Page 115 of Bonds of Hate

My mind sticks to the fact that he is about to do something that could be painful.

A familiar burning sensation spreads through my chest, the first stirrings of genuine panic. But I force all the words out, anyway. “Please, tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m doing what I should have done from the very beginning.” His face hovers over mine, blocking out the harsh overhead light. His sea salt scent mingles with the antiseptic, making my stomach roll. “The moment you walked back into the palace, I knew trouble would follow. To be fair, you still surprised me with just how much trouble it would be.”

My lips part to argue, but the words die in my throat as the cold metal of the scalpel presses against my skin. The familiar position, the clinical smell, the bite of restraint.

“Please,” I whisper, hating how weak my voice sounds. “Poe, please don’t?—“

“Shhh. I told you about talking.”

I watch the scalpel press into the tense bulge of my upper arm. As promised, I don’t feel any pain, but the anesthetic does nothing to prevent a wash of nausea as blood beads on my skin.

Poe makes an incision barely the length of a fingernail before setting down the scalpel. He uses a pair oftweezers to pick up a tiny metal disc between the tips and holds it close enough for me to see.

“This is a tracking device, one of the most advanced available.” He says it conversationally, like this situation is entirely commonplace and not a gross violation of my body. “As long as you’re still in its range, say about a hundred miles, I’ll be able to pinpoint your location to within a few feet.”

When I pull at the nylon straps holding down my wrists, the movement tenses the muscle enough that the wound in my arm fills with bright red blood. Poe gives me a chastising look as he blots the cut with a piece of gauze.

My fear has faded somewhat, if just because he was telling the truth about the lack of pain.

“Why am I tied down?” I demand.

His eyebrow quirks. “You actually expect me to believe that you would sit still for this just because I asked?”

The answer to that is obvious, so I don’t bother saying it out loud.

I have to turn away when the tracking device pushes gently under my skin, fighting back the urge to vomit. He sutures the slight wound neatly enough that this can’t be the first time he’s done it. After wiping away a few errant drops of blood, he sits back and stares for a long moment.

“Should come in handy the next time someone tries to fucking kidnap you.”

It’s only then that I realize the cold distance in his demeanor is the easiest mask he can conjure for his rage.

Poe is angry. Possibly even angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. His eyes glitter with barely contained fury, just waiting for a chance to be unleashed.

I pitch my voice to something softer, like I’m not terrified out of my mind. “You didn’t find him.”

It isn’t a question.

He regards me with a gaze full of dark promise. “I will.”

I pull at the restraints again until a light twinge of pain arrests my movement. Guess the anesthetic is wearing off. “You can untie me now.”

Poe shifts closer on the bed, looming over me as he studies my face. He makes no move to undo the nylon straps.

The receding edge of my anxiety rears back as a pregnant silence grows between us.

“I have questions,” he says finally.

I pull at the restraints again, harder this time despite the way the movement pulls at my new sutures. “Let me go first.”

“I like you the way you are for now.” His fingers gently trace the pulse in my wrist, just below the stiff nylon wrapped around my wrist. “Who knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again?”

“I’ll scream,” I threaten.

“Wouldn’t blame you. Unfortunately, no one will hear it.” He jerks his head toward the closed door I can only presume is also locked. “Everyone is busy with the clean-up effort. They won’t be back for hours.”

“Poe…”

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