The marks have gone now, but phantom ropes still grip and bite her now, and that cunt Pavlov does his job- even when the stimulus is an imagined one. ...ith irritating causal certainty, she seeps.Her mouth is dry.The fridge, door open, whirs into life as the cold continues to flood into the kitchen.He hadn’t been kind. His words had been murmured. Softly and with a level tone. Loaded with intent. His breath in her ear had occasionally overwhelmed her senses, and made her miss his instructions.. He watched a tall suit approach and offer to buy her a second drink, and felt an uncomfortable twinge he refused to call jealousy. As Kassandra put the man in his place with a few sharp words, Will found himself smiling into his empty glass. As the suit turned away, he smiled wider . . . until he realized she was watching him. Their gazes locked, and for a fraction of a second, there was no contempt or hatred in either of them. Whatever was in their eyes, it was just as primal as hatred, but. More

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