Free Giver of Light by Nicola Claire

although I felt I could have managed it now, but I had shifted the knife into my hand and held it concealed under my bed covers.
    “You're still awake, sweetheart. Can I get you anything?”
    “You know, I think I could try another herbal tea. I feel a little thirsty.”
    He smiled and came over to the bedside. “That's good news.” He sat down on the edge, right next to the knife in my hand. I willed myself not to stiffen and forced one even breath in after another. Show no fear.
    His hand came up and brushed my hair out of my eyes. He still looked like he cared so much. I was sure that wasn't an act. Everything else might have been lies, but what he felt for me was the truth. Why? Just because he had been charged with looking after me? It didn't make sense, but then it didn't need to. I needed to get away, not solve any god-damn mystery.
    “I am sorry you have been unwell, sweetheart. We overlooked something.” He shook his head and looked down at the bed covers. For a moment I thought he could see the shape of the knife through the material and I actually held my breath.
    “We're working on a solution, we'll have you fighting fit again before you know it. I promise.” His eyes came up to my face and there was such a look of intensity there, it made me blink. It also made me breathe again, thankfully.
    I forced a smile on my face and let him kiss me on my forehead, hopefully he hadn't noticed the thin film of sweat which had started coating my skin, or maybe he just put it down to my illness.
    He got up then and turned to the door. “I'll grab you that tea.”
    He closed the door behind him and I waited to hear the lock click. It didn't and my heart thumped loudly in relief. I waited a full two minutes then got up gingerly from the bed. When the world didn't tilt, I rushed to the dressing room, threw on jeans and a sweater, socks and sneakers and went back to try the door. The thought of testing it first had crossed my mind, but the need to get dressed had prevailed.
    I reached out a shaking hand, the other clasping my knife so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I took a deep breath in and turned the knob. It moved cleanly and quietly. I exhaled slowly and pulled the door open a fraction, straining to hear any noises. I couldn't even make out Jonathan downstairs. I waited for a few seconds and then took the first step towards freedom.
    The landing was clear, so I wasted little time and headed toward the front of the house and the stairs. Trying to escape out of a window would have been great, but all the shutters were automatically controlled, no individual one could be manoeuvred without setting off alarms. I had made it half way down the stairs when I heard him. He was still in the kitchen, the noise of the kettle coming off the boil and the movement of china against granite rang out. It was now or never.
    I crossed the expanse of tiled floor to the front door on tip toes and had just put my hand on the door knob when I sensed him behind me. I spun around and was met with a quizzical tilt of the head.
    “Do you think you would get far, sweetheart?” His voice was even, calm and showed no emotion whatsoever.
    I moved back against the door and tested the knob behind me. It didn't shift.
    Jonathan casually held up the key to the lock in his right hand.
    “I think you forgot something. Now we shall pretend this never happened and I'll help you back to bed.” He took a step toward me, no doubt expecting me to cringe, cry out, to run, hell who knows. He seemed so different form his usual caring persona, that I knew this was the real Jonathan and the rest had all been part of the lie.
    “Do you really care for me, Jonathan, or is that all an act too?”
    He stopped half way between the stairs and me and slowly smiled. “Have I not treated you well, Hunter?”
    Hunter?
    When I didn't answer and thankfully showed none of my surprise at what he had called me but my neutral mask, he went on.
    “I have been