Page 63 of Hazard a Guest
She stared. She wanted to argue. She wanted toexplain. She wanted to rage and sob and flee and burn him to the ground. She wanted all and had nothing, and there was Beck, just watching her, hating her, and worst of all pitying her too.
“It isn’t even luck, is it?” Beck added with a shake of his head. “I know you’re counting. He told me you had that talent, bragged about it. About you. I could tell them all, you know. I could destroy you and I haven’t.”
“That’s enough.”
Ember would have turned, if she’d been able. She would have turned and blazed and told whoever that was whodaredto come to her defense, who had theaudacityto save her, to go directly to the devil.
She couldn’t move more than her fingers, her useless fingers flexing, praying that it wasn’t Joe, that it wasn’t anyone she knew. Perhaps it was just some good samaritan, come to intervene. Please God that was all it was.
“Oh,” said Beck, raising his brows. “It’s you.”
The shadow that drew up alongside her was not Joe.
It was Freddy.
Beck held his hands up in mock surrender. “I haven’t harmed your mistress, Bentley. She’s perfectly fine.”
“I—” Ember attempted, tears pricking at her eyes, rage attempting to crack the thick layer of ice holding it down. “I—”
“She is not my mistress,” Freddy told the other man, his fists clenched at his sides, his teeth barely parting. “She is my friend. She is my equal. And you, sir, are not.”
He sounded furious, she realized. It startled her enough to turn her head to see him, and that only deepened the shock in her bones.
Helookedfurious.
She’d never seen Freddy angry. Not ever.
Desperate, yes. Sad, yes. Panicked, certainly.
Never like this. Never … enraged?
“Walk away,” Freddy said, a rumble under his voice that was deeply unnatural, as dry and hot as fresh ash. “Now.”
The shock, she realized. The shock was splintering the ice. It was allowing her to move, bit by bit. To think. To react. To shake off the horrid paralysis that seemed to only strike her in the presence of this particular adversary.
Beck chuckled. “Really, Lord Bentley?”
“Don’t,” Ember managed to say, her voice a hoarse crackle, but neither of them heard her.
“Yes,” Freddy confirmed, stepping in front of her. “Really. My patience is waning.”
“Is it, now?” Beck mocked, tilting his head.
Freddy set his jaw, reared back, and sent his fist directly into Beck’s chin.
It happened so quickly that Ember did not have any purchase to react. She wasn’t able to move or make a sound or even process that it was happening.
Freddy was a full head shorter than Beck, but even so, the larger man’s head did snap back. He hadn’t been expecting it either.
He reacted more in what looked like instinct than intent, the back of his hand flying out and launching Freddy backward and onto the floor. His whole body rose and flew, landing softly on the carpet with a thud.
“Freddy!” Ember managed to cry, falling to her knees. “Jesus Christ!”
She looked up, intending to scream at Beck until his ears bled, but he was already gone. He’d vanished, somehow, the long hallway empty of even his shadow or the imprint of his boots. Gone.
She looked down at Freddy in horror and concern, her hand coming up to touch his jaw and the obvious swell at his cheek.
And Freddy, the idiot, just looked up at her and smiled.
