The panic was descending again, filling every crevice of her mind and erasing all the pleasant effects of drawing blood. She had no leverage, couldn't even kick at him when she was on her knees, and he wasn't letting go of her wrists. She pulled again, and he simply tightened his grip and said he'd let go when he wanted to. She was practically snarling with anger, trying to cover up the fear surging through her... And then he let go, and she scrambled backwards until her back was to the wall, getting as far away as she could in the small space. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She was actually shaking a little, and she prayed that he would assume it was from rage. "Why don't you fight back?"