¬ Hiln
The words tore out of my throat before the doors even finished slamming against the walls.
Fashire looked up from his seat, and his lack of reaction momentarily floored me.
He leaned back, a bit too relaxed for my liking, and it only made my anger heat up.
"You are a constant thorn in my side," he mumbled.
My nails dug into my palms so hard I felt the skin threaten to break. "You make me sick! And you think you aren't? You sentenced me to death!"
"Did I?"
"Don't play games with me!" I stormed further into the room. "You know what you did!"
He remained sitting still. Why did he look so calm?
Just the evening before, this bastard was so starved for my blood to the extent he had actually gone down on his knees.
My chest heaved. My blood roared in my ears.
The calm on his face made me want to claw it off.
"How fitting," I spat. "You can't touch me, so you'd have the others do the dirty work for you. You're pathetic."
He rose slowly.
