JASMINE
The drive was cold. Tense. Nerve wracking. Not because of the silence but because of him. Alaric sat beside me, a storm barely contained beneath his skin. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles pale against the leather, and though his gaze stayed fixed on the road, the tension in his jaw and the rigid line of his shoulders told me exactly how pissed he was. My fingers twitched all the way home.
Alaric, in his usual character, didn't say a word to me throughout. He was just seething beside me, driving at a speed that almost made me say my last prayer. We drove into the parking lot, and he jammed the car door shut, but before he'd walk over to my own car, I was already out and walking toward the house. I didn't wait for him.
