Disgruntled Dinner Guest

ROWAN

I let him inject me with another needle. He brought the damn thing close to me, and I lifted my hair and offered my neck to him. I tried to fight my heavy eyelids, but I was no match for the deep fog that hooked into me and dragged me under.

He said it was in my best interest because getting the tracker put inside my flesh would hurt me. He said that it was "unnecessary' pain, as though there is such a thing as necessary pain.

Why did I do it?

Why didn't I refuse?

He plans to damage me.

He wants to make me suffer.

But I do feel a shard of relief now that the bulk of the chain is missing from my foot. I feel as though I've gotten some part of my freedom back now that I no longer hear the rattle of the chain as a constant reminder that I've been locked up.

The window is open now, and a subtle breeze sweeps through the room, the far away scents of roses wafting in with the wind. The burning sun is fading behind hills in the horizon, the sky a swirl of pastel colors that makes my heart hurt. How can something so exquisite live outside the window when I'm trapped inside? How can something as magnificent as that sunset be so close, yet so far away?

If I wasn't being held here against my will, I might even be delighted to be in such a charming place. But I am, so I refuse to be swept up in the miracle of nature outside these walls or the splendor inside them.

The room was put back together while I slept, the drawers that I'd tossed around now back in their rightful places in the armoire. My clothes are no longer a scattered mess on the floor. It's as though I'd never messed it up in the first place.

A knock at the door snaps my attention to dark wood. "Madam, your presence has been requested downstairs in the dining room for dinner." The voice that goes with the firm knock is gentle and soft. It's not Gabriel. It's not my captor.

He wants me to eat dinner with him?

Hell no.

"I'm not hungry." I call out. I know Gabriel didn't like it when I refused my breakfast this morning, but there is no way I'm going to act like this is all okay. I refuse to join him for dinner. I refuse to be anywhere near him.

"He won't like that, Mam." He clears his throat.

Tough shit. "I'd rather stay in my room for the night, I'm sorry."

He pauses for a minute, and I think he's left. "I've been instructed to let you know that you won't be permitted to eat if you don't come down."

"Thanks for the warning." I shout.

I listen as his footsteps pad against the floor on the other side of the door, slowly fading away as he does.

Some time passes, and I'm staring at the sight of the sunset out the window when my door is thrown open and Gabriel stands before me. The sharp features of his perfect face constrict as he grits his jaw. His eyes are as merciless as ever, unnerving me with the ice inside. He's dressed in the same suit as before, but the blue jacket is unbuttoned, and I can see every line of every muscle against a crisp grey collared shirt. His torso is long and lean with corded muscles and tendons. His shoulders are wide and strong.

Why are bastards always so beautiful?

"You were told to get your ass downstairs." He snaps, his large hands hanging at his sides.

"Actually, I was told to get down there if I was going to eat — but I don't want to." I say back without thinking of what might come next. I know how ill-tempered he is. I've seen how fast he flies off the handle, so why am I pushing his buttons? Why can't I just keep the sarcasm reeled in? That's always been an issue of mine... but this time, it could get me killed.

I watch a flare of annoyance shoot across his eyes as he lowers his chin to lock me in a look so cold that I feel a breeze coil my spine. "Get your fucking ass downstairs. Now."

"I'm not hungry." I refuse, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Get downstairs — or I'll put the chain back on." He tilts his chin, and I can see the stubble of a five' o'clock shadow.

Is this how the rest of my life is going to be? Is he going to threaten me with seclusion if I fail to do what he wants?

I won't give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. "I've got to use the bathroom." I say instead.

He reads the anger in my expression and nods, "You have ten minutes. If you're not in the dining room by then and I have to come back up here, I'll drag you down the stairs by your hair."

After he spews his threats, he turns and lets himself out of my room, pausing in the doorway to give me a final warning. He's tall and muscular and moves around effortlessly, like he's floating on a cloud. He has the grace of a gentleman with the ruthless eyes of a beast. He's exquisite and he's dark, and he knows he brandishes control like a weapon.

I don't need to use the bathroom, I only told him that so I wouldn't have to give him the confirmation he was looking for, and make sure to use up every second of the ten minutes I'd been given before venturing down the curved staircase right outside my bedroom door.

My bare feet pad across the heated marble tiles of the foyer. The dark walls are decorated with large tapestries that appear French, and artifacts from the middle ages displayed beneath small motion lights that remind me of objects you'd find at a historical museum. The front door is massive in size, two thick slabs of dark wood with ironwork closed to keep enemies away and lock me in.

A pang in my gut tells me to run as I pass by.

Take your chances.

Throw open the door and run for your goddamn life!

But I know it would be pointless. I've seen the acres upon acres of land just past my bedroom window that I'd have to travel before I even reached the gate. And the tracker in my foot would give me away the second I stepped foot outside into the night. Feeling even more defeated at that, I continue on.

I find Gabriel sitting at the far end of a long glass table, holding a business magazine up to his face. He doesn't move when I take the chair across from where he sits. Heavy drapes of black velvet line the wall, covering up the glittering sunset just beyond the hills that I'd been watching out my own window upstairs before he'd crudely interrupted me.

"Good evening," I swallow my pride and try to make conversation, glancing around the deep wooden walls covered with even more ancient artifacts and some fancy Italian scriptures.

He quietly lifts a long finger to shush me and repositions the magazine so that I cannot see his face.

What a goddamn asshole.

"I'm speaking to you." I say louder, clearing my throat to pull him out of his head.

Still nothing.

Is he serious?

"You forced me to join you for dinner, but if you're just going to pretend I'm not here then maybe I shouldn't be. Maybe I'll just go back to my room." I sit up straighter, hoping that the heat of my words can travel through his dumb magazine to scald him.

That gets his attention, and he peers around the side of his magazine to scowl, sounding bored. "You're in no position to threaten me."