Page 101 of The Stolen Princess
The locks on the door outside jingled, and Myka sat up. She didn’t even know if she wanted to see Drake right now.
The door opened, and a flashing light swung in front of her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She looked through her squinted vision to see Dawsick holding a lantern in one hand and a cup in the other. He stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut.
“Hey, princess,” his words were slurred.
Myka slowly stood from the cot as a shudder rippled through her body. She glanced at the door out of habit, but Drake wasn’t coming to save her. Dawsick took a drink from his cup, then spun around before setting it and the lantern on the table. He was drunk. She’d seen her father act this way a few times, and she’d also seen Dawsick act like this the night he’d approached her by the river.
“What are you doing here?” Myka’s eyes darted to the cup he’d left on the table, and she prayed that there was still some liquid in there.
“I thought...you might...be lonely in here.” He stumbled over his words again.
“I’m not lonely,” she said as her hand went into her jacket pocket, feeling the rigid lid of the pill bottle. She would need both hands to get the cap off. Pre-Desolation people were serious about the lids on their medicine bottles. Her fingers closed around the bottle, and she pulled it out of her jacket, hoping her hand mostly hid it from Dawsick.
He tripped toward her, combing his dirty fingers through her hair. Myka flinched away, and both arms went behind her back as she struggled to open the medicine bottle with a combination of pushing down and twisting.
What is it with these lids?
“Come here, princess.” Dawsick moved his arms around her waist as the lid popped off.
She fisted her hands around the bottle and the lid and pushed against his chest. “I’m already here.” Somehow she had to get out of Dawsick’s arms and over to his cup. Fighting him wasn’t going to work, so she switched tactics. “Why don’t you sit down on the cot, and I’ll get you your drink.” Her voice turned sultry, a definite difference from the cold way she’d spoken to him every other time they’d talked. Any non-drunk man would notice something was off, but Dawsick seemed thrilled by it.
He stumbled to the cot, kicking off his shoes. Myka went to the table, peering into the cup. There was still some liquid inside. She dumped the powder from the drugs into his drink. She set the bottle down and picked up the cup, turning to him with a smile plastered on her lips. As she walked toward Dawsick,she tried to shake the contents inside so that the powder would mix with the liquid.
“You should finish your drink. Something this valuable shouldn’t go to waste.” She handed him the cup, tilting her shoulder in what she hoped was a flirtatious way, but she probably looked more awkward than seductive. At that moment, she was grateful for the impairment alcohol caused.
Dawsick took the cup from her, and Myka watched in silence, hoping he would take a drink. Instead, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pulled her down next to him on the cot. Her heart beat quickly inside her chest as her mind screamed at him to drink it.
Drink it!
He leaned in close to her cheek, and the rough hair from his goatee brushed up against her skin. Her eyes stayed locked on the cup, worrying that he might spill it.
“You smell good,” he said, sniffing the side of her neck. Then without warning, he pulled back and took a long swig from his cup. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He grimaced, and his tongue rubbed the top of his mouth. Had he noticed a difference in texture from the powder? He looked inside the cup with wide eyes then threw it across the room, the tin sides hitting against the wood.
He drank it.
A rush of relief spilled over her. Now she hoped the heavy dose of drugs would do something—anything—that would make it so she could escape. His hands went to her shoulders, and he pulled her in for a kiss. Myka wanted to react. She wanted to lean away and punch Dawsick in the face, but she needed to stall. She needed to give the drugs time to work. So she sat there rigid, letting Dawsick kiss her.
His kiss was disgusting, nothing like what she had experienced with Drake. Drake’s kiss had been fire. This kiss was nauseating. Dawsick’s goatee poked her in the lips and tickled her nose. The taste of alcohol was fresh on his tongue, and there seemed to be an excessive amount of saliva. He really put thesickin Dawsick and kissed exactly like how she would expect a Horseface would.
Myka couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed him away and stood before he had the chance to take things further.
His eyes darkened. “What was that?”
She forced a smile. “I thought we could talk for a minute.”
Dawsick shook his head. “I’m not here to talk.”
No, he was not.
He stood and walked toward her like an animal on the prowl. There was nowhere for Myka to go. The shack was small, and she didn’t want to get caught against the wall, trapped by Dawsick’s body. As he approached, she rotated and walked back the way he’d come. He followed like it was some sort of game of tag.
“You’re from New Hope, right?” she blurted out, trying to do anything she could think of to distract him.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. “Yes,” he whispered, then he kissed her again.
Myka should be glad that she had something to compare Drake’s kiss to. At least now she knew that not every kiss felt like the one she’d had with Drake.
She pushed Dawsick away again, but he grabbed her arms. “Where are you going?”
