"Are you?"
She gasped and turned her back. "Well, I will go!" she cried. "If you
do not wish me here, I will go!"
"Halt!" he said as she caught at the door's bolt. She stopped as though
speared and turned about until she stood against the door facing him.
Tears whipped down her face, and the breath rattled in her throat.
Eodan felt inwardly gouged, but he stalked to her and took her by the
shoulders. "I have had enough of this," he said. "Tonight you shall
decide who your man is."
"I told you I do not know!" she screamed.
Eodan slipped his hands down over her arms until he had her wrists.
"You shall decide," he repeated. "And you are going to choose me."
She tried to pull free, but he dragged her to him and laid his mouth
upon hers. She writhed her face away. He held her, one-handed about the
waist, while his free hand drew her knife and stabbed it into the wall.
Then he grasped her hair and forced her lips back where he wanted them.
Suddenly she shivered. He let her go, and she sank to her knees,
holding his. He sat down and laid an arm about her waist. She came to
him, weeping and laughing. "It is you," she said. "It is you, Eodan."
Long afterward, when the lamp had gone out of itself, she whispered, "I
think it must always, really, have been you."