Page 37 of Double Cut

“You are not a slave,” Horas said, his voice low and intense.

“Then I’ll just take my happy self for a walk.” Evangeline set the cat on the floor and rose. She walked to the door.

“No!” Sarus shouted, unable to tolerate the idea that she might actually follow through with her words and leave them behind.

She halted, but did not turn around to face them. “No, what?”

“No, you may not leave this domicile unaccompanied.”

“Oh, so I am a slave?”

“No,” he said again.

She still did not turn around. Her voice floated back to them, each syllable clipped and sharp. “Either I control my movements, or you do. If you do, then I am not free. If I am not free, then I am a slave.”

Sarus clenched his jaws, unable to refute her logic and desperately wanting to prove her wrong.

As though sensing the other male’s exasperation, Horas rose to his full height and said, “Evangeline, will you allow us to accompany you on this first excursion? You do not know the city and may lose your bearings.”

Her expression faded from mutinous to suspicious. “Are you going to demand I wear those stupid ribbons or a collar and leash?”

Sarus heard a grinding noise and realized it came from the other male. His crest flattened against his skull in cold fury, the big male nonetheless remained impressively in control.

“You may wear the dress you have on. We will not require you to wear the collar and leash. You will accept our escort.”

“Are you mad?” Sarus demanded, pitching his voice to a register below human hearing and hoping that their mate could not hear his protest. “We’ll be a laughingstock.”

Evangeline held her silence, obviously considering whether to accept their concession. She nodded, a single curt dip of her chin. “Thank you. I would like to go outside and see the city.”

Horas glanced at him. “Let herseethat we do not dishonor her. Perhaps then she will be more amenable to accepting our command.”

Sarus blinked in surprise at the other male’s sneaky tactic, then said so both could understand, “I’ll fetch my blades.”

“As will I,” Horas said. He fixed their mate in place with a hard stare. “Please do not leave until we are ready.”

Evangeline nodded and looked at the floor, belatedly realizing that her feet were bare. As she padded back to the bedroom to find her impractical flats, she said, “First stop, footwear. I need shoes.”

Out of sight, Horas stuffed the collar and leash into a pocket in his kilt. He wasn’t sure if he hoped they would need it, if only to impress upon his mate that such a blatant visual statement of claiming was necessary.

As Sarus slammed the last of the eight blades he carried upon his person home in its scabbard, his eyes lit up. In that low register, he said, “I have it!”

“What?” Horas replied.

“What is the one truth about slavery that is not true about our mate?”

Horas narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“A slave is chattel and may be sold at its owner’s whim. We cannot—not that we would ever entertain such a thought—sell our mate; therefore, she is not a slave.”

Horas nodded. “A good argument, but one I am not sure our little flame will accept.”

Sarus had to admit the other male made a good point.

Chapter12

Nothing happened.

Horas and Sarus could not decide whether to be relieved or annoyed.

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