Page 49 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“The flowers and the abduction weren’t related,” he said flatly. “And anyway, I can’t exactly abduct you again, can I?”

“Guess not,” I conceded, letting a smirk curl my lips. Trying to keep the conversation going—and maybe learn something useful—I leaned against the counter casually, watching him. “Why did you take me, Nathan?”

He paused, a can of soup in hand, and finally turned to look at me. His gaze was impassive, but I could see something dark lurking beneath the surface. “I should have killed you,” he said flatly. “But I don’t like hurting women...and I guess I actually like you.”

“Strange way to show affection,” I shot back, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“Affection is buying flowers and snacks,” he replied, almost defensively. Then, as if remembering himself, he added, “I need to pat you down. Make sure you don’t make any more weapons.”

“Don’t you need to put the rest of the groceries away first?”

“I’m done,” he replied. “Come here. Raise your arms.”

I complied silently, raising my arms and allowing his hands to roam over my body. When he reached my breasts, my hips, I felt that unwanted heat again, my body betraying me with its response to his touch. He was deliberate, methodical, but his touch lingered on my breasts, grazing the curve of my waist, the dip of my hips. He reached his fingers down below the waistband of the shorts he’d bought–again, the ones he’d given me without any underwear–and reached down for a second, pressing a rough finger inside of me, watching me with his cold gaze but the hint of a smile on his face. “Do I have to check your other holes, Abby?”

“No,” I managed to choke out, my face burning with embarrassment. The violation had been complete, and the small mercy of not having to endure more felt like a pointless victory.

“Good,” he said, pulling his hand away from me. His fingers were glistening, and a wave of horror washed over me as he brought them to his lips, tasting me with a satisfied expression. “I can’t get over how good you taste.”

I hated how much I missed having his finger inside of me. I pushed the thought away, forcing myself to speak instead. “You didn’t find anything, though, did you?”

“Nothing.” He sounded almost disappointed, his touch lingering a fraction too long on the bare skin of my waist, between my shirt and my shorts. “You can lower your arms.”

“Thanks for the permission,” I muttered, dropping my arms with a hint of defiance. I couldn’t tell if the heat in my cheeks was from embarrassment or anger—or maybe it was something else entirely.

“Keep it smart, Abby,” he warned, his gaze locking onto mine. It wasn’t just a look; it was a challenge, a silent dare to step out of line again.

“Smart’s my middle name,” I shot back, even though it felt very much like a lie.

“Good,” Nathan said curtly. “Stay that way, and you’ll stay loose. No more attempts on my life.”

“Guess I’ll have to find new hobbies,” I retorted, trying to mask the unease settling in my stomach.

“Or you could try sleeping,” he offered, nodding toward the bedroom. “You look like hell.”

“Wonder why. You couldn’t get me underwear instead of flowers?”

He laughed, a full on belly laugh which…surprised me. That was the first time I had ever heard him laugh, really, and I was pretty sure I liked it. I didn’t want to like it, but I did.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward a stool on the kitchen island. “I’ll make us some food.”

I nodded, my heart in my throat. Food sounded nice…but then what? What would happen after this?

Part of me didn’t want to find out.

And the other part…the other part was dying to know.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Nathan

This could have been downright domestic, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d taken this woman prisoner.

I pulled all my cooking supplies out of the locked cabinet in the kitchen, the code necessary in case I had ever needed a makeshift prison cell. Especially after Abby’s attempt at hiding a shiv, I was glad I’d put contingency plans in place; they’d saved my life before, and they’d likely save my life again.

The sound of the TV switching channels punctuated the silence of the room as I chopped vegetables, preparing the simplest meal I knew how to make. Abby, with her green eyes sharp as jade, moved like a shadow between the flickering glow of the screen and the kitchen counter, watching me or the TV. She’d flip through a few stations, pause, and then drift back toward me, her gaze curious, almost cat-like.

“Can’t find anything good?” I asked without turning, feeling her presence near the threshold of the kitchen.

“Nothing’s catching my interest,” she replied, her voice betraying a mix of boredom and something else—was it anticipation?

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