“I can do my work,” she said, gritting her teeth as she started sweeping up the sugar again.

“You’re going to rest if I have to tie you down to make sure you do it.”

Oh, she’d love to rest today, but not on his terms. Not when he was snarling at her. “What I do is my own business.”

“Think again, witchling,” Lucivar snapped, moving closer to her. “You live in my eyrie, you’re under my protection. And that means protecting you from yourself when you get too stubborn to do what’s good for you.”

“And you never get stubborn and always do what’s good for you,” she snapped back. The nerve of the man. Who did he think he was, anyway?

He grabbed the broom handle, his hand closing over it just above her own hands. He tugged. She tugged back, trying to reclaim control. His hand tightened. A fast twist of his wrist and the handle snapped. He took one step back, turned, and threw the piece of wood through the archway.

Marian flinched, expecting to hear a lamp in the other room smashing. Or, worse, the crash as the handle shattered the glass doors that led out to the lawn on the other side of the eyrie.

No smash. No crash. Nothing. Not even the clatter of wood as it fell on the floor.

He must have vanished it before it could hit something.

Before she could react, he yanked the rest of the broom out of her hands, strode to the archway, and threw the broom away.

How could she forget how strong he was? She’d seen him exercising to keep his warrior’s body and reflexes sharply honed. She’d seen him chopping wood. Hadn’t she watched those wonderful muscles ripple under his skin all summer? He didn’t need Craft to be dangerous.

Turning back to the kitchen, he pointed a finger at her, and snarled, “You are not doing anything today.”

A wave of temper drowned out nerves. “Don’t you tell me what to do! I can do my work!” Irrationally angry and feeling cornered, she grabbed the pot sitting on the stove and threw it at him.

He tucked his wings in at the last second. The pot hit the wall next to the archway and fell to the floor.

Awful silence filled the kitchen.

Lucivar picked up the pot and walked away.