If only I could have hoped to be so lucky.
That there would have been a measure of grace in this torment.
You’d betrayed my father.
You’d betrayed me.
Because you didn’t come.
And it had come to this.
I’d heard my papa’s voice, his fist that’d slammed against the desk, the horrible words that crashed out, “He will die for this. His whole family. See to it.”
So I’d run.
Run down the corridor with frantic gasps raking from my lungs.
I’d known I had to get to you. Find you. Understand why.
Why?
Why?
Why?
I’d run back to our secret spot, praying you would be waiting. That you would explain it all.
Again, you weren’t there.
I waited and paced some more.
You still didn’t come.
But Jarek did, his dark shadow covering me when he appeared from behind.
Scorn lined his face. “He’s dead, Aster. He’s fucking dead and you’re mine.”
Fear had slithered like the coil of snakes down my spine, pooled in my stomach as he took a step toward me, like the rage that held him had eradicated the wound that oozed from his side.
Instinctively, I’d set my hands over my stomach.
Over our child.
As if I could protect him.
Jarek’s eyes had gone there, and I’d lost air when I’d seen the flash of contempt light in his eyes the moment he knew.
I’d turned to run.
To flee.
I screamed when he grabbed me by the hair, when he yanked me back, when his fist found my face.
He dragged me deeper into the hidden places in the garden.
I’d kicked and pled, but there was no mercy from a merciless man.
“He will die for taking what is mine. Both the stones and this body.”