Dominic. Elizabeth Amber
her husband at the edge of the tree line, grumbling as if to warn her of his approach.
“Liber. Ceres. Away,” she ordered softly. At the sound of her voice, Carlo’s head lifted. His eyes narrowed on her where she stood in the doorway of their home.
The hopeful thrill that had always zinged through her when she caught sight of him was missing this time. Yet she’d waited for him tonight as anxiously as always, half fearing he wouldn’t come. Her relief now that he had shown himself was tinged with dread. It was a curious reaction, and one for which only she and he knew the reason.
Carlo stepped out of the late afternoon shadows and next to her beneath the portico of the carriage house. Adjacent to that of her sister’s lavish castello, it had been converted into their home upon their wedding. But though Emma resided here, her husband had visited only twelve times during the entire year of their marriage. Once a month, like clockwork, he’d returned to bed her. As he would do tonight.
Their eyes met—hers a wary ash brown, his a boyish, confident blue. His smile was warm, false, familiar. Frightening.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching for her.
So he thought they would both pretend.
She pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” she warned coolly. “Except as necessary. Later.”
He feigned astonishment. “What’s this? Where’s my usual affectionate welcome? Do you wish me gone again? Shall I leave?” He turned on his heel as though to depart.
“No!” She took a hasty step forward and put a staying hand on his sleeve.
He smirked. “I thought not.” Dropping his bag on the porch, he snaked an arm around her, drawing her so close that she felt the hard weapon he wore at his hip.
Cupping the back of her head, he pressed her soft cheek to the coarse wool of his uniform. She inhaled the peculiar scent of that other world in which he dwelled. That world into which she could not trespass. That world she used to despise because it kept him away from her.
Now she could hardly wait for morning, when he would return there.
“Don’t.” She wedged her elbows between them, trying to nudge him away.
His grip on her tightened, and she winced as the beading along the back of her gown punished her skin.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Emma,” he murmured, refusing to release her. His breath was cool against her neck. “Can’t you let it go?”
At his words, hope tried to flicker to life within her. Had his ill treatment of her last month been an aberration? Would this sojourn from the war in Else World signal a new beginning for their marriage? Hope—foolish hope—brightened her heart, just a little. She squashed it.
Carlo drew back, and his satisfied gaze fell to her swollen waistline.
“You’ve grown fat in the past month,” he teased.
“And whose fault is that?” she told him, forcing herself to match his light tone.
An odd expression shifted in his face, gone before she could decipher it.
“Mine, I suppose. But motherhood agrees with you.” He found his usual smile once more. The one that made him so deceptively attractive and which had lured her into wedding him.
“Did you tell your sister?” he asked.
“No, Jane noticed my condition without my having to do so.”
In a gesture that had become habitual over the last four weeks, she smoothed a hand over her rounded abdomen. It had grown to this size within a single month, the entirety of the period necessary for the gestation of a child of Satyr heritage. The bulge was only half the size of her sister’s or of her two aunts’ by the time they’d given birth.
“She predicts our first child will be a small one.”
“You misunderstand,” said Carlo. “I meant to inquire regarding whether or not you told her what happened between us.”
Emma arched a brow. “Do you refer to my reluctance to conceive and your insistence?” she asked. She refused to pretend it had been something else. “If so, no. I saw little point. However, you should be aware I’ll not tolerate a repeat of your brutality.”
“Brutality? Come now, you overstate the case. You know how my blood stirs under a full moon.” He pulled her close again and bumped his forehead to hers, his pretty eyes willing her plain ones to offer forgiveness.
She simply stared at him, stunned anew at his refusal to concede that there could be no excuses for what he’d done.
“It’s unnatural for a woman to thwart her husband’s efforts to beget heirs on her. Why did you do it, Emma? Why didn’t you want my child?”
Because this child shackles me to you forever. Makes it more difficult to leave you. Unaccustomed anger surged in her, but she tamped it down. Just get through tonight, she reminded herself. Tomorrow will be time enough for frank words.
A squeal of delight had them both turning. Emma’s older half sister Jane had peeked into the hall and seen them.
Carlo straightened, drawing Emma into the curve of his arm. Making a pretense that all was well.
“You’ve returned at last, Carlo. How wonderful!” Jane said. “I’ll summon the others.”
“Do! I’ve brought news of matters on the other side.” Carlo glanced behind himself, through the open front door. The air shifted as her sister departed in a swirl of skirts, and candlelight from the hall sconces rose for a moment, flaring across his throat. Angry scratches striped the flesh there and on his collarbone, spidering even lower within the concealment of his uniform.
“You’re hurt!” Emma said, impulsively reaching to inspect his injuries.
“Shhh!” Carlo grabbed her wrist, rejecting her touch. His mood had altered like lightning, transforming him into the monster she’d glimpsed only once before. A month ago.
“He’s here!” Oblivious to any undercurrents, Jane had already departed. Her footsteps and voice receded down the corridor toward the dining room.
Emma tugged at her arm, but Carlo held her fast in an intentional show of strength. With his free hand, he fastened his collar over his injuries, firmly shutting her out.
The distant scrape of chair legs against wooden parquet indicated that the rest of the Satyr clan would soon come rushing out to join them. Her time alone with her husband was at an end. At least until they retired together upstairs.
His grip relaxed, and she pulled her wrist from his hold and stepped away, rubbing it and surveying him through downcast lashes. Panic beat its delicate wings in her chest.
Should she speak to Jane? Or to one of the others? Tell them what he’d done to her last month? No. She wouldn’t tell them, for the same reasons she hadn’t told them before now. Carlo had gone to great lengths to obtain what he wanted of her—a child. It was unlikely he would chance harming it when they were alone.
And, regardless, the rest of the family would soon be incapable of protecting her. When the full moon came, all on the estate would fall under its spell.
“Say nothing of this. There’s no need to alarm the family,” Carlo instructed. She shot him a sharp glance, wondering if he’d read her mind. But he only touched his throat, indicating his injuries. “We’ll speak more of my wounds privately. Later.”
He brushed past her, his boot heels tapping across polished Italian travertine.
Jane returned and dashed forward on silent slippers, taking him by surprise and enfolding him in a sisterly hug. He was too well mannered not to allow it. But Emma read the tension in him as he endured the affectionate clasp.
The hall was narrow, and their presence temporarily trapped Emma just inside the front door. Watching