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“What did you do to earn them?”
My stomach bottoms out. “Earn them?” I whisper, not taking my eyes from his. Horror takes root inside of me, followed closely by repugnance.
“Answer him,” Noé orders.
Such a question will get no response from me. Even when Noé takes a few aggressive steps toward me, I don’t flinch.
“Leave us,” the deve intones, earning him a scowl from the man. “Now, Noé.”
With reluctance, he does as he’s told.
I brace myself for the worst, my new-found strength almost no match for the rising dread. I’m in no shape to take a beating . . . or worse, and I send a silent prayer to the Mother, asking for this man to be satisfied with a verbal attack instead of a physical one.
Once the door is shut, I watch my fiancé fold his arms over his massive chest. “I am deve here. I will be obeyed.”
“Or what? You’ll add to my scars?”
His beard isn’t so thick that I miss the way his jaw clenches. Then his arms drop to his sides and his big hands curl into fists. Terror, real terror, sluices through my veins. I think I almost faint with relief when all he does is turn to the window, looking down on what I know is a walled courtyard below. Without facing me, he says, “I want to hear your version of the events surrounding Carson’s death.”
He doesn’t use the wordmurder,but the bloom of hope in my chest is quickly extinguished when the rest of what he said registers. “My version?” Not the truth, but myversion.A huff slips from my throat. “Are you saying you would take my word over that of your men’s?”
Over his shoulder, his gaze lands on me, heavy and considering. It tells me I’m right.
“Let’s not pretend,” I say, sounding as resigned as I feel, “that my word is anything more than worthless to you. Just get on with whatever it is you’re going to do with me.”
Now he doesn’t bother to hide his frustration and seems to cast about in his mind for something as he turns to lean against the wall. He comes up with, “I could have your belongings brought up to you.” He gestures around us at the bare walls.
Belongings?He mistakes my confusion for interest, clearly believing he’s found something with which to bargain. “Or,” he intones ominously, “if you won’t talk to me, I could have everything piled in the courtyard and set ablaze.”
Apparently, the deve missed his lessons in the art of negotiation.What kind of a dolt goes into a discussion unarmed with even a basic set of facts?
While I want to gloat over his folly, I realize that his preference for threats over careful deliberation will undoubtedly not work in my favor. “Well,my deve,if I’m not shackled to the bed, I’ll be sure to watch it all burn from the window.”
His temper finally breaks. “You think this is a game?” he yells. “One of my men is dead and I need to know what happened. Most are calling for your blood.”
Infected by his bellowing, I match it. “My blood?!” I flip the covers aside and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Elsy removed the bandage from my thigh this morning, saying the wound needed air. Forcing myself to my feet, I almost collapse with the wooziness of being vertical and the horrible strain on my ankle and my leg, but I lift the shirt and show him the aftermath of someone wanting my blood. “You mean this was not enough?” I stumble forward, wanting to be sure the light from the window shows him every gruesome detail.
He doesn’t even wince on my behalf. Bastard.
“When I say they want your blood, I meanallof it.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I demand, though my voice has lost half of its volume. “End this right now.” My head spins, but before the blackness swallows me, I give him my truth. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 4
Luka
Stupid girl.Or I suppose at twenty-one, she’s a woman, albeit a very small one. “I’m ready,” I mimic in a high voice for no one’s benefit but my own as I put her back on the bed. I should have let her dash her skull against the stone, but something compelled me to catch her. “You’re notready,” I grouse. “You’re stupid.”
I lift the shirt to check the leg, pointedly not looking at her cunt. The wound is red and swollen, but it’s knitted and there’s no obvious sign of festering. It’s not pretty though and it must hurt like a devil. Next I check her wrist, which is mostly a crust of scabs, and then her ankle, which is the same but with the added color of fading bruises. At least the swelling has gone down enough that she doesn’t appear to have a club foot anymore.
My gaze settles on her face, almost wishing she were awake to get another glimpse of her intriguing amber eyes. And her raven-wing hair, which Yvette was braiding, has fallen loose. Even greasy it’s a beautiful color.
Yanking the fur over her, I yell for Yvette. She and Noé shove at each other to enter the room first and I pin them with a flat look. I don’t know why I took Noé’s advice to set such a harsh tone with the chains when my gut was telling me otherwise. I need to trust my own instincts more.
“What happened?” Yvette accuses more than asks, rushing forward. I grew up with Yvette. We’re the same age and I might have considered her for marriage if she hadn’t popped out someone else’s child at sixteen. This understandably blurs the lines between us sometimes, but I’m not feeling particularly generous at the moment.
“Watch your mouth,” I snarl. “And tell me again why you volunteered for this duty?”
