Page 48 of Eternal Craving

“Salvador?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen him.” I glanced around and turned back to face Alicia with a puzzled frown.

I helped her as she staggered to her feet. “Felipe told me he’d kill Ricardo if I left this place.”

She meant her son, but hearing my brother’s name stung my heart.

“I’ll find him, too.” I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.

We moved through the dungeon, making our way up and out, and then lingered at the top of the stairwell, waiting for our pathway to clear.

“I can’t leave without them.” She trembled against me.

My gut wrenched when I realized Alicia didn’t look pregnant.

I stared at her pale, tear-stained face. “I’ll come back.”

“When Felipe sent his men to arrest us,” she murmured, her hand on her belly, “I lost the baby.”

I felt an awful, twisting grief and couldn’t imagine what she’d endured. “How did he know you were in Italy?”

She grasped my sleeve. “Felipe told me he intercepted a letter from Salvador’s mother.”

I let out a slow breath. “I promise I’ll go back for them.”

When we reached the stables, I found what looked like a fast horse and bridled him. I patted his neck, trying to earn his trust as I slid on the saddle and then secured the girth around his chest.

I turned to Alicia. “Promise me,” I held her arm to make sure she listened, “you won’t stop until you get to Miranda’s home.”

Alicia nodded. “I remember it.”

With my assistance, Alicia grasped the reins and mounted.

“Neither of you can stay there for long.” With caution, I led the stallion outside. “Felipe may come looking for you.”

Alicia sobbed. “I can’t leave them.”

“It’s getting dark. They won’t be able to catch you. Hold on tight.” I slapped the horse’s rump.

Alicia galloped off and I continued to watch her, making sure she didn’t turn the horse around. She rode well and was light in the saddle. I prayed she’d make it to Miranda’s.

When I turned back toward the stables, two guards came from out of nowhere. A fist struck my jaw, and a foot kicked me forward into the dirt. I spat out soil and then felt the awful pressure of a man kneeling on my back.

Muffled orders were shouted our way. The knee lifted and I sucked in air, yelling with rage as they dragged me away.

A lone soldier was ordered to guard me inside the mansion. His gruff expression made me look elsewhere, studying the office to become familiar with my surroundings.

An oversized mahogany writing desk was positioned in the center, and pretentious leather-bound books adorned the shelves. On the wall behind the desk hung a painting, a portrayal of the biblical tale of Belshazzar’s Feast.

Prince Belshazzar’s morbid expression matched my own. He’d made the mistake of insulting God. He, his wives, concubines, and other cohorts had imbibed from the sacred vessels stolen from Solomon’s temple. The prince glared back at a disembodied hand that reached out of a cloud.

The guard coughed and I caught him wiping his brow.

I turned my attention back to the painting where God scribed in Aramaic that Belshazzar’s days were numbered.

The door opened and several men entered, closely followed by Felipe.

Salvador was imprisoned somewhere within these walls. I had to persuade Felipe to let him go.