he fared since he was brutally abducted makes my heart ache for him.
“Let me show you to your room,” she intones with all the emotion of a museum docent on her tenth tour of the day.
She leads us through white-carpeted hallways with artwork on the walls that must be worth a fortune. Who puts spotlights on their paintings other than a museum? I peek in a few open rooms filled with large, inviting beds, but we keep walking to the end of the hall.
“This should do,” she says as she sweeps the door open.
I’ve never been rich, so I can’t know for sure, but I think this is the maid’s quarters. It’s devoid of decor other than a small bed and one nightstand. The sumptuous rooms we passed had thick comforters, plump pillows, and artwork on the walls. This stark, uninviting room is an insult. Certainly Wrage sees this, right?
I’m standing next to a statue. A statue made of flesh. If I didn’t know it was physically impossible, I’d think he wasn’t breathing. My fists are balled at my sides to keep from punching the bitch. When I look at her, I could swear she’s trying her best to hide a smirk. In my mind, I bestow on her a death sentence. She’s earned it.
I’m silently begging Wrage to leave. I’m screaming at him inside his head, urging him to quit yearning for scraps. There’s nothing for you here, I try to telegraph to him. But leaving has got to be his call. He’ll have to come to this conclusion on his own.
“Thanks for your hospitality, mother. I think my mate and I will go elsewhere.”
His tone is seething. Good. At least he’s not going to stay here, sucking up to garner attention from a heartless stone.
“If you wish,” she says.
What, did I think for a moment she’d argue with him? Beg him to stay?
He stiffly places his hand on the small of my back and escorts us down the long hallway toward the lift.
“I can’t leave without saying something, Wrage. Will you hate me forever for speaking my mind?” I ask. I’m so enraged I’m surprised I’m able to form words into complete sentences.
“When I get angry, people die, beautiful Elyse. I don’t trust myself to say anything else to her. I won’t be able to live with the guilt if I kill her, nor do I want you to see that part of me. I can stay here, though, and root for you. I’ll protect you if things get out of hand.”
I’m glad I got his blessing, but I’d have to do this even without it.
“You fucking bitch,” I seethe, the words ripping out of the back of my throat so loudly I feel the burn already.
My fists are balled, and I march toward her. I’m not a hitter. I’ve never been in a physical fight before and I have no intention of doing more than speaking my mind. But even though she’s a head taller than me and has those spiky horns, I’m willing to go toe to toe if I have to. Besides, Wrage has my back.
You’d think the female would approach me, meet me in her lily-white living room and hear me out, maybe even strike me for speaking to her like this, but she scurries into one of the bedrooms and slams the door.
Marching to the doorway, I scream, “How dare you! How dare you treat him like that! I wouldn’t treat a dog like that. A canine deserves more kindness than you showed your own son.
“You bore him. With this much money you could have freed him from slavery! Did you ever give a thought to the fact that your inaction put him in harm’s way? You could have saved him from fighting for his very life on the sand of the arena. You’re heartless.”
I’m panting, my heart is racing, my fists are balled so tightly I feel my nails breaking the skin of my palms. I think if God came down from on high right now and ordered me to cease and desist I couldn’t stop myself.
“You don’t even have the courage to open this door and face us. You don’t deserve a wonderful son like Wrage!”“
My tirade continues for long minutes. My epithets get dirtier, my castigations become more scathing. But I don’t hear a peep from her.
Wrage walked to my side minutes ago, giving me his wordless support. I finally glance at him and what I see breaks my heart—concern