Page 55 of Poisoned Vows

“No. I don’t think so, little rabbit. But you’re welcome to try.”

Something about the look on her face makes me think I ought to handcuff her to the bed. The idea has certain merits, and I don’t entirely rule it out. But for now, I’m going to let it be.

And I’ll see what happens next.

Lilliana

I’d done my best to hide my fear from Nikolai last night, when he first brought up the topic of a hunting trip. I hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction of seeing me even more terrified than before—I think a small part of me had hoped that if he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he might drop the idea altogether. After all, doesn’t a predator want their prey to be afraid? Isn’t the fear part of the thrill?

But when I wake up the next morning and see that Nikolai has taken the liberty of setting out clothes for me—on the same wing chair where he fucked me last night—that cold wash of terror chills me down to my bones.

To my surprise, he’s not there next to me. I’d expected to wake up to him still in bed, expecting me to satisfy his desires. I’d braced myself for his body leaning against mine, hard cock nestled against my ass, hands roving over me as he demanded more pleasure—and more of mine that I didn’t want to give him. But instead, I wake to an empty, peaceful bed—or at least as peaceful as it can be when I see the clothes laid out and realize that he wasn’t joking about it—he hasn’t changed his mind.

There are jeans and a heavy, cream-colored wool sweater folded neatly on the chair, with a durable work-style coat draped over the arm and lace-up hiking boots in front of it. Something about how intentional it is only amplifies my fear. Like he’s dressing me up for whatever he has planned.

Is he going to hunt me?It feels like the most insane thing I could possibly imagine. What kind of man marries a woman and then takes her out into the woods to use her as prey? But what kind of man is Nikolai Vasilev, anyway? I don’treallyknow him, and the kind of man who would do that is the same kind of man who would play sick mind games with me—who would cook me a meal with his own hands and pretend to play house, all the while planning to hunt me down in the woods for sport.

Krolik. Little rabbit.The nickname feels ominous now, rather than just his idea of a bad joke. My thoughts start to spin out of control, thinking back over everything that’s happened. Nikolai is a brutal man; I know that. Did he see me in his father’s study and imagine me as the perfect prey—naive, innocent, and sheltered? Was he aroused by the idea of making me think he’d married me out of lust or to keep me out of his father’s hands, knowing that, ultimately, we’d end up here?

Has he ever done this before?

I clutch the blanket to my chest, my heart racing so hard that it almost hurts. I feel frozen, staring at the clothes, as if getting up and putting them on will start some ticking clock that ends with me running for my life through snowy woods, playing hide and seek with a psychopath. But what is the alternative? I can’t just sit here and wait for him to come for me. One way or another, I’ll end up out of this bed, dressed, and on that hiking trail. I have no doubt about that. The only choice I have is how that plays out.

I can go along with it, keep my dignity, and—maybe try to find some way to escape? I don’t know exactly where we are, and running from a man with a gun who might want to hunt me sounds like playing exactly into his hands. So—what? I pretend to go along with this little hunting trip until he tips his hand?

There’s no real plan that I can think of that ends in any good outcome for me. But fighting or running sounds like it might be exactly what he wants. I have to try to play it against him, if that’s really what’s happening here.

Quickly, I get out of bed and get dressed, before he can come up and see me naked and get any ideas. The fact that I woke up this morning without his hands on me feels like a reprieve, and I don’t want anything to change that.

Don’t you?That small, needling voice speaks in my ear as I dress, poking at me.Don’t you secretly enjoy what he does to you? Doesn’t it get you wet? You can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

It’s just a physical reaction,I tell myself firmly as I slip into the jeans and sweater and lace up the boots, pulling my long hair back into a ponytail.It doesn’t mean anything. I can’t control it, but I can control what I think and say. That’s what matters.I can keep trying to resist him.

Although, if he really has in mind what I think he might, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

It’s hard to fight back the fear as I go downstairs. I can smell the food as soon as I reach the stairs, and I pause for a moment, reminding myself not to show how afraid I am. If he doesn’t think he’s gotten a reaction out of me, maybe that will buy me time.

Nikolai is in the kitchen, making breakfast, and I’m once again startled by the sight of him cooking. I’d never imagined the brutal Vasilev heir making me bacon and eggs.

He pushes a plate in front of me almost as soon as I sit down at the island. “Orange juice?” he asks, nodding towards what looks like a fresh-squeezed pitcher. I narrow my eyes at him, forcing myself not to think about my suspicions. To treat this like any other morning, any other meal I’ve had to spend with him.

“What’s the deal here?” I pour some into the glass anyway. Despite my fear, I’m starving. I’ve never been allowed to eat anything I want, and everything I’ve had since I came to stay with Nikolai and his family is delicious. I’ve given up trying to pretend that I’m going to hunger strike my way out of this. “Why are you playing house-husband?”

“I like cooking for myself here.” He adds bacon and eggs to another plate for himself and goes to sit across from me at the island, the same way he did the night before at dinner.

“You like playing normal?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “There’s no one to fawn over you out here.”

“Maybe I enjoy that.” He cocks his head at me. “Have you ever considered that?”

“No.” I stab a piece of bacon with my fork. “Men like you always like to be fawned over. You feed off of it. The attention. The fear.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Lilliana.” His voice lowers, and there’s a thread of something dangerous in it. It makes me want to push a little more.

“Maybe you should have told me more, before you married me.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

We stare at each other from across the island, and he lets out a long breath. “We could try to enjoy today,” he suggests. “Get to know each other a little.”

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