Page 136 of Malicent
I don’t bother knocking. I kick in the door.
Inside, a sobbing girl is tied to the bed, her whole body trembles. Cage stands beside her, his face unreadable. The moment his eyes find mine, annoyance flickers across his features.
“Do you not know how to knock?”
“Are you so bad in bed you make girls cry?”
He rolls his eyes, exasperated by my antics.
“I need my collar off,” I snap. “I can search minds since clearly you’re not doing it.” I cross my arms, leaning against the frame.
He glances over me, taking a quick sweep, noting the blood.
“No, you already have blood on you. I take the collar off and there’ll be more.”
My jaw tightens. I barely resist the urge to argue. Only the urgency of our mission keeps me from throwing something.
I glance down. Damn it! Ididmiss some blood on my gown.
My foot begins tapping impatiently. “Then can you actually use your damn powers?”
“What do you think I’m doing, Millicent?” He throws a hand toward the sobbing girl on the bed. “Use your goddamn eyes!”
I cross the room and pause beside the girl.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Not quite like mine, but close enough to make me wonder. Did he pick and torture her as a proxy for me.
“What does she know?” I ask.
“Arella. She’s the Madame here. I’m trying to find her.”
“P-please,” the girl stammers trying to stifle her trembling voice. “He’s insane.”
I feel it, the perfect opening.
“He is,” I whisper. “And he’ll pay.”
My hand moves smoothly to the dagger strapped at my thigh. In one quick motion, I slice through her bindings.
Cage steps forward to stop me, but my blade meets his abdomen. He freezes.
“What are you doing?” He growls, practically snarling inches from my face.
“Taking you in.”
Before he can process the full intent behind my words, my free hand strikes the side of his neck. A perfect pressure point. He drops like a stone.
His head slams against the floor. Satisfaction blooms in my chest.His head did hit the floor hard.He’ll be fine. Probably.
Do I need to spit on him?
Yes.
I make sure I spit right on his face. Then I turn to the girl. softening my features.
“What’s your name?” I ask gently, helping her sit up.
“Morana,” she sniffs, rubbing at her purpled wrists.
