Page 52 of Serpent King's Prisoner

She set her fork down with a clink against the plate and looked up at me, her green eyes bright with a challenge. “Next time, you have to let me cook for you.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I leaned forward, my arms braced on the counter. “After that stunt with the shiv, you think I’m gonna let you near a knife?”

Her cheeks flushed with color, but she held my gaze. “I can handle knives just fine without using them on you. You might actually get a decent meal out of it.”

“Decent?” I smirked, pushing off the counter to collect our empty plates. “This was more than decent.”

“Sure, Nathan.” She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The banter felt oddly normal, a reprieve from the heavy cloud of tension that usually hung between us. And yet, even as we traded jabs, the air was charged, a reminder that nothing about this situation was normal at all.

When I turned around, though, her smile had faded as quickly as it had appeared, and she watched me with a new intensity. “How long do you plan on keeping me here, Nathan?” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the edge to it, the undercurrent of her fear and frustration.

“That’s none of your business,” I replied flatly, avoiding her gaze as I scraped leftovers into the trash. The words felt harsh, even to my own ears, but I couldn’t afford to give her hope where there was none.

“None of my business?” The incredulity in her voice was clear as she pushed away from the bar and stood up, her eyes narrowing. “My own life is none of my business?”

“You know what I meant.” I turned to face her, locking my jaw. This conversation was veering off into dangerous territory, and I needed to steer it back, re-establish control. “As far as you’re concerned, this is your reality now.”

She stiffened, and for a second, I thought she might actually hit me. But instead, she just stood there, green eyes blazing, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“I need to remind you of exactly what you are,” I continued, my voice low. I stepped closer, watching as her defiance wavered, giving way to an unspoken understanding of the power I held over her.

“Your toy,” she whispered, the word a mix of contempt and resignation. And…something else.

I was almost certain. But maybe I was just telling myself that. Whatever her feelings were, I couldn’t afford to get swept up in them.

“Exactly.” The word was a declaration, a seal over whatever relationship we had. I wasn’t sure if I meant it to remind her or myself, but it hung heavy in the air between us.

Our gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

She was the first to cave.

She sat back down quietly, the energy from our earlier exchange gone as if it had never been.

“Next time, I’ll make something better,” I said after a while, breaking the quiet that had settled between us. It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as I’d get.

“Next time,” she echoed, a hint of that earlier challenge returning to her eyes.

But then she shook her head slightly—accepting, for the moment at least, the twisted reality of her situation.

Instead of feeling victorious, and even though I was full, when I looked at her right then…all I could feel was hunger.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Abby

The last bite of dinner settled heavy in my stomach, like I’d swallowed a chunk of lead. The silence that followed was thick, a tangible thing that seemed to choke the air from the room. I watched Nathan across the island, his eyes dark and unreadable, as distant as if he were planning his next move in some high-stakes game I wasn’t privy to.

“Need help cleaning up?” My voice cut through the quiet, sounding too eager in my own ears. But anything was better than this wordless standoff.

Nathan’s gaze flicked to me, a slight furrow creasing his brow as if he weighed the risk of my offer. “You want to help?” he asked, skeptical.

“Sure,” I said with forced brightness. “You wash, I’ll dry. Unless you think I’m gonna take you down with a dish towel.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Abby, I’m twice your size. There’s not much you could do that I couldn’t stop. But if you want to try…”

“Right.” I chuckled, feeling the tension ebb slightly. It was good for me that he wasn’t feeling threatened. “Because clearly, I’m the master of spoon-fu.”

It was a bad joke. “That’s racist,” he said flatly.

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