His Thief, His Curse
“You must make him give it to you.”
The dungeon bells rang.
My jaw clenched. I turned away without another glance, my boots echoing as I strode toward the open doors.
I already knew why the bells had been sounded. And as I stepped into the corridor, my suspicions were confirmed.
___________
Zeke. The thief who had stolen my salvation. He was bold, I’d give him that, but he was weak. Stupid. And worst of all, mine.
Fate be damned.
Curses be damned, because I would not—could not—be tied to this reckless, mouthy creature who knew nothing of silence, of obedience.
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