Fantasyland: Broken Dove Part 7

I mean, he was the one who brought me here.

"Of course I understand," I said quietly, "but that doesn't mean-"

Again, he didn't let me finish.

"Just gazing on you, it feels like brands searing into my eyes."

Oh G.o.d.

That sucked. Seriously sucked. That had to kill and I felt for him. I really, really did.

But still.

"I understand that," I kept my tone low and gentle, "but-"

"You look like her. You sound like her. You even smell like her."

That sucked too.

Big time.

I pressed my lips together.

"But you are not her," he finished.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "But you brought me here and you knew I wouldn't be her. And right now, it seems urgent things are happening. Things I don't understand in a world I don't understand and you're responsible for bringing me into this world. Now you're leaving me alone in it without even giving me time to ask questions, the answers to which might help me to know how to conduct myself, what I'm dealing with, both giving me a hint of peace of mind."

"And I explained, my men will answer."

"Okay, that's great, but we have things to talk about regarding my future here and-"

He was back to interrupting me and he did it by saying, "And I explained that as well. We will talk when you reach Lunwyn, before you come to the estate."

Was he crazy?

My understanding was that would be two freaking months from now.

"I'd like to do it now," I requested carefully.

"And I don't have time now," he denied me, not carefully.

I took in a deep breath and held his eyes.

Then I shared, "It's important, Apollo."

"It's important for me to get back to my children and make haste in getting them to safety. Your future here is secure. That's all you need to know"-he paused- "for now. Now, I'm away."

Was he serious?

He turned and started toward the door.

He was serious.

"Wait!" I called, going after him.

He didn't wait.

He kept going.

I kept following, crying, "Apollo! Hang on a second!"

His legs were longer than mine so I had to jog to catch up.

This I did at the front door.

And when I did it, I made a mistake.

I said his name and wrapped my fingers around his bicep.

The instant I did, he pulled it forcefully from my touch, rearing back. And with my history, he did it appearing like he was preparing to strike Instinctively, I lifted a hand in front of my face, palm toward him, and backed up, tripping on my train but managing to right myself before I went down. I yanked it from under me and took another step back, my eyes glued to him, my body prepared for anything.

I stopped moving back, suddenly breathing heavily. When I noticed he was not preparing to strike, I dropped my hand to press it to my chest.

Through all this, his eyes were also glued to me but I couldn't read them.

And for some reason, we stood in the preposterously elegant foyer of his preposterously fabulous country house situated in the preposterously beautiful countryside of a parallel universe and we stared into each other's eyes, not speaking. His thoughts were cloaked. Mine, I doubted, were the same.

Then he shared his thoughts.

And if his earlier comment was an insult that landed an invisible blow, this one delivered a kill shot.

"Be careful what you wish for," he whispered, his eyes locked to mine as I drew in breath. "You might get it." He put his hand to the doork.n.o.b and finished, "And not want it."

Then he was gone.

Chapter Four.

I Was Used to It It was safe to say I was p.i.s.sed.

It was the next morning after Apollo dealt his death blow.

I was in another gown that was very pretty but didn't fit me. I was bathed, watered and fed. And a maid who didn't speak my language had just come to my room, gesturing in a way I knew I was being summoned for something.

I'd heard horses' hooves on the stone outside so I figured my guard was there.

But I didn't care.

I hadn't slept. Not a wink.

This was because, at first, I was hurt.

No.

Wounded. Wounded was the word to describe it.

Wounded deeply.

I didn't know why. I just knew I was.

Deeply.

Then I started to think on things and I got mad.

Sure, one could say I didn't want to go back to Pol and endure a life with him, walking on eggsh.e.l.ls, taking my beatings whenever whatever was in his head would snap and he'd lose it. Then planning my escape and escaping, only to be found, beaten, dragged back and starting the process all over again and doing all this not very fun stuff until the day I died.

That didn't work for me. As in really didn't work.

But I'd been transported by a freaking witch to a freaking parallel universe by a man grieving his wife who was my twin. Then he got me, held me in his arms as I slept (and seriously, what was that all about?) and for some reason decided he didn't want me (not that I wanted him, either, for G.o.d's sake). And finally, he threw me to the proverbial wolves.

Not that there were wolves, as such. The staff seemed nice, smiling, friendly, solicitous, and it wasn't like I was in a prison with nowhere to sleep but on cold stone and nothing to eat but moldy bread and fetid water.

But still!

So, needless to say, this all meant I didn't sleep. Which didn't help with me being p.i.s.sed.

But I did force a smile at the maid and followed her, though I did it stomping and even that p.i.s.sed me off because I still was barefoot so my stomping wasn't very effective.

I saw him when I was halfway down the stairs and, not surprisingly, he was tall, blond, built and preposterously good-looking.

He was also wearing romance novel guy clothes.

Exhausted and in a bad mood, this annoyed me more.

As I descended the stairs, his eyes lifted to me and his mouth dropped open.

He knew the other Ilsa.

Whatever.

He snapped his mouth shut and wiped his face blank.

I'd seen that before.

Again.

Whatever.

I stomped to four feet away from him and stopped.

"I take it you're my guard," I guessed.

His eyes moved over my face, lingering on the bruise at my cheek (whatever!) before stopping on mine. "Yes, madam, myself and the seven men outside."

Seven men?

That seemed like a lot which didn't bode good things.

I didn't share these musings with him.

I introduced myself, of a sort. "I take it you know I'm Ilsa."

"I do," he replied.

"And you are?" I asked.

"Derrik," he answered.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I snapped.

His eyes lit and his lips twitched.

I found this a bizarre reaction, so I asked, "Is that funny?"

"Yes, seeing as you said kind words you so obviously didn't mean and I'm not entirely certain what I've done in the last three seconds to earn your ire, having done nothing but stand here and greet you," he shared.

c.r.a.p.

He hadn't done anything. I was being rude.

I wasn't averse to being rude if a situation warranted it, say, a telemarketer called during dinner...or ever.

But mostly I was averse to being rude.

Therefore, I decided to explain.

"I'm annoyed," I told him. "Not at you," I added hurriedly. "At your master, or leader...or...whoever."

He dipped his chin and looked at me from under his brow, his voice gentling. "I am of the House of Lazarus. I trained under the House of Ulfr. Apollo and I grew close, shared a bond that was strong enough that when I would have returned to my own House, I elected to stay with him and command his men in his stead when he's absent. I'm not in line for the Head of my House therefore it's a good position." He grinned and lifted his chin, not letting go of my gaze. "And the women of the House of Ulfr are more pleasing to look at and not one of them is my cousin or sister."

At his words, I felt my own lips twitching and surmised, "So you're his second in command."