Ash grips my throat as I shake my head. “Impossible.”
He slips the hilt back on the blade and shoves it into the sheath. “It’s not impossible. You require kyaniteandbloodstone to heal. That is why you couldn’t heal when you were with your people.”
“No.” It’s not true. None of this is true.
I squeeze my eyes shut, needing this moment to end, needing Gabriel to not be right. With everything in me, I fight his hold, seeking my escape, my freedom.
His grip tightens. “You cannot leave, Sol.”
“I’ll go quietly.Please.”I put all my desire into that last word, all my desperation to get away from here.
“No,” he says, his tone final.
I go limp in his arms and allow my eyes to flutter shut.
“Sol.” He shakes me a little. “I know you’re pretending.”
I slow my breathing to shallow breaths and command my body to stay perfectly still.
“Sol.” Concern lingers from his tone as his arms slacken enough for him to turn me. He releases my hands and lifts my chin and trails his fingertips down my jaw. “Just open your eyes.”
It’s now or never.
I react, jerking away from him, and shoving his chest with all my strength. The surprise knocks him off center. He lands with a hard thud against the table.
My heart slams against my ribs as I scramble for my sheathed dagger. My fingers grip the hilt as he reaches me. I rotate with it in hand.
His brow rises as he folds his arms, his body language far too relaxed for someone in his position. “Are you going totryto murder me?”
“Not unless you give me a reason to. Let me walk away.”
Clouds swirl in his eyes as he speaks in a pain-filled voice. “I can’t.”
Tightness squeezes around my chest. “I would turn this dagger on myself before I allowed you to use me to bring magic back to your people.”
He steps closer. I jerk back and raise the blade to the center of his chest. His stare lowers to the point inches away from his surcoat.
“Lower the dagger,” he says, his words low, honed with warning.
“Or?” Defiance sparks in every inch of my body as I stand up taller and glare.
“You don’t want to know the answer to that,” he growls. “Lower the dagger.”
My stare shifts between the man with smoldering eyes and the front door. I could stab him and run. Or I could drop the weapon and become his prisoner. If I did, he would try to use me. I’d be bringing death to Tarrobane. I cannot.
Something shifts in his expression, as if he knows the internal war raging inside me. He reacts, his movements fast and overwhelming. He jerks swiftly to the right, avoiding my steel, and smacking my wrist hard enough to break my grip. Ripples of pain shoot up my arm as the dagger plummets to the floor. He steps on the hilt.
“We could have done this easy.” Coldness laces his words and dives into my heart.
The mercenaries taught me how to use both of my hands equally well. I use my left to strike Gabriel in the throat. He gags and stumbles backward. I grab my dagger and scurry away from him as he doubles over, coughing.
I run for the front door and thrust it open. The hot, humid night assaults me as I run wildly away from the cottage and the man I wed myself to.
Run.
Faster.
Soon, Gabriel will catch me.
