35. Claire
Claire
There were several problems with my current situation.
The first being that I was locked in a room.
The second being that the room was on fire.
Not my best work. I hadn’t quite thought the plan through; it had been more impulse than strategy, born from equal parts desperation and stubborn refusal to sit quietly stowed away like a decorative chair.
But the fire had taken to the room with alarming enthusiasm.
Flames licked greedily along the satin bedsheets, devouring the fabric in puckering, blackened edges before leaping eagerly to the wallpaper.
The delicate patterns shriveled and peeled, darkening as the heat intensified.
The wooden vanity caught fast when the fire reached it, sending thick smoke billowing upward until it choked the air and burned at the back of my throat.
“Oh,” I coughed, pressing a hand to my mouth. “That’s… faster than expected.”
I stumbled toward the balcony, swinging the doors open as heat chased at my heels. Fresh air rushed in, but so did the smoke, spilling out into the bright afternoon.
I leaned over the railing and immediately regretted it. The drop was considerable—far enough that any potential landing would be neither graceful nor pleasant, and certainly not survivable in a way that involved walking afterward. If I jumped, I would absolutely break something.
And I quite liked using my legs.
Behind me, the ceiling groaned as part of it gave way, embers raining down.
Heat surged, the fire spreading with reckless abandon as it crawled higher, swallowing the room whole.
I glanced just long enough to confirm that everything I owned was currently being consumed by flames and then turned my gaze back out to the city.
Smoke poured from the open balcony, rising in thick, dark plumes into the sky.
Well.
If nothing else, I had certainly made myself noticeable.
Hopefully someone noticed that because I was running out of alternatives.
The handle behind me rattled.
A second later, the door burst open. Garrick emerged through the smoke, coughing once as he waved a hand in front of his face, his eyes narrowing the moment they locked onto me. His coat had been hastily thrown on, and his hair was still slightly disheveled.
“Claire, what in the hells have you done?”
“I should ask you that question, seeing that you locked me in my room.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“That feels like the least pressing issue at the moment.”
He took another step forward. Unfortunately for him, so did I. My hand closed around the nearest object—a heavy brass lamp, still miraculously untouched by the fire—and before I could overthink it—
I swung.
The sound it made was deeply satisfying.
Garrick staggered, more surprised than anything, one hand flying up to his head as he blinked at me, not quite believing what had just happened.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” I admitted, and then I ran.
I lunged to his right, aiming for the open stretch of hallway beyond him. Freedom was just a few strides away.
His arm snapped around my waist, hauling me back with brutal force. The breath punched from my lungs as my back collided with his chest. I twisted in his grip, kicking, clawing, driving my heel down against his foot.
It didn’t matter. He was stronger.
My arms were wrenched tight to my sides, pinned in place. The room continued to groan around us, beams cracking overhead as embers rained down in fiery bursts, hissing as they struck the floor and scattered.
“Let go of me,” I seethed.
“No,” he said, tightening his hold. “You’re mine.”
“Why?”
His grip shifted, his fingers digging into my side as if to remind me of exactly how trapped I was.
“Because you belong to me.”
“Like hell I do! You don’t even like me! Who would want a marriage like this?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Garrick snarled. “It’s a contract. You don’t get to just walk away.”
“Watch me,” I spat, digging my heels into the floorboards and twisting with enough force to make his grip slip, if only by an inch. “I am not a piece of property you inherited, Garrick. Let. Me. Go.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping under his skin as he used his weight to pin me against the nearest solid surface.
“You think you can survive out there on your own? You’ll be penniless by nightfall.”
A harsh, humorless laugh ripped from my throat, the sheer absurdity of it finally snapping the last thread of my control.
“You think this is about gold?” I seethed, my voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper as I glared straight into his narrowing eyes.
“I don’t want your titles, I don’t want your fancy carriage, and I sure as hell don’t want your blood money.
In fact, you can take every single piece of gold in your vault and stick it directly up your ass. ”
Garrick blinked, stunned into a temporary, rigid silence by the sheer venom in my words.
“I want out,” I breathed, using his momentary shock to finally shove his hands off my waist. “Keep your precious money. I’d rather starve in a ditch than spend another second as your property.”
He growled and his hand shot into my hair.
Pain exploded across my scalp as his fingers twisted deep into my curls, gripping tight, then pulling hard.
A cry tore from my throat as my head was yanked back, forcing me to meet his gaze.
Tears blurred my vision, but I saw him clearly, and whatever humanity I had tried to convince myself was there—whatever decency I had hoped might exist beneath it all—was gone.
His eyes were entirely empty of warmth or restraint, leaving only a darkness simmering beneath the surface.
“You will learn to obey me as your husband, and if you don’t, there will be consequences. I won’t have a disobedient wife.”
“Then you’ve chosen the wrong woman,” I snapped, my voice shaking with fury.
And then a figure stepped through smoke and flame. I instantly recognized the tall, lanky figure, even with her limp.
Ash.
Her blade was already drawn. Her silhouette cut through the firelight, and smoke curled around her, embers catching in her hair and along the edge of steel that gleamed in her grip. Her eyes locked onto Garrick in an instant, fury burning there in a way that made the air itself feel thinner.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
And then she said, “I don’t care what gods you pray to or what hole you crawl back into. If you lay one more finger on her, there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”