I picture it in those large honey-colored eyes, and the image forces mine open. I grit my teeth, fists clenching. There’s no reason for me to dislike that thought.
I felt nothing when I killed Justin’s son in front of him. Nothing when I had animals take turns on him while he begged me to stop. He deserved that, but his son and wife were innocent. I killed them anyway. No guilt then. No guilt now.
I eliminated every family member of the men who made my mother cry. Even the deaths of infants did not move me.So why does this woman?
She is nothing special. She is beautiful, yes—but there are countless beautiful women. And on top of that, she is a weak leech surviving only because her father has wealth. Throw her into a life where she has to struggle for bread, and she’d die within two weeks.
Yet I hesitate to make her cry.
What is so special about her tears?
Nothing.
There’s nothing special about her. Or her tears.
I push up from the chair and stride out.
I won’t let anything ruin my plan.
I walk into Bruno’s room. My steps stop the moment I see her. She’s asleep, huddled around Bruno, hand on his stomach. Both their faces turned toward me.
Bruno opens his eyes and stares.
I take two steps closer. He bares his teeth.
My jaw tightens.Has this useless piece of shit forgotten who feeds him?
I take another step. He growls.
I clench my jaw. I should throw him out in the snow. One night out there would fix his loyalty.
This is her fault.I glare at her sleeping face. She looks like she’s in her father’s house—a spoiled princess, undisturbed even by the storm. There isn’t a single survival instinct in her. She is useless through and through.
I waste another minute watching her sleep, then turn and leave—more frustrated than when I arrived.
Elowen
My eyes fly open as water splashes over my face. I gasp and sit up. Curse words rush to my tongue, but I swallow them.
A maid stands in front of me, hands on her hips, a bucket at her feet.
“Who gave you permission to sleep?” she demands, her voice dripping with hatred.
I get up from Bruno’s bed.
“You wet the mattress,” I point out, gesturing to the damp patch.
“First replace it with another one, then clean this room,” she orders.
“Where is another mattress?”
She gives me a once-over, then turns. “Follow me.”
I follow her down the stairs into a room filled with utility supplies.
She points to a box. “Open it.”
I rip the tape off and lift the flaps. Inside is a collapsible mattress.
