Page 65 of Horror and Chill
“She will if she’s hungry,” Garron replies. “And she’s smart enough to know she’ll need her strength.”
I get up and grab the bag of fish sticks from the freezer and drop them onto a sheet pan. “Then we bring it to her. Let her choose.”
Corwin snorts. “You make it sound like we’re giving her options.”
“Everything is an option if you frame it right,” I say.
By the time the oven dings, the air smells like salt and grease. Corwin piles the sticks and fries onto a plate, extra careless so the fries scatter across the counter. Garron grabs another plate and actually arranges it, neat rows, like presentation will make the situation civilized.
“Let’s see if she thanks us,” Corwin says, eyes glittering.
We climb the stairs, the wood groaning under our feet. The moment I open the bedroom door, her head snaps toward us. Her eyes blaze, wrists raw against the leather straps. She looks wild, defiant, too alive to be anyone’s captive.
Corwin strides ahead of me, setting his plate on the nightstand with a clatter. He leans over her, so close his hair falls forward, almost brushing her cheek.
“Dinner’s served, Little Horror,” he murmurs. “Bet it tastes better than spit and curses.”
She glares up at him, jaw tight. Her wrists tug against the cuffs, the chain short enough to keep her bound to the headboard even while she’s sitting up, but long enough that her arms can bend down toward her chest. “I’m not your pet.”
“Then starve,” Corwin shrugs, dropping onto the mattress beside her. He snatches his own plate back from the nightstand and digs in without hesitation. “Won’t bother me. Just means I’ll have more.”
Garron is steadier, quieter. He nudges the plate an inch closer to her. “Eat,” he says simply, not a threat, not a plea.
Agatha’s lip curls. “What’s next? You going to pat my head and tell me I’m a good girl if I chew nice?”
Corwin grins wide, leaning in close enough to brush her shoulder. “If you want.”
She jerks away from him, cuffs pulling taut, a hiss sliding through her teeth. For a moment, I think she’ll fling the plate straight to the floor just to spite us. Her eyes flick to me, searching, weighing.
I tilt my head. “Eat or don’t. It makes no difference. But you’ll need strength for what comes next.”
Her nostrils flare. I see the war in her—pride against hunger, fury against sense. Then she lowers her eyes, muttering something under her breath, snatches a fish stick with her bound hands, and places it between her teeth like she’s biting an enemy.
Corwin chuckles, delighted. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”
She chews slowly, every crunch loud, deliberate, like each bite is an insult. When she finishes, she reaches for another, devouring it like she’s proving a point.
The food doesn’t last long. Corwin keeps grinning, leaning too close, dropping little taunts between mouthfuls. Garron watches, arms crossed, steady as stone. I stay back, holding the moment, watching her eyes shift from one of us to the other. She’s fierce. She’s fire. And the night is just beginning.
When she’s finished, she pushes the plate to the side of the bed like she’s done with us as much as the food. For a moment, I think she’ll leave it at that. But then her heel lashes out, quick and sharp, and the plate skids off the mattress. It hits the floor, shatters. Pieces scatter across the wood floor.
Corwin’s on it in a heartbeat. He crouches, snatches up a jagged shard, and climbs onto the bed. “You want to throw things, Little Horror?” he snarls. He shoves her back into the mattress, the piece of ceramic pressed hard against hercollarbone. “Let’s see how sharp your games feel when you bleed for real.”
“Fuck you!” she spits, her eyes blazing.
“Quit it,” Garron growls, stepping in and grabbing Corwin by the shoulder. He yanks him back a fraction. “You’ll cut her before she has a chance to prove anything.”
Corwin’s grin is pure malice. “That’s the point, brother. If she bleeds, we see what she’s really made of.”
I don’t step in yet. I watch. Agatha’s eyes are wild; not the wide stare of prey, but sharp, calculating. She’s taking in every angle, every temper.
“You two want to rip her apart before she even has a chance to prove who she can be?” My voice cuts through low and steady, forcing them both quiet.
Corwin shoots me a look like I’ve spoiled his game. Garron exhales, grounding himself. Agatha’s gaze snaps to me.
I move closer, slow and deliberate, and place my hand on the headboard near her temple. “Say something true,” I tell her.
Her lips curl. “The truth? You’re all fucking insane.”
