Chapter 11 · Broken Vows

"Get your hands off me, Kaelen."

Sloane didn't just say it; she spat it. She tried to wrench her wrist away, but his grip was like a steel cuff. He had her pinned against the heavy oak table of her laboratory, the cold edge of the wood digging into her lower back. The air between them smelled of ozone, dried blood, and the sharp, metallic tang of the alchemy reagents they'd spilled during the fight.

"You're shaking," Kaelen murmured. His voice wasn't the obedient drone of a construct anymore. It was low, vibrating with something that sounded dangerously like amusement.

"I'm pissed off," Sloane snapped, her breath hitching as he leaned closer. "There's a difference. Now let go before I find a way to rewrite your loyalty parameters again."

Kaelen didn't flinch. Instead, he tightened his hold, pulling her an inch closer. His chest was a wall of heat against her. She could feel the rapid, heavy thrum of his heart—too fast for a puppet, too violent for a servant.

"You can't," he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "You tried that three times this morning. The ink didn't take. I'm not your doll anymore, Sloane.