Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“You refuse to move, and now you want to walk?” I snap. “Which is it, woman?”
She makes a face I don’t recognize, but it looks foul, and I don’t like it. “Woman? I have a name, you know.”
“If it isn’t ‘Insufferable Kitten,’ I don’t want to know,” I growl.
“Insufferable Kitten?” She scoffs. “What the—?”
“Back over the shoulder you go,” I interject before she can throw me any more retorts. I’m not in the mood for arguing, and I don’t think I’ve ever been, especially not with her kind.
Women.
Insufferable creatures with their insufferable talking.
But even more insufferable is my own inability to ignore it.
And I just know this journey with this woman is going to be the death of me.
It had better be worth it, Eli.
Last night
When I knock on Eli’s door, he doesn’t respond, so I open it out of precaution. I know he’s been on edge lately due to that woman he brought into the House, and I don’t want him doing anything he’ll regret later.
I come to a momentary pause as I watch him chuck a book into the fire.
And not just any book.
The book.
The one that contains all the rules that govern this House and has been handed down to the ruler of this House from generation to generation.
I can’t let him do this.
Without thinking, I storm to the fireplace and pull out the book, not caring about the flames licking my hands. Pain doesn’t faze me, but throwing away decades of guidance does.
I look up at the book and its burned pages, checking to see if they’re still legible. Then I glance over at Eli, who seems to have turned into himself, completely ignoring the fact I’m here.
Why would he do this? Has he lost himself so much?
“Why?” I ask.
He merely shrugs, still glaring at the fire. “What use is it?”
“Rules are rules,” I say, and I bring the book back to him, planting it firmly down on the table. “Keep it.”
I don’t mean this lightly.
His anger and frustration over his woman have nothing to do with this House, which he’s supposed to govern. He can’t just throw away decades of information on a whim simply because he’s upset.
These rules are there to guide us. Our emotions will only lead us astray.
I keep my hand on the book until he finally looks at it.
And then he looks up at me, his eyes soulless as if he’s already given up. “Is it too late to right my wrongs?”
Right his wrongs?
Does he mean … he mistreated the woman he brought in?
Is that what this is about?
Maybe he cares more about her than he lets on. Maybe this isn’t just about the House itself, but about his own failings to his own wishes. And I should take that into account. After everything he’s done for this House, he deserves a reward.
“Never,” I reply, wishing now more than ever that he would take my word for it.
If he needs to do something to fix whatever he’s broken, then I will help him.
And for some reason, I just know this has something to do with the women we keep here in the House.
He nods a few times. “You know what I must do then?”
I lower my head and close my eyes for a second, thinking it over. Agreeing with him might tip him over the edge. He’s already tried to destroy this book, which means he’s gone above and beyond to try to get his way, and it still didn’t work.
He’s lost faith in this House and its rules and guidance along with it. How can I not see this as a plea for help?
I am as much a part of this House as he is, and if he needs my help, then I’m going to be there for him, no matter what it costs.
“Choose. I will help you,” I say.
He looks up at me and sighs out loud. “I need all the women to go. And the men too.”
I frown, confused by his words. “Where?”
“Out. Gone. Away from this house,” he responds, and he picks up a glass of liquor and takes a sip. “I need your help with one of them. She wasn’t sent here by her family, and she didn’t come voluntarily. She’s a risk to our House, one I’m not willing to take.”
I ball my hands into fists. “Who?”
“April,” he replies. “Take her now. Do it quietly. Discreetly. Go through the dungeons if you have to. I don’t want Tobias to find out.” He fishes a tiny piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. “Get her there safely, but don’t tell her.”
“What about the others?” I ask.
“I’ll have the guards escort them out,” he replies, not blinking once as he continues. “Including the ones in the dungeon.”
I don’t like where this is going.
Without our sinners … who is to be punished?