The walk back to the mansion was silent, except for the distant pop of gunfire and the heavy thud of Lorenzo's boots. He didn't put Amara down. He carried her over his shoulder like a hunter with his prize. Her face was hot with shame, and her heart felt like a trapped bird hitting its cage.
When they entered the foyer, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. Lorenzo finally set her down on the cold marble floor.
"Upstairs," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharper than any blade. "My office."
Amara didn't argue. She saw the blood on the sleeve of his white shirt—not his own, she realized—and the way his knuckles were bruised. She climbed the stairs, her legs shaking, with Lorenzo following right behind her.
He closed the heavy oak doors of his office and locked them with a loud click.
"You broke Rule One," Lorenzo said, walking to a small bar in the corner. He poured a glass of amber liquid and downed it in one go. "I told you what would happen if you tested my patience."
"I was scared!" Amara cried out, her voice cracking. "Men were shooting at the house! What did you expect me to do? Sit and wait to be killed?"
Lorenzo slammed the glass onto the table. The sound made her jump. He moved across the room in a flash, pinning her against the door. He placed a hand on either side of her head, trapping her.
"I expected you to trust me," he growled. "Outside those gates, you are a target. Inside this house, you are under my protection. By running, you almost handed yourself to men who would have used you to get to me, and then discarded your body in the river."
Amara looked up at him, her eyes wet. "Why do you care? I'm just a witness."
Lorenzo leaned down, his face inches from hers. His gray eyes were no longer cold—they were burning. "Because I decided you were mine. And I don't lose what belongs to me."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate gold chain. At the end of it was a small, sleek GPS pendant.
"This is your punishment," he whispered. "Since you cannot stay within the walls I give you, you will wear this. If you move more than ten feet from your room without a guard, an alarm will sound. And I will find you."
He stepped closer, his body heat radiating through her thin red dress. He draped the gold chain around her neck. His fingers brushed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine that wasn't entirely fear.
"Is this your version of mercy?" she whispered.
"No," Lorenzo said, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Mercy would have been letting you go. This is an obsession, Amara. And it's only just beginning."
Amara is now tracked and trapped. Does the King's "gift" make her feel safer, or more like a prisoner? Would you like to continue to Chapter 7: The Blood Gala?