Page 129 of Ashen Torment

“And you? Why flee if Agnes’s company is so pleasing to you?”

I spin around and strip off my jacket, then my waistcoat, leaving my chest swathed in the wet shirt. With a sharp motion, I hurl my shoes toward the wall. The impact echoes against the damp wood.

“And besides, Agnes is older than you,” he comments. “You are too young.”

“You are also older than me,” I retort.

I feel him staring at me, my cheeks ignite, and I hasten to correct myself.

“I mean... you are in no position to speak of age.”

He lowers himself slowly and sits on the damp wooden floor, knees bent. He buries his face in his hands, his wet hair sliding over his fingers and down his cheeks, plastered to his glinting skin. The water makes him look paler, almost spectral in the dim light of the shack.

“There is a misunderstanding with Isob—”

“I do not care.”

He grinds his teeth.

“Evidently you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have fled!”

His words hit me full force. I turn and grab two fur blankets, tossing one toward him.

“Whither has your courtesy vanished?” his voice vibrates through the beams, a distant thunder answering my gesture.

I ignore him and crouch in a corner of the shack with the fur blanket pulled tight around my shoulders.

He stands with slow movements and sits beside me.

“I have no interest in Isobel.”

“Good for you,” I mutter, keeping my eyes fixed on the damp rafters of the roof.

I don’t care.

“I have never harbored any interest in her.”

Still don’t care.

Moments of silence pass.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Now you should say that you harbor no interest in Agnes.”

I turn toward him, eyes wide, heart accelerating, shocked by the words just uttered by this man.

“Why should I make such a statement?”

The veins in Dorian’s temples bulge, his arms strain beneath the damp shirt, an animal tremor running through his skin.

“Because—wait, would you tell me it’s the opposite, by any chance?”

I turn away.

“It is none of your business.”