Page 128 of Ashen Torment

He gestures with his hand.

“After you, Your Grace.”

I push my way under the wet lintel and try to slam the door behind me, but he thrusts a hand between the frame and the wood, holding it back.

“What damned game are you playing? Let me in,” he yells, his voice echoing through the sodden walls of the shack.

“I made myself clear,” I reply, “I want to stay away from you.”

He doesn’t let go. He pushes, and I push from my side, the wood groaning and vibrating under the pressure of our bodies.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” He shoves decisively and, with a sudden jerk, the door gives way under his strength.

It rebounds against the damp wood as he enters and slams the door shut behind him. We are both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. I take a few steps back, my gaze darting nervously over the shaky floorboards.

“Tell me, do you find this amusing?” he bellows.

I strip off my water-logged cloak and hurl it to the ground with a dull thud. The humidity stings my skin, but I ignore the cold and look around. There are spent embers and charcoal, perhaps a fire can still be lit.

“Do you intend to answer me?”

How much he talks, putain.

I check the embers and the stacked wood, then turn toward him and hold out my hand.

“Give me a match.”

“And why on earth should I?” he replies, hands still muddy and damp as he fumbles through his pockets.

I withdraw my hand with a sharp movement.

“If you wish to stay in the cold, be my guest.”

He huffs—a short, irritated sound—and finally pulls out the matchbox, flicking the lid open.

“They are soaked,” he mumbles, tossing them to the ground.

I click my tongue and move a step further, scouting the shack. Beyond the useless wood, there are only piles of animal fur blankets.

He takes off his cloak, shaking it to rid it of water, then slowly reaches down and pulls off his mud-caked boots. The jacket follows, leaving him in his waistcoat over a white shirt wet and clinging, revealing the contours of the muscles beneath the fabric.

I turn away.

I do not wish to witness such a spectacle.

I certainly do not.

“Would you care to explain the reason for your ire?”

His voice is lower, softer this time.

“Your falsity.”

“My falsity?” His brow furrows slightly.

“Because you continue to torment me! Go to Isobel and leave me in peace!”

He steps closer, and his gaze follows me wherever I move.