Tair rose slowly, unfolding himself with a deliberate grace and Tally watched him rise, heart in mouth as she realized he was going to reach for her. Her pulse raced, her hands grew damp, her fingers curling into fists even as a strange desire filled her.
She couldn’t do this. It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. “Please go,” she choked, voice strangled as she jumped up, taking a panicked step backward. “Please leave now.”
But he didn’t go. And Tally scooted past him so they circled each other. She was on his side of the table now and she stumbled over one of the cushions he’d been leaning against.
As she kicked aside the cushion, Tally saw a flash of silver and it took her a moment to realize it was a knife. An ornate dagger. His. He must have accidentally dropped it.
The knife wasn’t particularly big, the handle jeweled, almost too pretty for a knife, but the blade glinted silver, sharp. She looked at Tair and then down at the knife. It could help her. Save her.
She put her foot on top of the knife, hiding it. It gave her courage. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said huskily. “In fact, I don’t think you even know what you want from me. Admit you made a mistake and send me back now before it’s too late.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he answered, arms folding over his chest, eyes narrowing. In the flickering candlelight he looked huge, calm, unflappable.
“But it is. I’m not an object to be caught, trapped, possessed. This isn’t my home and I won’t live here…although I might die here.”
“The way you’re going about it, yes, you might. But you could also have a good life here.”
“Never.” She wouldn’t live here, and yes, maybe she would die here, but it was because she had no other choice.
But she wasn’t there yet. She still had options. At the very least, she had one option. Fight. Struggle. Survival.
Survival being the only thing important to her at this point.
Veins laced with adrenaline, Tally bent down, grabbed the knife and held it behind her.
“You look so uncomfortable standing there,” he said. “Does your arm have a kink in it?”
Hand sweating, she shifted her grip on the dagger’s handle. This could go badly, very badly. But she had to try. Had to force the situation somehow. Anything but sit, wait, allow herself to be swamped by despair. Despondency. Passivity.
She’d climbed mountains, scoured the face of granite cliffs. She’d competed in triathlons. Marathons. Could bike, hike, run, sail, surf. If he thought she’d meekly give herself up, hand over her dreams, her goals, her vision for herself—he was wrong. Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. She’d never cut anyone before, never hurt anyone. But she’d hurt him. If she had to.
And she had to.
She had to make him understand she was serious. Had to make him pay attention.
And what if he died?
Her heart did a painful thump, almost as if it were breaking, falling, tumbling into her gut. Well then, she told herself, ignoring the horrible free-fall plummet, he’d die. It’s not as though he didn’t create this nightmare. This situation was his doing. She was a visitor in his country and he took her, violated her security, stole her security, and now held her captive.
If he had to die, then maybe he had to die.
She swallowed miserably. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to die. Hopefully he’d be smart and realize this was going to end badly for both of them.
“No, my arm doesn’t have a kink in it,” she answered flatly. “I’m armed.”
“Armed?” He nearly smiled. “Oh, I see. You found my knife.”
So he knew he’d dropped his knife. She brought her arm around, held up the knife, the blade at an angle. Paolo had showed her how to hold a knife, use a knife. He’d taught her the rudiments of weaponry. “Don’t move,” she warned.
He closed the distance between them, stepping around the table to haul her against him. “Or what?”
Hand shaking, she pressed the tip of the blade to his chest. “I’ll kill you,” she choked, fire and ice flooding her limbs. “Make one more move and I swear, I’ll kill you.”
Tair didn’t even blink. He simply looked down at her, his expression long suffering. “Put that away.”
“No.”
“You’ll hurt someone.”
“Yes. You.”
He grabbed her wrist so suddenly she didn’t even see him move. But now he held her hand in his and with a swift wrench on her wrist, forced the knife from her hand. Her fingers opened in pain and with a whimper she watched the knife bounce to the carpet.