Page 55 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

She moved to the next set of windows, all locked. The glass looked ordinary, so she grabbed the fire poker from the large fireplace and swung.

The iron bar struck hard. But it made no noise at all, and the window didn’t even tremble. She smashed the iron bar against the leadlight windows a few times, but nothing happened.

In a heated rage, Angela scooped up a wooden chair and slammed it against the window. Wood cracked, and the chair leg splintered, but the glass remained perfectly intact.

Mercy. She let the remnants of the chair fall from her fingers, the desperation of being trapped made the blood roar in her ears.

“Zarek? Take me home. You have no right to do this.” With her chest heaving, she lifted the poker like it was her new pepper spray canister.

She clutched onto her new medallion, which was the size of a coin, only thinner, remembering to forcefully take that deep breath, think past the panic, and work on an escape plan.

The room was large, plush, and undeniably masculine. Sprawled over the biggest king-sized bed she’d ever seen were luxurious furs, the kind you wanted to let your fingers run through. A pair of heavy leather armchairs were set before a blackened fireplace that belonged in a fortress.

Assorted staves were carved into the slate tiles that made up the floor. The same staves ran along the walls and the bedhead like some pattern she’d seen before.

This was Zarek’s room.

“Oh, no.” Panic flared to a whole new high, as her mind filled with worst-case scenarios. Kidnapped. Hostage. Sex slave.

If she only had a weapon. And where the hell was her handbag? Her salt, athame, pepper spray, and phone. She was pretty sure it was too late to sign up for self-defense classes, but knowing how to pick a lock with splinters from a broken chair would’ve come in handy about now.

She needed a key to that door.

Angela tore through drawers, because if an iron fire poker couldn’t damage the windows, what good would it do against a warrior’s armor?

She checked under the mattress, the bathroom cabinets, but found no razor, not even matches to burn the door down.

Finally, with a white-knuckled grip on the fire poker, she had no other choice but to lock herself in the bathroom. Because a door she closed herself was at least a boundary she could claim as her own.

She leaned back against the wooden door, the poker resting along the length of her leg. Clutching her medallion, her thumb traced over its raised pattern, while trying to find a solution to this hopeless situation.

The large bathroom held another ridiculous kind of luxury with a massive shower and a bathtub large enough for two bodies. For one humiliating second, her traitorous brain flashed the image of candles, bubbles, champagne, strawberries dipped in chocolate—

She slapped her forehead, as if scolding the stray thought.

There was a quiet tap on the other side of the door. She knew who it was just by the presence that carried even through solid wood.

How was that even possible?

“Angela.” Zarek’s voice was low and controlled, like he hadn’t just committed several felonies by kidnapping her in broad daylight.

She didn’t answer, only gripping the poker tighter, raising it ready to strike when he opened that door. Or if he magically appeared behind her.

Great, now she needed eyes in the back of her head. Or a corner.

Zarek knocked again, gentler this time. “I’m sorry.”

“Then take me home.” Her voice wobbled, hating how it echoed her vulnerability against the tiles.

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“It’s a simple yes or no, buddy. You took me without my consent.” This time she made sure her voice was loud and clear.

His reply…

Silence.

The shadows shifted under the door. Leather, metal, and buckles she recognized from his armor, settled on the floor, like his back was facing her on the other side. She glared at that gap at the bottom of the door. Pity it was too thin for her to ram the poker under it.