C10 07. When even death is a luxury that cannot be afforded

My shoulder was grabbed by someone else’s fingers, and I struggled, trying to get away, but only hurting myself more.

“Foolish girl, freeze!”

And for some reason, I couldn’t disobey the blond guy’s voice. My body went limp and sagged, defying my commands.

The collar stopped beeping, the asphalt got farther down, and I was back in the office.

Kai caught me. He was breathing hard and clutching my forearm until it was bruised, and he looked so angry and defiant that only his teeth weren’t gritting in rage. Grant was holding my other hand. For a moment there appeared a smirk on his face that I didn’t understand. It was the first time he seemed to look at me with interest.

The windows were hurriedly closed, and I was dragged away from the windowsill and thrown at the feet of a silently furious Cirkul. And if I hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to my life a few seconds ago, I would have been really scared now – there were terrible tales among the people about the president’s enraged mood, but I was indifferent.

I looked up at his presidential majesty, stared straight ahead, without a trace of fear or doubt. I wanted to laugh in his face, but resisted the urge, promising myself that I would laugh to my heart’s content when would see his bloodshot eyes empty and lifeless.

He swung, the glass on his wristwatch glinting in the light, and the entire world seemed to stop before the moment my cheek burned from the impact. Unable to keep my balance, I fell down, my face kissed the floor. Fortunately, my wind-tangled hair hid the tears that splashed on my cheeks. My throat tightened with acute disappointment and failure. I wanted to cry out in helplessness and incomprehensible apathy, in feeling of hopelessness that swallowed me whole. I was choking on negative emotions, trying to breathe, but there was only an ocean of my own regret and self-pity all around.

“Grant, do something about this crazy girl,” the president’s voice sounded as if it were coming from afar.

“I will take her to the guest quarters, father,” said the guy. And I was picked up in his arms.

I only came to my senses when a warm hand brushed my hair away from my face, almost weightlessly touching it. I opened my eyelashes to meet the twinkling gaze.

Grant Cirkul, son of my greatest enemy, leaned closer, caught my glance, closed his lids for a moment, inhaling the air. I swallowed, struggling to shake off his magic, which suppressed my emotions and made my heart pound slowly and lazily.

But the more I tried, the more the dark fog of autumn melancholy and restlessness enveloped my consciousness.

“Don’t resist.”

“No! Let me off.”

The staring stopped. He pulled back, tucked the blanket up to my chin, smoothed out the non-existent folds in the fabric, and notified me with a murderously charming smile, “I won’t let you die. Not so easy.”