Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

it? Did you marry me to save me, or to wield me like a weapon?”
Our vehicle shifts into park, jarring us slightly forward as it shuts off. A
moment later, Kal’s door swings open, a uniformed, gray-haired man
standing just outside, a stoic expression on his aged face. Reaching over, Kal
unbuckles my seat belt, then slips from the car, leaving me without an
answer.
Rolling my eyes, I follow in his direction. Heat from the sun grazes my
skin as I step out, pulling my backpack along with me. We’re parked at the
end of a curved driveway, and I’m too busy gawking at the massive wrought
iron gate to notice Kal’s fingers wrapping around my forearm, yanking me
back when I try to go through it.
“You’re not a weapon,” he says, his touch burning me from the inside
out. “You’re a pawn. That ring on your finger makes you my pawn. Don’t
forget that.”
Resentment notches against my sternum, defiance rearing its head like an
angry welt bubbling against my skin. “Or what, Kallum? What else are you
planning on doing to me? Gonna lock me up in your house and throw away
the key?”
His nostrils flare, eyes lingering on mine like he can’t help himself, but
then he’s moving forward and dragging me along behind him.
The gate opens automatically, revealing a perfectly manicured lawn
bordered by tall privacy hedges, the far end of which overlooks the ocean. A
massive house with gray siding, a wraparound porch, and three brick
chimneys sits at the center of the lot, the only freestanding structure visible
once we step inside the gate.
“Jesus,” I breathe, staring up at the building with wide eyes. “Is this
where you live?”
“Technically, yes. Though I admit I don’t spend much time here.”
“Hm. Pretty spacious for one person.”
“The Asphodel used to be a hotel. I purchased it some years ago and
renovated it into a residential property.”
The Asphodel. How strangely fitting.
I can’t help wondering if he senses the irony of his home being named
after part of the Greek Underworld.
Kal glances at me as we stop at the front door, a tendril of black hair
falling over his forehead as he tips his chin down. My fingers twitch, the urge
to brush the lock away making my body vibrate as I rebel against it, grateful