Page 8 of The Beast Between Us
She says nothing more. She’s learned the cost of defiance. The question is…what is that cost?
I wait. Silence.
“Are you going to share it?” I ask, my tone rougher than intended.
“My apologies, your Lordship,” Mr. Holloway says quickly, dragging the girl forward. “This is Ella. So… is our deal completed?”
Pathetic excuse for a man.
My eyes remain on her.
Time for a test.
I rise slowly and step out of the shadows, into the full glow of the firelight. Her heartbeat quickens…I can hear it clearly…but she doesn’t flinch.
Her father does.
She’s small. Too small. Like life has chipped away at her piece by piece. Her dress is plain, worn thin at the elbows, the hem frayed and damp from travel. Mud clings to the edge of her skirts, yet she stands tall, chin lifted.
Dark curls spill from a hastily tied ribbon, framing a face that’s far too solemn for someone so young. And her eyes…likestorm-washed glass, gray or perhaps blue…fix on me with a look I can’t quite name.
Not defiance.
Not resignation.
Something quieter.
Steadier.
She does not flinch.
Not even at the sight of me.
Interesting.
“Do you come to me of your own free will, Ella?” I ask.
She glances toward her father.
He doesn’t speak. Just shoves her forward again, fingers digging into her arm like he means to leave a mark.
“Yes, my Lord,” she says quietly.
A lie.
But one told with practiced grace.
“Do you understand that you will be in servitude to my House for the rest of your days, unless I choose to grant you freedom?”
“Yes, my Lord,” she replies.
Her voice is steady. Controlled.
But her eyes…those storm-washed eyes…hold mine with a weight that lingers.
It’s almost as if she’s begging for something.
Not mercy.
