"Kneel."
The softly spoken word pulled her from her thoughts, and she almost knelt in automatic response to the command she'd heard so many times. This place was playing with her senses, sapping her free will, and she had to force herself to hold her ground, concentrate. She shook her head and took a step back.
His eyes narrowed.
Freya breathed deeply and focused her mind and her body on the fight to come. She couldn't win; she was smaller and unarmed, while he wore a long silver dagger strapped to his thigh. But she'd had over twenty years of freedom—a freedom she had never even suspected existed—and she would rather die by his knife than go back to the old servitude.
Besides, she suspected this must be a way of putting her in her place, making her remember who she was. They would break her if they could and then use her to get to Shayla—if she was dead, they could never do that.
She had a moment of regret that she wouldn't see Shayla again. She pushed it aside—her daughter was strong, beautiful, and free. Freya had given her that, and it must be enough.
Without thinking further, she whirled around and kicked out at his lower legs. He stumbled, and she kicked again, aiming for his chest. With her bare feet, she couldn't do much harm, but maybe she could knock him down, snatch his dagger...
Instead, he moved faster than she could follow, his fingers wrapping around her ankle, and he yanked her toward him and off balance. She smashed into him, and they both crashed to the floor. The warlock landed on top of her, and the breath left her lungs in a whoosh.
She sprawled, dazed beneath the long, hard body. He swore softly and then shifted on her so he lay against the cradle of her hips. At the feel of his hardening shaft pushing at her belly, she fought again. His strength was almost inhuman, but she managed to get her hands between them and shoved at him with all her might. It wasn't enough, and he didn't budge, just pressed her further into the soft carpet.
"Stop it," he ground out, his voice low. "I don't want to hurt you."
She twisted and turned, and he grabbed her shoulders in his big hands, leaned in close, and whispered against her ear, "Behave. We may be being watched."
