CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Aisla
I WAS LOSING control of my life.
He’d thrown me in the boot of the car once more like I was nothing more than a piece of fucking luggage, ignoring every one of my protests and questions.
I was nothing in comparison to him and his strength.
I kicked into the roof of the boot, but it was futile.
He wouldn’t let me out. And I had a feeling that if I didn’t play my cards right, I’d never know freedom again.
I wanted to scream as my rage threatened to boil over.
I tried again and again to somehow reach that part within me that had helped me escape the witch’s house… but nothing happened.
I still hadn’t really processed the part where I’d used magic.
Magic.
For some reason, it was easier to accept being a vampire. Magic seemed too elusive, far too powerful with too much potential.
The engine of the car sprung to life.
The fucker took no care in how he drove, and I was sure he was swerving deliberately, causing me to knock from side to side without the ability to brace myself thanks to my bound hands and feet.
I’d kill him for this.
Someday.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Or anytime soon realistically. But someday, I would end him. I held onto that thought like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to myself.
Every bump in the road jarred me, every sharp turn threw me against the sides of the boot as he drove me further and further from the life I knew. My rage had simmered into despair. Despair and worry for Claire, for work. And oh fuck, for Lucretia.
The car slowed suddenly, gravel crunching beneath the tyres as it rolled to a stop. The engine cut out and silence followed, until familiar footsteps approached.
I braced myself.
I flinched when the boot opened and a bright light from a street lamp directly above me shone in my face. When my vision adjusted, I quickly realised that we were still in the countryside, and from what little I could make out, we were parked by a sad little excuse for a petrol station.
“Still alive I see,” he said with what I could swear was a smirk. The wanker enjoyed my suffering.
I wanted to punch him in his pretty face, wipe that look clean off. But that wouldn’t get me anywhere. I was very aware of how little power I actually had in this situation. So I took a deep breath and swallowed my pride, forcing it down.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice deliberately softer, less snappy.
His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in them as he leaned back a fraction, stretching his arms above his head in a slow, deliberate motion, showing off his free range of movement. The one that I was severely lacking, tied up like a pig for slaughter.
“For…” he prompted, voice full of boredom.
His t-shirt rode up slightly as he moved, exposing the smallest strip of skin above his waistband—dark hair trailing just beneath it—and I snapped my gaze away immediately, focusing very hard on literally anything else.
I did not need to think about that.
About him, about how he’d felt—
No.
Absolutely not.
It had been adrenaline, the thrill of being alive, nothing more.
“Sorry for running from you,” I said quickly, then adding, “and for trying to kick you,” for good measure.
“Mm. Sure you are.”
“I am,” I insisted, meeting his gaze again. “I just… panicked.”
Which wasn’t entirely a lie. I shifted slightly, very aware that I was still half-folded in the boot.
“I can’t stay in here,” I added, quieter now. “Please.”
He studied me for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression as he rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.”
Another pause.
Then he reached in and removed the chains, and I stretched my numb limbs. Relief hit me instantly as the tension released and I rubbed at my wrists, wincing slightly before pulling myself out of the boot.
The ground felt uneven beneath my feet.
We were at a tiny, run down petrol station that looked like it had been forgotten in the late seventies and never quite caught up with the modern day. Two pumps. A dimly lit shop with flickering signage, and a toilet block off to the side that looked… questionable at best.
There was no else around.
“Come on,” he said, already moving, his hand catching lightly at my arm. He wasn’t as rough this time, but firm enough to remind me not to try anything.
He led me toward the toilets, pushing open the creaking door and stepping inside first. A fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unflattering glow.
He began what I guessed was a quick sweep, checking the cubicles, glancing behind the door, even testing the tiny window above the sink.
“No exits,” he muttered, more to himself than me I think.
Then his attention snapped back to me. “Turn around.”
I hesitated.
“Now.”
I did as I was told and he patted me down.
He was efficient about it, quickly checking for anything I could use as a weapon—as if I’d have even thought to stash something. Once satisfied, he stepped back, giving a short nod.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
Then he left, and for the first time in, I didn’t even know how long, I was alone.
I stared at my reflection in the dirty mirror and grimaced.
Great.
I looked as bad as I felt.
Maybe even worse.
I hardly recognised myself. I felt bare without makeup on and my hair really needed a good brush.
But worse than that, I absolutely stank. I desperately needed a shower and some clean clothes that weren’t stained dark with mud, blood and God only knew what else.
I splashed some water on my face, then proceeded to attempt a quick heads to tail wash.
I looked back at myself afterwards, not feeling much better. But it would have to do.
“Where’s Marlette?” I asked, stepping out from the toilet block, finding Davien exactly where I’d expected—leaning against the wall, arms folded, like he hadn’t moved an inch.
No answer.
“I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes?” I tried, forcing a tight, pained smile. “I could really use one right about now.”
No.”
“I need to call my sister,” I insisted.
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no,” he cut in, not even looking at me as he pushed off the wall, already moving, and I was forced to follow as he headed back towards the pumps. “Not happening.”
I huffed my annoyance.
“Get in,” he said, jerking his head towards a different car this time. “We’re switching cars.”
I reached out for the handle to the backseat, when his rough hand covered mine. “Nope,” he said. “Front. With me. I don’t trust you one bit.”
I slid into the passenger seat as told, because what else was I to do. I muttered a curse under my breath as I did, my mud and blood streaked clothing leaving smears across the otherwise pristine interior.
At least we were stealing a nicer car this time.
I barely had time to settle before he leaned in, effectively boxing me in, one hand braced against the doorframe above my head as he reached across me with the other to grab the seatbelt.
“I can do that myself,” I snapped.
“Clearly not to my standards.”
He pulled it across me and clicked it into place with a firm snap, lingering just a second too long in my space before pulling back.
And then he reached for my wrists. I stiffened as his hand closed around them, dragging them forward.
“Seriously?”
“As a heart attack, for mortals,” he said, flashing a wolfish smile, neither warm nor comforting as he secured my wrists again.
Just as tight as before.
He shut the door and rounded the front of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Before starting the engine, he reached across me again, tugging once at the seatbelt and apparently deciding that it wasn’t enough.
He nonchalantly reached across me and my eyes widened as he quite literally broke the door handle off as if it was nothing.
Brute.
“Where are we going?” I asked, watching him as he pulled away from the station.
“Somewhere we can’t be found.”
He’s actually kidnapping me.
For good this time.
He really is mad.
“I know you won’t let me call anyone,” I said carefully. “But I have a cat I need to make sure is looked after and people will notice if I'm not around. I can’t just disappear.”
“Marlette has your cat, and she’s called your work to let them know you won’t be in for a while. Jury duty.” he replied, like it was nothing. “You can call your sister once we’re settled and I’m sure no one has followed us.”
I blinked, thrown completely off balance.
Marlette had my—
What did that even mean? She was a vampire after all. Oh God, she wouldn’t harm Lucretia, would she?
My stomach twisted.
“I can hear you worrying from over here,” he cut in, voice edged with mild irritation. “Stop it. The cat’s fine. Marlette has a soft spot for the clawed creatures.”
There was a brief pause.
“Just… go to sleep or something.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, unsure what else to say. At least that was one thing I didn’t need to worry about. And he’d said he’d let me call Claire, so there was that.
Okay.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the seat as the countryside swallowed us up once more. But I wouldn’t sleep. Not if I could help it. I didn’t trust him at all and I wanted to know where we were going. The more information I had, the better my chances of escape were.