“Tell me,” I demand again, but I’m met with silence. Nothing but a mocking smile comes from his lips, and I take a deep breath of frustration. “Which tattoo do I ruin? This one withthe pretty scenic view, or this one with the cowboy? Maybe we can set this whole field on fire.” I run my fingertips over the grasslands etched into his surprisingly soft skin and then look up to meet his eyes. “What do you think?” I’m hovering a half inch from unleashing agonizing pain. He glances at it and then up at me, unimpressed and unmoved. The devious look etched on his pretty face only grows darker.
“I think you should do it and see what happens next,” he taunts me.
The bait works because I take it, pressing the aspergillum to his flesh and watching as his skin reacts even as he tries not to. He barely flinches, but his muscles contract slightly, and he inhales sharply, letting out a slower than a normal breath in its wake. Those are the only signs at all that he even felt it. No screaming. No passing out. I pull the metal tool away from his skin to see the white and red marks it left in its wake, the intricate gothic detailing making a mirror pattern over his flesh.
“What do you want? Tell me,” I demand. “I’ll do it again.”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes, temporarily shuttered, reopen, and he looks at me like he can see through me. His lips don’t move, and his jaw doesn’t shift. He might be more determined. I toss the aspergillum to the stone floor in frustration.
“Tell me what you want!” I’m louder than I should be, given the late hour, and my eyes instinctively dart to the wall where I worry I’ll hear a sharp knock from my neighbor.
“You.” I barely hear the word before his legs shift underneath me. He spreads them, and mine in the process, until I fall forward like I had before. This time face-planting onto his chest because I’ve been too distracted. His legs wrap around me, and his arms follow. Somehow, he freed himself from the binds I put them in.
He flips us in such a rapid fashion that I barely register what’s happening before I’m underneath him. He has me pinnedto the mattress, his thighs pinning my hips and both of my wrists in a vice grip above my head. My mind struggles to catch up with the sudden swap of power until I try to free myself and fail. My heart sinks.
It was a trap.
He reaches above my head with his free hand, grabbing the thermos I’d made him drink tea from. It’s still uncapped. The one I’d spiked with the drugs that had knocked him out. He holds it up to my lips with an expectant look, but I shake my head.
“Drink,” he demands.
I press my lips together. There’s no way I’m letting him drug me. I have no idea what he’ll do to me. Rape me. Kill me. Cut me into tiny pieces. Burn every inch of my skin in retribution. I have no idea what he’s capable of, and the scars on his own skin tell a violent story. Even as I refuse him, my eyes are caught on the snake that hovers over my head, encircling his forearm and wrist, frozen in time like it’s about to strangle its victim.
“Open up anddrink,” he repeats, his countenance growing stormier by the second.
I shake my head, too scared to use words for fear he’ll take the opportunity to pour it down my throat.
“You won’t like it if I have to force you.”
I press my lips tighter in answer.
“Have it your way.” His patience snaps, and he pours the drink into his own mouth, holding it there as he sets the flask back on the desk.
His hand goes to my jaw, his forefinger and thumb pressing at the spot where it hinges. I move to thrash underneath him, but his body pins me in place. I shake my head and do everything I can to try to resist, but it’s fleeting at best.
As the pain and pressure mount, I lose the battle. My mouth opens just enough that he has access. He seizes it, squeezingtighter and forcing my mouth open wider. He leans down, his lips practically touching mine, and spits the drink into my mouth. It douses my tongue and rushes to the back of my throat. I start to choke and sputter, but his hand moves to my chin, pressing my jaw upward and forcing my mouth shut again.
“Swallow,” he orders.
I shake my head, fighting him with every fiber of my being. Tears well in my eyes. I wish I’d made more noise earlier. I wish the abbess had spotted us on the way in from the lake. Anything would be better than this.
“There are worse things I could do to you. Don’t make me.” He threatens like he can hear my thoughts. He takes another swig from the poisoned flask. The look in his eyes makes my heart rate double. He’s serious. Deathly so, and his face inches closer to mine until his lips are a hairsbreadth away.
His hand whips away from my jaw at the same time his mouth descends on mine, covering it in what would be a soul-searing kiss if he wasn’t trying to kill me. The hand that was holding my jaw pinches my nose, stealing my airways from me and sending me into a panic that has me attempting the one thing I shouldn’t.
But it’s all I can think.
Breathe.
I need air. Desperately. My body acts of its own volition even as I try to stop myself.
My mouth opens to his, and the poison pours in a second time. He holds me down as I struggle and whimper, pinning me in place until I can feel the burn in my lungs for the second time this evening.
What the man takes, he can give back. The fading edge of black seeps in at the edges of my vision, and I finally cede ground. If I don’t give in, I’ll die. If I drink, there’s a chance Ilive to fight another day. Even if it's burned and battered. I’ve survived it before. I can do it again.
I swallow.
As soon as he sees the bob of my throat, his fingers release my nose. I take a deep breath, pulling as much air in as fast as humanly possible. The oxygen races through my lungs, and my vision returns, along with my thoughts. Finally able to focus on something other than the vice grip of death.
