Bloodlines and Bullets

fifteen

He watches me with those cold, calculating eyes, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. Every instinct screams at me to flee, to escape the suffocating presence that threatens to swallow me whole. But I don't move. I can't move. I force myself to stand my ground, to hold onto whatever shred of dignity I have left.

For a long, agonizing moment, he says nothing, just stares at me with that dark, unreadable gaze. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it echoing in my ears, feel it thrumming against my ribcage. Fear coils tighter in my stomach.

Finally, he speaks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You think this is a game, Thalia?" His words are a slow, deliberate drawl, each syllable dripping with venom. "You think you can defy me and walk away unscathed?"

His hand snaps out, faster than I can react, and before I know it, his fingers are gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear down my spine, but I grit my teeth, refusing to flinch. I can feel the cold press of his skin, the sheer strength in his grip - a reminder of just how easily he could crush me if he wanted to.

He leans in closer, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, little girl," he murmurs, his voice softening to something almost tender. But there's no kindness in it - only malice, only the promise of pain. "I could destroy you without even lifting a finger. Don't think for one second that you're safe. Not from me."

I swallow hard, fighting to keep my expression neutral, but I can't stop the tremor that runs through me. I'm not safe - I've never been safe. Not with him.

But I'm tired of being afraid. Tired of playing his games, of being at his mercy. I meet his gaze head-on, forcing myself to hold it, even as every muscle in my body screams at me to look away.

"If you're going to threaten me," I say, my voice stronger than I feel, "you'd better be prepared to follow through."

For a moment, there's nothing but silence between us, a heavy, suffocating silence that makes it hard to breathe. His eyes narrow, his grip on my chin tightening to the point of pain, and I brace myself for whatever comes next. I expect him to lash out, to make good on his threats, to remind me just how little power I truly have.

But then, without warning, he releases me, stepping back with a sharp, almost dismissive movement. It's as if he's lost interest, as if my defiance is nothing more than an inconvenience to be brushed aside. He regards me with cold disdain, his eyes raking over me like I'm something filthy that he can't quite get rid of.

"Fine," he says, his voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. "You want to go out? Then go. But know this - you're only free because I'm allowing it. You step out of line, and I'll make sure you regret it."

I blink, stunned. This... this isn't what I expected. I thought he'd keep me locked up, thought he'd revel in his control, in his power over me. But instead, he's letting me go - no, allowing me to go, reminding me that even this small victory is on his terms. A sick twist of dread unfurls in my gut, but I force it down, refusing to let him see how deeply his words have shaken me.

"Thank you," I say, though the words taste bitter on my tongue.

It's not gratitude - it's survival, a way to appease the monster so I can live to fight another day. I take a step back, my body tense, ready to flee. But he's not done with me yet.

"One more thing," he says, his voice soft, almost amused. "You will return by midnight. No excuses, no exceptions. If you're late, even by a minute... I'll come find you myself."

The threat hangs in the air, dark and oppressive, and I nod stiffly, knowing there's no room for negotiation. He watches me for another heartbeat, his gaze lingering on me like a predator sizing up its prey, before he finally waves a hand in dismissal.