Page 78 of The Stolen Princess
She tore the curtain open, and his eyes went wide. What in the world had he been thinking? Myka looked incredibly appealing in the fitted clothes from pre-Desolation. Drake had never seen a woman wear clothes like that. He’d seen Myka in pants and shirt, but this took it to a whole new level. Clothes like that didn’t exist—pants and a shirt that were made specifically for a woman, fitting snugly around every curve of her body; you couldn’t find that anywhere. They weren’t essential, but man, they should be.
Drake swallowed and slowly dragged his gaze up her body to her face. Myka’s brows were bent in confusion, and she looked down at the clothes she wore.
“Do they look bad?”
“Eh, it’s fine.” He shook his head, walking to the table to grab...what? There was nothing to grab.
Shoot.
His foot knocked into the leg of a chair, sending it bumping into the table.
“You’re being weird,” she said. “They must not look good. I’m going to take them off.”
She spun around, but Drake reached his hand out to stop her.
“No! Don’t change.” She turned and the shirt twisted with her body in a really great and terrible way, and immediately Drake let go, scrubbing his hand across his face. “Can we go out to dinner?” His words came out sharp.
“I’msorryto have kept you waiting.” Her sarcasm was thick as she strode past him out the door, and suddenly his personal space was filled with her flowery scent. The smell was so good. It was like he had walked past a lilac tree on the day it blossomed. He clenched his jaw and turned his head away. What in heaven’s name had he been thinking, giving her shampoo? Was he trying to torture himself? Because everything about her clean, feminine scent made him miserable.
Drake trailed after her, rubbing his eyes.
Myka and her new clothes made everything a lot more complicated.
Myka
Dinner finished, and Myka offered to take the cast iron pot to the river to wash it out, not as a way to escape but as a way to ease her boredom. The river was close enough to the fire that Drake could still keep an eye on her but far enough away she had some privacy. The cool evening air swirled around her, and she pulled her gray jacket closed over her chest. Crickets chirped in the grass, and she waved her hand out in front of her, swiping at a mosquito.
She missed her father, the man she knew—the one who joked with her, played checkers with her, ate dinner with her. The father who was a good king, but here at camp, that man didn’t exist. Maybe he didn’t exist anywhere. Perhaps he had passed away alone, without her.
The last few days had blurred into each other as Myka had gotten lost in repetition. She was a prisoner, trapped every day in the claustrophobic walls of Drake’s shack. Each day was the same—a mixture of sleeping, pacing, banging on walls, staring at the ceiling, watching the kidnappers, listening to their stupid conversations, and waiting for Kase to come with her father’s response. She didn’t know what was taking so long.
Myka stared vacantly at the trickling river water, watching how it moved and changed direction. She would give anything to have that kind of freedom. Each day felt the same, and she didn’t have any real purpose or goal to direct her. But wasn’t that how her life had been at Tolsten House? Besides trying to get her father healthy, Myka had no purpose, no goals. It was stagnant and depressing. She was tired of being trapped by her father’s rules, watching as years of her life passed her by. She had more that she could offer the world. At least, Drake thought she had more to offer. His words the other day had taken traits that she thought were her weaknesses and turned them into something strong. Boldness. Bravery. Loyalty. It almost sounded too good to be true, but she wanted it to be true. She wanted to be made up of good attributes.
“Well, if it isn’t the princess.”
Myka startled, turning around to see Dawsick coming at her.
Wonderful. Exactly who I want to spend my time with.
Her eyes glanced back behind him. They were far enough away from the others that panic swirled around in her stomach at the thought of being alone with the disgusting man.
She bent down, picking up the pot, and started walking back to camp. “I was just leaving.”
He reached out, grabbing her elbow. “Not so fast.” There was a determined look in his dark eyes. It was that look that made her heart race.
“Let me go. Drake will be wondering where I am.”
Dawsick slung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him, so the sides of their hips touched. She smelled the trace of alcohol on his breath as he spoke. “Drake doesn’t own you.” He brushed his lips into the side of her neck, whispering in her ear, “You’ve been driving me crazy all night with your new clothes. What do you expect me to do?”
Myka pushed down her nerves and squinted her eyes at him, laying on a hard smile. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Don’t you remember what happened last time you tried to touch me?”
“I’m not scared of you,” he said, nuzzling into her check.
Myka pulled away from him, swinging the pot toward his head, but he ducked, grabbing the handle out of her hands. He threw the pot down, then stepped toward her, grabbing her by the waist, pulling her toward him.
“Let go of me,” she snarled, pushing against his chest, but he was so much bigger. She couldn’t budge him away.
One hand slid down her back, lower and lower, as his lips drew close to hers. She could smell his dinner on his breath mixed with liquor, making her nostrils burn.
