At his words, the tempo of my heartbeat comes to a stuttering halt, and anything that resembled tenderness or hope quenches.
I’ve been punished before.
I’ll be punished again.
I should be afraid, but all I feel right now is a mild sense of curiosity as I steel myself for whatever will come. His words are already cold and distant, and he may as well be touching the body of another woman.
I’m not here anymore.
I’ve never been confined to the earth like a mortal anyway.
* * *
Chapter Five
Leith
I watch the way her eyes grow distant and wonder briefly if the woman’s brain’s fucking addled. Is she here with me now, or somewhere else? She’s got a faraway look in her eyes.
Though I hold her face between my hands, her gaze isn’t focused on mine. It’s fucking disturbing.
She responded to my touch. She responded to my kiss even more. I swear to God if I hadn’t held her in my arms her knees would’ve buckled and she’d have fallen to the floor.
Has the woman ever been kissed before? Her wide-eyed look shows either surprise or innocence. Time will tell which it is.
Perhaps both?
Why won’t the lass tell me her name?
She saw me murder a man with my bare hands in the graveyard. Is she ignorant to the ways of my men? Does she have any idea who we are?
“I asked you a question,” I say again, my words laced with anger fueled by her defiance. Doesn’t she know I have the power to hurt her? She’s smaller than I am, and in my home. I took her from a graveyard and could’ve left her for dead.
I shake her shoulders. “Tell me your fucking name.”
She shakes her head, her eyes unfocused as if she’s not even paying attention. I spin her around, swing her out, and smack my palm against her arse.
Not a sound.
Not a squeal or yelp or even a gasp. Her whole body flinches, and her back arcs like a bowstring, but she doesn’t make a sound.
“Your name.”
Silence.
I smack her again, my palm stinging from the punishing spank. It’s the type of punishment one might give an errant child, not a woman, and certainly not a prisoner or enemy. She deserves at the very least the wicked tawse that hangs in my closet, and goddammit, the very thought of taking the leather to her makes my mouth go dry.
How would she respond to being punished?
How is she responding now?
I swing her around to look back at me, and grab her chin in my hand. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her eyes are filled with tears. It only angers me, though. Why is she so fucking stubborn?
I look around the room, and prepare to restrain her. We’ve guest rooms on the third floor, but this room in particular’s reserved for moments such as these. I’ve handcuffs and chains, rope, and a variety of restraints at my disposal.
My phone rings.
Goddammit.
It’s my father’s fucking ringtone, one of the few I’ll answer this time of night, no matter what.
I decide to test her obedience. Is her reluctance to speak intentional? “Go sit on the bed,” I order, giving her a wee shove in that direction. She stumbles a little, but does what she’s told and steps right over to the bed. She folds herself onto the edge and looks up at me with curious eyes.
Not fully defiant, then.
I answer the phone. “Yes?”
“What happened tonight, son? Come speak to me?”
“Aye, Dad, I’ll be down straight away.”
I may be Clan Captain, but he’ll have a say in the leadership of our Clan until the day he draws his last breath. I frown at her as I hang up the phone.
I look around the room and quickly gather what I need. Soft restraints, blankets, a simple white sheath suited for prisoners.
Time for another test.
“Off with your clothes.” I toss the sheath to the bed. “Dress in this.”
Her hands tremble on the edge of her blouse as she lifts it, but she doesn’t hesitate to obey me. In fact, it seems likely she’s actually moving quicker to obey me than is necessary. Is she eager to show me she’s not fully disobedient, then? What an interesting lass she is.
In less than a minute, she’s stripped to nothing but a skimpy pair of knickers, too small and faded, better suited for a child than a woman.
And Jesus, is she a woman. My errand to my father seems to lack urgency as I take in every detail. Pale, pale skin that hasn’t seen sunlight in ages. A wee mole on her collarbone and another just above her left breast. I want to connect the little marks with my tongue.
Her body’s soft and curvy but slight, a model of perfection with her silky hills and valleys, and a little dimple by her belly. Her flat belly is gently curved, her hips slim but feminine, though as pale as the rest of her. There’s another little birthmark on her upper left leg.