But he was staring at General Prei holding a news conference when he noticed something he hadn’t before. Prei had a scar on his neck in the jagged shape of a star. It was so familiar, and yet, he’d never met Prei. Had never been anywhere near him. But this scar…
“You son of a bitch,” Sam drawled, snapping to the edge of his seat.
It couldn’t be…
He pushed to his feet and hit pause on the television, practically jumping over his desk to get closer. And when he did, when he poured over every detail on the man’s face, at the starred scar on his neck, the tick of his jaw…
He knew he was right.
“I’ve fucking got you, you bastard,” he hissed to the image.
“Got who?” came Rolfe’s grunt from the door.
Sam did a double-take to his friend coming inside the office carrying a food tray. He plopped it down and raised an expectant brow to Sam when he didn’t reply.
“It’s nothing,” Sam muttered, running his hands through his hair.
“Took your woman some food this morning,” Rolfe said. “Figured you didn’t want her starving.”
All thought of what Sam had just figured out went away at the mention of Ana. “I don’t,” he sighed. “How is she today?”
“Mean,” Rolfe said, to which Sam tilted his head in confusion.
“Mean?”
“Yeah,” Rolfe said as if it shouldn’t have surprised him. “Threw the food I made for her back in my face. Said she should have recognized the smell of pet dog when she first met me.”
Sam resisted his laughter, and Rolfe glared at him.
“Sorry,” Sam managed, stifling a smile. “What did you say?”
“Told her she’d look like a right pretty pet on her hands and knees when she got hungry,” the hound replied.
Sam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We need to work on your comebacks if she’s to make a home here.”
“Is she?” Rolfe asked.
A quiet moment filled the space as Sam thought about it. “That’s up to her,” he decided.
Sam waited another couple of hours before making his way down to the dungeon to see Ana. He’d brought up previous video clippings General Prei, some before the king died, and some after, and he’d compared them.
Because if he was right…
He pushed every thought of his suspicions to the back of his mind as he opened that creaking iron door and down the steps. Ana was sitting crouched in the corner on top of the cot, her forearms braced over her knees, hands clasped together. But as soon as she saw him, she stalked down that bed like a cat awaiting prey and stepped up to the bars.
“Samarius,” Ana acknowledged, her hands gliding over those circular bars.
“Deianira,” Sam replied. He eyed the delicate way she touched those bars, the wide way her pupils blew when he met her gaze. The tattoo on her wrist glared back at him. A constant reminder of a time when he’d thought he could avoid this part and simply bring her home instead.
A distant dream.
For a second, neither spoke. A slow trickle of water dripped down the hall, echoing off the stone, and Ana shifted her feet.
“How long are we going to do this?” she asked, her voice a little softer than he expected.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Pretend as if this isn’t killing the both of us,” she replied.
