Page 65 of The Delta's Rogue
Brenna and I stare at each other. My fate rests in her trembling hands. Time stretches infinitely as everyone waits for her to respond to Amara.
I swallow the tangy, coppery blood in my mouth, unsure when during Brenna’s invasion of my memories I bit myself to draw it forward. The goosebumps on my skin spread and deepen at the taste, but I maintain eye contact with her.
I try to wipe the pleading desperation from my face, but I doubt I am successful. Not that it matters since Amara isn’t watching me at all. Brenna is the center of her focus.
Amara waits with bated breath, on the edge of her toes, for Brenna to seal my fate. Brenna blinks twice, and glances at Amara.
Panic rises within me.
I can’t go to Nuncio’s club. If I’m sent there, that may be the end for me. If I’m prepared for an auction, then there may be hope the others can find me and get to me in time.
Maybe. I’m pinning all my hopes on maybes, on what-ifs, but it’s my only option.
“She’s a virgin,” Brenna says.
I hold in my sigh of relief and clench my jaw to swallow back the words of thanks on the tip of my tongue. I can’t thank her, not here. Maybe not at all. I don’t know her motivation for choosing to lie for me. For all I know, she may be planning to use me and betray me later.
Behind me, Nuncio andhis cronies huff their annoyance and disappointment.
Amara raises her sharply arched brow and flicks her eyes to me. Disbelief, icy and harsh, fills them.
“Hmm…” Amara circles me, heels clicking on the floor and the train of her dress slinking behind her. She traces the edge of my hair—the section framing my face—flicking it over my shoulder.
I tense, resisting the urge to flinch away from her touch. I won’t give her that satisfaction. I remain composed, even though my instincts scream at me to put distance between us.
Her sharp, pitch-black nails trail down my arm as she thinks. The stiletto-shaped tips leave behind the faintest hint of a scratch on my skin. Her gaze wanders between Brenna and me, her calculating mind forming a sinister plan.
“Brenna, dearest.” Her voice returns to the faux sweetness she adopts when speaking with me. “I’ve decided you will be directly responsible for training and preparing our sweet girl, Anaís.”
She speaks to Brenna, but her eyes stay on me. A cruelty—a threat—lingers behind the motherly attitude she displays.
Brenna sputters. “B-but I’ve never done it by myself before and—”
“It’s time you learned.” Amara spins on her heel and crosses to Brenna one slow, stalking step at a time. She oozes confidence and an ominous regality as she stares down her nose at the younger, more timid witch. “If she does well, if she pleases me, you’ll be rewarded.”
Her hand glides up Brenna’s cheek. Brenna flinches away, shrinking in on herself at Amara’s touch, but Amara’s fingers tighten on her face, the tips of her nails digging into her skin preventing her from moving.
She lowers her face to Brenna’s ear, threatening her in a stage whisper. “See to it that she pleases me.”
Brenna trembles, a whimper falling from her lips. Her eyes widen, and she nods.
Amara smiles at her, angling her body to gaze at me again. She sweeps her eyes over me one final time, then glides away, a dark laugh floating behind her—weaving its way through my ears and striking fear in my heart like a bolt of lightning in awithered tree.
Nuncio yanks me towards the door on the right, and Brenna moves with us, following him. My feet hurry to catch up to his pace. He practically drags me, and the silver collar around my neck chafes my skin, rubbing it almost raw.
“¡Más despacio, cabrón!” I snap, angling my chin, attempting to limit the contact from the collar.
The pain from the silver is a dull ache most of the time, but when they tug on the chains, the icy burn singes my skin. It bubbles and burns beneath the restraints, sending shocks of pain through my system. Each is a stark reminder of my circumstances.
Nuncio growls and rounds on me, anger flaring in his narrowed eyes. “What did you say?” His voice is low and layered with a warning.
I lift my chin, drawing myself to my full height, a sudden fury pulsing through me. It feeds my defiance and gives life to a hidden part of me. The part I keep secret and only show to a select few.
If he knew…
I should back down, clamp my mouth shut and bite my tongue. I should have a shred of self-preservation.
I don’t.
