Page 35 of Bound
What do the kidnappers want? Are the Fae some sort of raw ingredient in a weaving? Some dark ritual?
I scrub a hand over my face, wanting to unsee the blurry pictures T sent over.
It was Liam. One of the other guards.
Vish confirmed it.
Even now, Horan and Caine’s low tones filter up from the floor below. Assurances and gently prodded questions to get the two remaining guards to understand the direness of the situation.
To agree to move.
Not that the team needs to bother.
I saw the fear on Vish’s face. His brief glimpse across the room at Wena. How his dark eyes had flickered and tracked over her.
If moving protects the young female, he will do it.
And even if I have to carry Amoret from the damn suite, we are leaving.
Raising my hand, I knock.
“You could just come in.” Her voice is soft from inside, holding a hint of amusement. “You’ve been standing out there long enough.”
For the first time in years, a faint flush burns my face, but I grip the knob and open the panel.
Amoret stands beside the windows, her back to me and her arms crossed beneath her pert breasts. In her still singed gown, she appears … not rumpled, but comfortable.
Or maybe she no longer cares. And with everything, I cannot blame her.
I have the oddest urge to buy her a set of the strange sleep clothes Ruin’s consort, Lilah, wears when she walks around the manor. The soft looking pants and top. Even the fuzzy slippers. Anything to put Amoret at ease. Lilah always seems happier when she dons them.
I shake my head. “My lady—”
“Are we back to titles, Captain?” she asks over her shoulder, still not looking at me.
My hand tightens over the doorknob. I force myself to release it as a low crack sounds. Pushing past the open panel, I ease into the room and close the door.
“Bold of you,” she murmurs, “to close us in.”
As a Fae lady, her lady-in-waiting should accompany her at all times. Or her brother. But no one would think to protect her virtue from a self-exiled Fae warrior. So I ignore her statement.
My mouth twists into a grimace as I remain turned from her. “I just spoke to one of my men,” I say into the silence. “We are leaving.”
The quiet stretches.
“We?”
I pivot to face her.
She stands in the middle of the floor, the soft bed behind her, the blanket still thrown back from earlier. My eyes dip from the thick comforter to her petite frame.
“I’m taking you to the manor.”
A flash of temper sparks through her gaze. “And I told you I would remain here in the event the kidnappers—”
“They won’t.”
Her stare grows flinty, and she closes some of the distance between us. “What do you mean they won’t?” Those three-toned irises assess me. “What do you know, Gage?”
