Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(14)

But I couldn’t think about how cool and hot his cape was because I was beginning to lose my temper.

“Apollo!” I cried, taking two more steps toward him.

But he turned back, his cape wrapping around him, his eyes leveling on me.

When I saw what was in his eyes, I quit moving, quit talking and stared.

He didn’t stare.

He spoke.

And when he did, his voice was a low, angry rumble that felt like it shook the room.

“You know of her and yet you seem not to understand how difficult this is for me.”

I was following, but I wasn’t.

I mean, he was the one who brought me here.

“Of course I understand,” I said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean—”

Again, he didn’t let me finish.

“Just gazing on you, it feels like brands searing into my eyes.”

Oh God.

That sucked. Seriously sucked. That had to kill and I felt for him. I really, really did.

But still.

“I understand that,” I kept my tone low and gentle, “but—”

“You look like her. You sound like her. You even smell like her.”

That sucked too.

Big time.

I pressed my lips together.

“But you are not her,” he finished.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But you brought me here and you knew I wouldn’t be her. And right now, it seems urgent things are happening. Things I don’t understand in a world I don’t understand and you’re responsible for bringing me into this world. Now you’re leaving me alone in it without even giving me time to ask questions, the answers to which might help me to know how to conduct myself, what I’m dealing with, both giving me a hint of peace of mind.”

“And I explained, my men will answer.”

“Okay, that’s great, but we have things to talk about regarding my future here and—”

He was back to interrupting me and he did it by saying, “And I explained that as well. We will talk when you reach Lunwyn, before you come to the estate.”

Was he crazy?

My understanding was that would be two freaking months from now.

“I’d like to do it now,” I requested carefully.

“And I don’t have time now,” he denied me, not carefully.

I took in a deep breath and held his eyes.

Then I shared, “It’s important, Apollo.”

“It’s important for me to get back to my children and make haste in getting them to safety. Your future here is secure. That’s all you need to know”—he paused— “for now. Now, I’m away.”

Was he serious?

He turned and started toward the door.

He was serious.

“Wait!” I called, going after him.

He didn’t wait.

He kept going.

I kept following, crying, “Apollo! Hang on a second!”

His legs were longer than mine so I had to jog to catch up.

This I did at the front door.

And when I did it, I made a mistake.

I said his name and wrapped my fingers around his bicep.

The instant I did, he pulled it forcefully from my touch, rearing back. And with my history, he did it appearing like he was preparing to strike

Instinctively, I lifted a hand in front of my face, palm toward him, and backed up, tripping on my train but managing to right myself before I went down. I yanked it from under me and took another step back, my eyes glued to him, my body prepared for anything.

I stopped moving back, suddenly breathing heavily. When I noticed he was not preparing to strike, I dropped my hand to press it to my chest.

Through all this, his eyes were also glued to me but I couldn’t read them.

And for some reason, we stood in the preposterously elegant foyer of his preposterously fabulous country house situated in the preposterously beautiful countryside of a parallel universe and we stared into each other’s eyes, not speaking. His thoughts were cloaked. Mine, I doubted, were the same.

Then he shared his thoughts.

And if his earlier comment was an insult that landed an invisible blow, this one delivered a kill shot.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered, his eyes locked to mine as I drew in breath. “You might get it.” He put his hand to the doorknob and finished, “And not want it.”

Then he was gone.

Chapter Four

I Was Used to It

It was safe to say I was pissed.

It was the next morning after Apollo dealt his death blow.

I was in another gown that was very pretty but didn’t fit me. I was bathed, watered and fed. And a maid who didn’t speak my language had just come to my room, gesturing in a way I knew I was being summoned for something.

I’d heard horses’ hooves on the stone outside so I figured my guard was there.

But I didn’t care.

I hadn’t slept. Not a wink.

This was because, at first, I was hurt.

No.

Wounded. Wounded was the word to describe it.

Wounded deeply.

I didn’t know why. I just knew I was.

Deeply.

Then I started to think on things and I got mad.

Sure, one could say I didn’t want to go back to Pol and endure a life with him, walking on eggshells, taking my beatings whenever whatever was in his head would snap and he’d lose it. Then planning my escape and escaping, only to be found, beaten, dragged back and starting the process all over again and doing all this not very fun stuff until the day I died.