"You've been deathly quiet for the past ten minutes," Logan states observing me from behind the wheel, "either you're planning something or there's something on your mind. Spill."
"Its nothing," I grumble back, not bothering to glance up from my lap.
"And you barely touched your food, " he adds thoughtfully, causing me to roll my eyes.
"Ah, there's our sarcastic little madam!" he grins pointing a finger at me, before returning his attention back to the road.
A small smile creeps onto my lips but I smother it quickly.
"It's like my life has been planned out. Like my fate is sealed. I've literally gone from living freely, mostly in my own company at home, to being completely trapped. A bird in a cage," I explain miserably fiddling with a rogue thread on my shorts.
Logan pulls the car to a stop neatly in Clarke's oversized garage. It's one of those that you see in the movies, that spin around on a wheel. I'm pretty sure you could fit about ten cars in it! Why anyone would need one I'll never know.
"It will get easier, Octavia. You'll become accustomed to this lifestyle," Logan finally responds sounding a little sympathetic, "besides no one is ever truly free. There is always someone in a more powerful position than ourselves. Now run along Princess, your future husband is getting impatient."
"He's not my future husband!" I growl following his gaze to where Clarke stands staring at me with an expectant expression.
I drop my head towards my lap in defeat, letting out an elongated sigh and reach for the door handle. It clicks open so I'm able to swing the door open enough to squeeze out.
"Just for the record, Octavia. He really is a good guy," Logan says as he reverses the car and speeds off down the road. I have no idea where he's going at this hour.
"Princess," Clarke greets me with a nod.
Would it kill him to crack a smile?
"Clarke," I reply instinctively, striding past him into the house. The warmth instantly envelops me as I step through the door, caressing and guarding me from the bitter wind.
"How's your father?" He questions turning the lock in the door to seal us in.
"Irritating," I mumble in response to his question, and to his actions. "Why is he saying that I don't really know my own mother?" I query bluntly. May aswell get straight to the point.
"Because you don't," his answer is way too short with zero explanation to back it up and that infuriates me.
"What the hell do you mean?" I demand, as my frustration increases tenfold.
I follow him through to the kitchen. A beautiful room with modern interior and an island in the centre. He slips behind the island burying his head in a cupboard.
"She isn't who you think," he replies simply, "do you want a drink?"
He holds out a clear plastic cup, which I have to hold myself back from slapping it out of his hands and flinging it across the room. I've noticed that none of the cutlery is glass or china in this house and I can bet I know why.
"No I don't want a fucking drink!" The rage in my voice is clear now as I reach the end of my tether. "I want fucking answers, and I want them now!" I demand making direct eye contact so he can tell I'm not kidding around.
Clarke holds me under his dark gaze, not shifting to even blink. My body cowers of its own accord under his dark stare. He carefully places the cup on the island.
YOU ARE READING
Bloodlines
Action......................... There's no such thing as Happy Families. Octavia thought she had a happy family life until she met Clarke Winters. The day her world was turned upside down. He thought capturing her would be a piece of cake but Octavia will...
