Confronting him was a terrible idea. I had to be smart about my next steps, but I didn’t feel very smart.
I was on my feet and pushing through the glass door before I could second guess. Ambrose acknowledged me with a head tilt while he made up three plates of food.
“Where’s Leighton?” I asked.
My hand pressed to the hard steel of the knife hidden in my pants. Ambrose’s presence was intimidating, but I could stab him if I had to. I’d done it before, the fresh memory smacking me in the face. I bit my bottom lip, trying and failing to ignore it.
* * *
Jonathan’s bony fingers dug into my arm, his nails pricking me and threatening to break the skin. I yanked myself back, using my weight to make him let go. It had me landing on my ass with a cry that echoed in the high-ceilinged lounge.
He cussed, glaring down at me with his beady little eyes that were always squinting. “Bitch,” Jonathan hissed. “Tobias knew you’d need more taming before heading off to your new pack. Get the fuck up.”
I didn’t listen, pushing myself back across the carpet on my ass. It was difficult to think past the pounding of my heart. In my panic, my long dress got stuck underneath me and I stalled.
That was all the pause Jonathan needed to catch up. I hadn’t been moving fast enough anyway. Panic was filling my brain, all my senses working on overdrive. He was aroused, his beta scent heavier than normal. He grabbed my arm again and pulled, ignoring when I cried out.
My shoulder bloomed with fiery pain, almost yanked out of the socket by his efforts to get me up. I resisted, knowing what would happen.
He’d already tried to remove my dress.
Next time, he would succeed.
I pushed him back one more time, this time scrambling to my feet. I tripped over the dark hem on my way up, catching myself on the mantle of the fireplace.
And there, right in my sight line, was my salvation.
A decorative knife. One of the small ones in my father’s collection, but sharp. He kept them all sharp.
The sharp end pointed to me but I grabbed it, adrenaline preventing me from registering the pain in my hand. This was my one chance. Jonathan was wide-eyed by the time I turned back to him—he’d seen the knife, but he took too long to react.
I stabbed him in the neck.
Blood spurted from the wound, and he screamed as loud as I had. The thick liquid coated me, drenching me in his scent and warming me from the outside in.
I should feel horrified or panicked. He was going to die—that much was obvious from the light fading in his squinty eyes. I’d killed a man.
Except instead of any of that, I only felt… euphoric.
Elated enough that I followed him down to the floor and punctured his neck all over again, a laugh bubbling up in my throat.
* * *
Swallowing a lump of emotion, I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. My hand stung, the wound fresh but covered in a wrap bandage Soren gave me. Ambrose was taking too long to respond, studying me with an irritating amount of indifference.
“Answer me.”
Fuck.
My demand came out as a whine, my gaze flitting toward Leighton’s bedroom.
She might not discipline me for whining, but he might. I fought back the urge to cower. That’s not what I was going to do out here—I wouldn’t let my existence away from my father be a copy of how I lived when I was with him.
I stood tall.
“She’s resting. You won’t see her again tonight.”
My eyes narrowed. I hated how my body slumped in relief when he didn’t react to the whine. “I need to see her.”
