Page 94 of The Forsaken

He had his answer. She took them.

Kerr’s arm fell to his side—but why?

“Andromena.”

Her eyes welled.

Curse her tears!

His chest burned.

“I can explain, Edgar.”

“Try.” Please.

“I don’t know where to s-start.”

“At the beginning,” he snapped. “Now, madam!”

That always did the trick. Rapid fury blared to life in her eyes. She spit. She cursed. She kicked her adorable toes at him. And when he laughed, she hurled more names—hurled slippers and whatever googads hung from her bonnet.

Today marked the exception. She did none of those things.

Her sad eyes knocked Kerr off-balance.

“I’ve done something terrible, Edgar.”

His sense of unease grew. “Do you mean aside from theft?”

“I was going to tell you,” she said on a whisper.

Where was her spirit? Her fight? “Tell me what?”

He shook them at her.

“By being with me, you are in danger,” she cried.

Kerr opened his mouth then closed it. He’d forgotten certain peculiarities about the McQuoid-Smith families, on account there were just so damned many to keep track of. The family’s penchant for grand productions had been one he deliberately forgot. Their performance of Castle Specter had been more than enough for Kerr. Kerr put forth an impressive effort to block their love of the farce.

“Are you listening?” Andromena stomped over to her bag. “Here. See for yourself! Someone, has threatened to harm you and my family, and I will not let it happen.”

Kerr took this to mean that someone was blackmailing her, something he confirmed moments later in a note. After note. After note, to be exact. With each one, a white-hot rage rooted deep within him. He like a caged beast, with an all-consuming, blistering need to kill, longing for freedom—and about to find it.

When Kerr finished, he continued to stare at the inked words.

It was better this way; safer that he take a moment for both of them. When he trusted himself to speak, Kerr very deliberately, folded each blackmail note back along their very defined creases. That illusion of calm he allowed himself, broke. That wear in the paper told the story of Andromena folding and unfolding, again and again, reading. Alone. Pain hit him like an anchor in the belly.

This was why she spent the week avoiding him. The one who had been controlling her had stolen the only true sunshine from Kerr’s life. His jaw twitched. Even worse, that fiend had manipulated Andromena, made her live in fear, and kept her from Kerr.

“Edgar?”

“Shh.”

Wisely, she complied.

Scrubbing a hand along his chin, he paced to each window of her bedroom, scanning the overgrowth for the threat out there. Somewhere there was the man who wanted her—wanted her badly enough to kill. He had made her work for him and humiliated her. Used her own actions against her. No one brought her low. For that—for all of that, the man would pay.

Trembling, Kerr fought two competing urges: the need shake her and kissing her senseless.