Page 6 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

“I want you to understand the full extent of what you’ve gained for yourself today.” His tone carries that dangerous edge I’ve learned means he’s about to demonstrate something terrible, the same one he used before having a young servant hanged in his courtyard.

“Gained?” I spit the word like poison. “You mean what you’ve forced on me.”

“Semantics,” he replies coolly. “Continue walking.”

The farther I move from him, the tighter the ribbons become, their Cinderella-blue surface now gleaming with an otherworldly light that reminds me of the transport gate.

Two more steps, and they start to hurt, the magic burning cold against my skin like frostbite. Four more, and my wrists slam together as if the ribbons are attached to one another by invisible bonds, the impact hard enough to make me gasp.

I try to stop then, but Ivrael shakes his head, his golden hair catching the light. “Not yet.”

“My lord,” Khrint intervenes quietly, “perhaps?—”

“Silence,” Ivrael commands, never taking his eyes off me.

Izzy watches wordlessly, but I can see her taking in every interaction between Ivrael and me.

Another two steps, and my hands rise above my head, their movement totally outside my control. The magic pulses through the ribbons like a living thing, as cold as Ivrael’s touch but somehow darker, more malevolent. No matter how much I try to lower my arms, how hard I will it, my muscles trembling and aching with the strain, I have no control over them.

“Interesting,” Ivrael murmurs, studying my reaction with clinical detachment. “The ribbons respond to both physical distance and intent.”

“I’m not your experiment.” I glare back at him.

“No,” he agrees softly. “You’re something far more valuable.”

Izzy’s hand drifts up to cover her mouth, but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers. Despite her usual composure, she’s frightened—not for herself, but for me. I see her other hand curl into a fist at her side, the same way it did when Roland would go into one of his rages.

“Take one more step,” Ivrael says, his voice as hard and cold as the icicles hanging from his manor. Yet once again, something flickers in those strange eyes of his—something that looks almost like pain. For a moment, the formal mask slips, revealing something raw underneath before he reconstructs his perfect composure.

“It hurts,” I manage to grit out between my teeth. The magic burns like frostbite now, spreading from the ribbons up my arms in tendrils of ice-white pain. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What I want,” he says with deadly precision, “is for you to understand exactly what defiance will cost you.”

Izzy might not completely understand what she’s seeing, but when she realizes it’s truly hurting me, her protective instincts override her usual careful analysis. “Stop. You’ve made your point.”

“Oh, I don’t think I have,” Ivrael replies, then flicks his fingers toward me in a gesture I’ve seen him use to direct his ice constructs. Magic ripples through the air like heat waves, but cold instead of hot. “Another step.”

“You’re hurting her,” Izzy protests, leaning forward before Khrint’s hand on her arm stops her from moving. “This isn’t necessary.”

“On the contrary,” Ivrael responds, never looking away from me. “This is entirely necessary. Another step, Lara.”

I’m already in pain, the magic pulsing through me like liquid nitrogen, but I follow his instructions, taking one more step. It’s as if my hands are attached to the point in space where they rose above my head, anchored there by supernatural forces I don’t understand. I can’t bring them with me, and if I take one more step, I’m afraid I might dislocate my shoulders. The tendons strain audibly with the effort, and tears of pain blur my vision.

“Please,” I whisper, hating myself for begging but unable to stop the word.

Something shifts in Ivrael’s expression—a crack in his perfect mask. “That’s enough,” he finally says, and for a moment, I think I hear genuine relief in his voice. “Come back to me.”

Tears in my eyes—tears of pain, of frustration, of sheer, impotent fury—I follow his instructions, certain my glare is as frigid as his voice.

As I move back toward him, I catch Izzy’s expression. She’s watching Ivrael now, and I recognize that look. It’s the same one she wore when calculating complex equations in school—like she’s solving a puzzle. Her eyes dart between his face and mine, noting every micro-expression, every subtle tell.

Whatever she’s figured out about him, I hope it helps us survive what’s coming.

“A reminder,” Ivrael says softly as I reach him, his breath ghosting cold against my ear, “that some cages don’t require bars to be effective.”

“I hate you,” I whisper back, the words carrying all the heat his voice lacks.

His lips curve in that empty smile again. “That’s probably wise.”

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