Page 16 of Rescued By The Dragon

She nodded.

I huffed, and carefully lifted her into my arms. “That’s unacceptable, Amara. You have to eat.”

She stared up at me with confused eyes as I walked her back to her room and sat her on her bed. My gaze went to the tea on her nightstand. I picked up the cup and twirled the small amount of liquid around. “Something was put in this."

Amara glared up at me. “What do you mean?”

“Who gave it to you?”

“My stepsister—,” she trailed off, her eyes moving toward the shoes sitting on her bed.

My anger flared. My fingertips tightened around the cup until it broke into shards in my palm. Amara yelped.

“Why would she do this to you?”

Amara pushed her hair back from her forehead. “She wanted to wear my shoes, and I said no. They were my mother’s.”

“Are they mean to you?”

A blush traveled along her face, but she didn’t answer. I grabbed one of the shoes in my palm. The glass shimmered in the moonlight from the window and glistened appealingly.

Slowly bending down to my knees, I slipped the slipper onto her foot, and her gaze settled on mine. My fingertips cradled her leg causing goosebumps to span up her body, and her mouth to open.

“These are beautiful—,”

Irritated voices came from downstairs and then the door slammed loudly. “The audacity of Dorran not to show up. I spent so much time on my hair and makeup. I can’t believe they’re rescheduling.”

I straightened to my full height, to go downstairs and wrap my fingers around the little twat's neck that put something into her drink.

“No,” she begged, jumping out of the bed and grabbing my forearm. “You can’t say anything to them. It will make it worse.”

The fear on her face floored me.

Leaning down, I watched her cower away, and it all hit me.

“They are cruel to you?” I asked in a whisper.

Amara swallowed, her eyes lowering to the floor, but I lifted her chin, demanding she look at me. “Why are they cruel to you?”

“I—,”

The sound of footsteps drew near, and my fingers curled into tight fists. “Tell me,” I insisted. “All because of your shoes?” I asked, grabbing one of the glass slippers on her bed. “Or is it always like this? Tell me.”

Her gaze shifted toward the slither of light beneath her door. “There have been times she locked me in my room for a week, forcing me to miss school and activities because she didn’t like the way I cleaned the house at the age of ten. My father’s will states that I have to stay here because of my inability to stay alone. She hates me for it. Please—,”

Inability to stay alone? What in the hell did that mean?

“Please leave,” she begged.

Her small body began to quiver.

The footsteps drew nearer.

“Tell me. Are they always like this?” I asked again, my voice dropping even lower, my dragon growing angry.

“Always. They’ve always been this way.”

The floorboard outside of her door creaked, and with every ounce of my self-control, I slipped from the room like a ghost in the night.

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