.
