Page 32 of The Enemy's Daughter

A stab of pain shoots through my heart, and it takes seeing the grief flicker in Tristan’s eyes to figure out it’s coming from him.

I shake my head, refusing to feel bad.Not when you tried to kill my family. Not when, just seconds ago, you planned to do it again.

“How do you know?” Vador demands.

Tristan’s despair chafes within my exhausted body and my lips struggle to form the words. “Because I was there when he died.”

All eyes turn to Tristan as if he can confirm, but he’s already pressing sharply against my mind.

His lips tighten. “She’s telling the truth.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. How could he know that?

Every soldier in the room drops their head.

Then my vision fades to black, and I hit the floor.

11

I awaken in Tristan’s arms. He’s climbing the stairs.

Anger reignites inside me at knowing that he wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter my family if they suddenly appeared before him.

“Let me down,” I mutter, unable to say it louder because my stomach is cramping, threatening to empty the little bit of water left in it. Sweat coats my skin as if I’ve run through the rain. It kills me that I’m so weak when I need to be strong.

His hold doesn’t relent, so I consider squirming out of his arms. But then I get an idea. We’re touching. Is it possible I could see one of his memories now that we’re so close physically? It could help me understand the layout of his house or how to escape their territory.

“She had a knife,” Samuel grinds out from behind. “Where the hellfire did she get that from?”

Tristan grunts, his jaw tight. Annoyed. He’s also out of breath—he’s not fully recovered yet. So why is he the one carrying me?

It doesn’t matter. Focus. Think about how close we are... or whatever. I close my eyes and try to go there, searching for that connection, but my anger burns too hot to imagine anything butpushing Tristan away from me.

He kicks open the door to my room and the movement jostles my stomach. I cringe as he lowers me to the bed, and when he pulls his arm from beneath my back, our eyes finally meet. He’s angry too.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sir. It has to be said.”

There’s a small thud as a book hits the floor.

“What are you doing?” Tristan demands.

I nearly ask the same as Samuel grabs another one, flips through it, then drops it beside the first. Doesn’t he know how precious books are?

“Obviously we need to search the room for weapons,” Samuel says. “She’s probably stashed whatever else she’s found.”

My gaze jerks to the other side of the bed where I left the journal and bottle of pills out in the open. Fates.

“I wasn’t expecting company, and I forgot to remove my knife,” Tristan says. “That’s it. There was only one.”

Samuel ignores him, sweeping the top of the bookshelf with his hand, and once again I notice how large and strong he is. His muscles bulge under his black, weapon-filled clothing. His nose has been broken too many times to be handsome, and there’s a scar that divides his left eyebrow as if it were a river through a field. Like Gerald, you can tell at a glance that he’s a fighter. A warrior. And considering Samuel’s penchant for poisoning his enemies, he’s extremely dangerous. Perhaps it’s good he’s not going to find anymore hidden weapons in his search.

“I’ll handle it,” Tristan says.

“Or you could let me do my job.Sir.” More books hit the floor.

“I’ll handle it,” Tristan repeats, louder. “You can go.”

They have a brief staredown. Samuel isn’t used to taking orders from Tristan. Interesting.

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