“No.” His head bent, his voice low. “It’s time to learn a vital lesson.”
His hold was absolute. The powerlessness she felt sliced cold fear through her. “Let go. Now!”
Bennick’s eyebrows drew together. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then let go!”
“No. You need to break free.”
“What?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, and for that alone she wanted to hit him. “Break free,” he repeated. “It’s the only way you’re getting loose, because I’m not going to let go.”
Her pulse kicked as she stared up at him, her empty hands tingling. With how he held them, elbows bent and palms facing her, she could feel the blood draining from her fingertips. She knew he wasn’t lying—he wasn’t going to let go.
She yanked her arms.
He barely rocked forward and his hands didn’t give. “Pretend I’m attacking you. Break free.”
Clare’s mouth firmed and she pulled until her wrists strained and a grunt escaped her. Bennick’s hold only tensed.
She redoubled her efforts, ignoring the bruises his fingers were surely forming on her skin.
After a silent moment of struggle, Bennick spoke. “You’ll need to actually try.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. “I don’t think an attacker would be this aggravating.”
“Probably not,” he allowed. “They’d just kill you. Now come on. Show me what you’re capable of.”
She ground her teeth and pulled again.
After an unsuccessful moment, he said, “My grip is weakest at my thumbs.”
She adjusted, grunting as she twisted against his hold; all she gained was a deeper throbbing around her wrists. She stopped and glared at him. “You’re stronger than I am.”
“Yes.” He was infuriatingly calm.
Her glare sharpened. “Is that what you want to teach me? That I’ll be weaker than my attackers? That I can’t win?”
“You might be physically weaker, but that doesn’t mean you can’t win. There’s a different lesson here.” He dug in his heels, settling back as if getting comfortable. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Her face was flushed from anger and exertion. “Why don’t you just tell me?”
“This is a lesson you need to teach yourself.”
Her lip curled. “I think you’re a lazy teacher.”
His mouth twitched. “Quit stalling.”
A growl rolled up her throat. He claimed the point wasn’t to teach her she was powerless, but that was how she felt. It was how she’d felt too often in her life. The pain, humiliation, and hopelessness of all those moments slammed into her, ugly and horrible and raw.
Screaming asher father washauledfromthehouse bysoldiers. Kneeling at her mother’s fresh grave, only a child but now a mother herself. Clutching a three-year-old Mark and begging the fates to take away his fever, because she didn’t know how to save him. Eliot marching from the house, leaving her behind. Every hour she slaved in the castle kitchen. Her wrongful arrest and the moment she’d been forced to give her oath. Mark, screaming for her as she climbed into the carriage.
Her insides were flayed open. Her breath rattled out of her and when she looked up and saw Bennick watching her, waiting for her to do the impossible, something in her snapped.
Clare dropped, throwing her body down.
Bennick grunted and shoved back his shoulders, centering their weight as he still held her captive. A vein in his forehead stood out and his knuckles were white. He eyed her with approval, but she didn’t dwell on that.
She lunged forward, pushing between their arms and invading his space, but he merely stepped back to compensate for her advance. She jerked back, using his grip on her wrists as an anchor so she could shove her foot against his shin without losing balance. He swayed from the planted kick—even hissed out a breath—but when their eyes locked he grinned, his hold remaining fast.
Clare growled and repeated the move, more confidently than before. While she kicked, she wrenched her wrists against his thumbs and his hold slid. Triumph flashed, but his fingers clamped down.
They were both breathing hard and adrenaline shot through her. She didn’t care if she hurt him. She wanted to hurt him. Clare’s knee shot up, going right for the space between Bennick’s legs. Her knee slammed into his thigh, because at the last second he’d twisted.
He let go of her.
Clare stumbled back, rubbing her red wrists, her knee throbbing.
Bennick choked on a short laugh and scrubbed a hand over histhigh.“Thatwouldhavebeenentirelyeffective,MissEllington.”
Her chest rose and fell as she glared at him. “Too bad you dodged it.”
He pushed back hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Did you figure out the lesson?”
“Every man has a well-placed weakness.”
He chuckled. “Not the point I was trying to make, but a good thing to keep in mind.”
“Then what was your point?”
Bennick’s expression softened as he searched her face. “You’re never helpless, Clare. There’s always a way out. You just have to be willing to take it.”
Never helpless. Those words sank inside her, pushing against the rage and fear—the powerlessness and shame—that had been overpowering her. Something else took up the space left behind. Strength. She didn’t quite know how he’d managed it.
Bennick spoke into the short silence. “When it comes to protecting yourself, there’s nothing you cannot and should not do. You can’t hesitate to hurt whoever is trying to hurt you. If you have a knife, you stick it inside them. You take advantage of any vulnerability. Bite their fingers, claw their eyes, break their nose, or—” He ducked his head and caught her gaze. Though his face was serious, a smile edged to life. “Put a knee between their legs. It doesn’t matter what you do to them. You. Be. Merciless.”
She was locked in his stare, still holding her aching wrists, pressure clamped around her thudding heart.
Bennick’s forehead creased at her continued silence. His attention fell to her red wrists and he winced. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I—”
“Why did you lie about your name?” she asked quietly.
Bennick took a step back and raked
