What can someone do to make someone so angry that he'd have no choice but to divorce you?
Irene bit down on her fingernail as she paced back and forth. Whatever she had in mind, she had to make sure it wasn't too brutal that'd make him go after her father.
After carefully going through her plan, she scattered her books across the study floor, making sure to leave her archaeological journals splayed open all over the room. She'd learned that nothing irritated him quite like disorder in his personal space.
She settled into the leather chair with her notebook, pencil moving across the page as she copied hieroglyphic translations. The grandfather clock chimed eight—he'd be back soon from whatever business kept vampire lords occupied after dark.
The door opened quietly. She didn't look up, but felt the familiar chill that followed him. His dark aura always announced his presence.
"What is this?" His voice held that dangerous calm she'd grown used to. "What are you doing in my study?"
Yes, She'd gone to his study, and had gotten a spare key to unlock it. Why? He loved his privacy and what better way to get on his nerves than invade it?
So, that was what she was doing right now.
Irene glanced up innocently. "Research. The light's better here."
Yin's pale eyes swept over the chaos she'd created. His jaw tightened. "Pack your books, and get out of here."
"No."
"Excuse me?" He arched his brow. "What do you mean by no?"
"I said no. Why should I? " She turned back to her notebook, hiding a smile as she felt his irritation spike.
He moved closer, silent as always. "You're making a mess of my study."
"Then perhaps you shouldn't have married an archaeologist." She kept writing, though she could sense him looming beside her chair. "What did you expect, embroidery?"
His gaze dropped to her notebook, and his expression shifted to confusion. "What is that thing you're writing with?"
Irene paused, following his stare to her pencil. "It's a pencil." She waved it in the air.
"A what?"
The genuine bewilderment in his voice made her look up properly. "You don't know what a pencil is?"
That had to be a joke, right?
"I'm familiar with quills and ink." He said,"but not that contraption."
"Yin, pencils have been around for decades. What century are you living in?" She chuckled.
"The thirteenth, actually." His tone turned defensive. "We managed perfectly well with proper writing instruments."
Irene blinked, then grinned wickedly. "Oh, this is precious. My dear husband is medieval, Literally." She tapped the pencil against her lip, watching his face darken. "Tell me, did you write on stone tablets too? Maybe grunt out your meanings?"
"We weren't barbarians." He retorted. "there's more to life than using a stick to write weird symbols."
"No? Did you at least know the earth was round, or were you still worried about falling off the edge?"
Yin's hands clenched at his sides. "We were educated while your ancestors were likely scratching in dirt."
"My ancestors were probably busy inventing things like logic and hygiene while yours were burning anyone who could count past ten."
"That's enough." His patience was already thin. This was part of her stupid plan to frustrate him, he knew it and he wasn't going to let her off so easily.
"What's wrong? Feeling a bit primitive?" Irene stood up. "I suppose seven hundred years wasn't long enough to learn basic manners or how to use modern writing tools."
"You're being deliberately difficult."
"I'm being honest. It must be refreshing after all those centuries of people bowing and scraping." She stepped closer, tilting her head back to meet his glare. "What else don't you know about?"
Yin stared long at her, a stare that made others cower with fear but she held his gaze whilst tormenting him with her words.
"Have you figured out that women can think for themselves now, or are you still stuck on that medieval notion that we're decorative breeding stock?"
"Women in my time understood their place, they didn't speak out of terms like you."
"Women in your time were property but I suppose that's what you were expecting when you forced me into this marriage—a quiet little wife who'd sit in the corner and look pretty while the big scary vampire lord handled all the important thinking."
Yin's eyes flashed with rage. "You have no idea what I expected."
"Then enlighten me. What did the great Lord Yin think he was getting when he bought himself a wife?"
"I expected..." He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. "Someone who wouldn't trap me for so many years." He moved closer, causing her to back away.
"I expected someone who wouldn't lie about her feelings just to use me." The anger in his eyes and hurt in his voice caught her off guard.
For a moment, something almost vulnerable flickered in his expression before the mask slammed back into place.
"Well," she said, though with less venom than before, "perhaps if you stopped acting like one, people might treat you differently."
"And perhaps if you stopped acting like a spoiled child, we might find some common ground."
"Spoiled?" Irene's voice rose. "I'm trying to make the best of being sold off like cattle to pay my father's debts. Forgive me if I'm not grateful for the privilege."
They stared at each other across the scattered books and finally, Yin looked away first. "Your symbols," he said stiffly, nodding toward her abandoned notebook. "What do they mean?"
The change of subject threw her. "They're hieroglyphs which are ancient Egyptian writing." She replied.
"Well, if you want to study your gibberish, take it out of my study." He snapped back to his cold self. "You will organize these books properly. My study is not a nursery."
The spell broke. Irene straightened, her defiance returning full force. "I'll organize them when I'm finished with my work."
"You'll organize them now because I asked you to."
"Make me." Irene lifted her chin up, while folding her hand to her chest. Yin gave her a one over and shook his head.
Just like decades ago, she was still the same even in a different body.
Finally, Yin stepped back with a sound that might have been frustration or amusement. "You are the most maddening woman I have ever encountered."
"Good," Irene replied tartly. "At least I'm memorable."
"Oh, you're that." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the brass handle. "The books, Irene before you retire or else I'll burn them to ashes and I mean it."