Page 9 of Ivory Oath

“You are killing me,” I rasp. “I’m thirsty.”

Trofim ignores me. “But I’m giving you another chance. You get to make the choice you should have made all those years ago and choose the better man. The stronger man.”

It’s hilarious. If every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on getting a single gulp of water, I’d laugh in his face.

“Please, Trofim.” I rotate my face into his hand, nuzzling his clammy palm with my cheek. “I’m thirsty.”

I feel disgusting. Pathetic. Like a street cat begging for scraps.

Trofim runs his fingers through my knotted-up hair and instantly, I want to shave my head. Hell, I want to peel my skin off where he touches me. I’d even go so far as to?—

Suddenly, he fists his hand in my hair.

“Ow!” I yelp. My neck strains as he tips my head back.

Trofim gives me a tight smile. “Open your mouth, Viviana.”

If I had any extra moisture in my body at all, I’d spit at him. Instead, I slowly let my mouth fall open.

Trofim lifts the water bottle over my mouth, tipping it painfully slowly towards my parted lips. Too thirsty to be ashamed, I fight against his hold on my hair to get closer.

“Be patient,” Trofim growls. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

The first drop of water splashes into my mouth and I actually moan. It’s barely enough to bother swallowing, but I gulp at it desperately.

I’m still waiting for more water when Trofim’s mouth crashes over mine.

His tongue dives into my open mouth and I nearly gag from the force of it. I try to jerk away, but he has a firm hold on my hair.

I’m suffocating. He drops his weight onto the chain dangling from my wrists, and I’m pinned down. I can’t move, can’t breathe.

When Trofim pulls back just an inch, I gasp for air. He tugs on my hair, arching my neck even further. “Don’t fight it, Viviana.”

He leans forward to kiss me again and I flinch away. I don’t have anywhere to go, but he notices.

“The sooner you accept that you and I are going to end up together, the better off you’ll be.” His eyes are black as he leans down to kiss me again.

I squeeze my eyes closed and let him.

It’s a claiming, bruising kiss. When Trofim slides closer, I’m terrified this won’t stop at a kiss.

But finally, he pulls back.

He studies my face and I will myself not to cry. I don’t want to make him angry. Even worse, I don’t want him to like it. As soon as Trofim thinks he can torture me like this, he will.

So I meet his eyes, desperate to give him nothing.

“I can give you what you want, Viviana,” he advises, backing towards the door, taking the water bottle with him. “If you’ll let me.”

He can’t give me Dante. Or Mikhail. He can’t give me anything I want.

I can still hear the rain pounding on the roof as Trofim slips out of the room and closes the door behind him.

When I’m alone, I bury my face in the mattress and sob.

And all I can think is, What a waste of tears.

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