Page 63 of Betrayed in the Dark
Because he never asked me to do what I did.
He never asked me to save him.
But I did what had to be done.
And I don’t regret doing it.
Not one bit.
Taking a deep breath, I sit up straight, placing a hand on his cheek. “I need you not to interfere with my wedding. It’s happening. It needs to happen. And I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to sit back and let you marry that—”
“I do, Eli.” I try my best to show a small smile, but it’s a struggle.
He runs his hand through his hair, glaring up at the ceiling. “I’ll do anything for you, Madeleine. You know that.” He shakes his head. “But this is one thing I can’t do.”
“Eli, please—”
“What about us?” he asks, pain laced in his words.
“There is no us,” I answer softly, looking down.
His fingers hook under my chin, tilting my face up. “There is always anus.” His eyes hold mine, and I feel seconds from shattering—from telling him everything. His lips part, ready to say more, until his eyes shift to my arm, narrowing in on the blue skin.
Oh no.
I try to quickly pull my hand away, but he’s faster. His fingers wrap around my wrist, holding me in place—gentle yet firm. He flips my arm over to examine it closely.
I should have done a better job of hiding it.
I shouldn’t have let him see.
Because the wrath swirling around his dark irises is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed as they fixate on the black and blue fingerprints imprinted on my skin.
This isn’t the first time Alastor has manhandled me, leaving evidence behind. But it’s the first time I wasn’t careful enough to conceal it.
“He hurt you,” he states slowly. One might think he’s calm if it weren’t for the calculated anger charging the air between us.
Anger, not directed at me.
But at Alastor.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t hurt. It was my fault. He didn’t mean—”
“When he spoke to you privately,” he whispers, deep in thought. His thumb glides tenderly over my skin. “When I left you alone with him.”
“It’s not what it looks—”
“This is my fault. I never should have left your side last night.” He drops his hand, his face growing more fearsome with each passing second. “We’re leaving. Now.” He picks me up, placing me on the couch beside him.
“Wait… What?” I stand, suddenly realizing I’m only in my underwear, and reach for my clothes. “We can’t leave. I still need to—”
“He hurt you!” he roars, spinning toward me. His chest heaves with each breath, and his eyes are wild with a desire for vengeance—a need to punish.
I take a step toward him and place a hand on his chest. The rapid beat of his heart beneath my touch terrifies me. “You cannot hurt him. You cannot touch a hair on his head. If you do…” I swallow hard. “Just please promise me you won’t hurt him.”
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
