“Get out, Ellie,” he barked, voice rising. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m not supposed to leave my room yet, but one of us is leaving, so that means you.”
He wasn’t kidding. He was furious. Obviously, this argument had touched a nerve. Part of me wondered if I should apologize to keep the peace, but I didn’t feel like backing down. I didn’t think I’d said anything wrong. He wasn’t the only one who had difficulties in life. Shifters weren’t the only ones who suffered hardships. And no matter what he said, I would never believe their “eye for an eye” motto, with no regard to true justice or law and order would solve anything.
“Fine,” I snapped, rising. I searched for something else to say, but couldn’t think of a darn thing. Instead, I spun around and stalked from his bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Chapter Fifteen
I was upset, angry, maybe a little embarrassed, and—even though I hated to admit it—a little hurt. Why couldn’t Carter at least try to see things my way? This wasn’t our first go-round on the topic, but since then I’d tried to educate myself. I’d tried to see things his way, hadn’t I? I acknowledged his life was difficult and dangerous. I admitted I had no idea what it was like to hide in the shadows like he did. I had no idea what it would be like to live a life so full of fear of your heritage—an unescapable heritage—that you were leery of having sex or getting married or establishing a long-term relationship. I didn’t know anything about that. But I had seen pain and suffering and hardship, even if on a different level. I’d made up my mind years ago to bring healing where I could.
Then why don’t you try bringing healing to him?
The notion actually stopped me in my tracks as I stomped down the corridor.
Is that my responsibility? I argued.
It wasn’t. Not any more than those cancer patients or sick or dying people were my responsibility. Not until I’d made them my responsibility. Truthfully, I didn’t owe those people, being total strangers, any more than the general compassion of one human being to another. I didn’t owe them personally, in other words. Carter, though—I did owe him something. It was true I’d helped save his life, but he was still pretty far ahead of me on that score. Not to mention his marrying me to protect me from potential legal trouble. Then going above and beyond that by making sure my family was hidden from any potential trouble with Nosizwe. And when that had fallen through, my family was relocated and safeguarded again.
I sighed heavily, standing there in the corridor, and dropped my face in my palm to rub my forehead.
This is too much. I don’t know how to help Carter. I don’t know how to heal him. What am I supposed to be able to do for him? He doesn’t even like me. Right now he probably hates me.
I suspected that wasn’t entirely true, but Carter’s changing moods made him notoriously difficult for me to handle, to decipher. Maybe having variable moods went along with the ability to shift from one physical form to another. Or maybe he was like me: stuck with a person he’d never considered being stuck with, that he wasn’t sure how to read or manage, and who consequently challenged every preconceived notion he’d ever had of their kind.
Not that I’d ever really had many preconceived notions of shapeshifters, prior to becoming entangled with Sean Costas and his followers. Most of mine had been garnered from common lore of vampires turning into bats or lycanthropes turning into werewolves during a full moon. Carter had mocked that the first night I’d met him. Having been around him and other shifters since then, I knew why.
I was so lost in my thoughts, and honestly in a quagmire of emotions, that I didn’t even notice the man approaching me from the opposite end of the corridor until I nearly ran into him.
“Ellie?” he said, his deep voice catching me by surprise.
I jumped back with a tiny squeak I hoped he didn’t catch.
“Mr. Costas,” I said, flustered, pushing the hair from my face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice you there.”
“No need to apologize. How are you, Ellie?”
It was difficult for me to know what to make of this man, my host. He was one of the wealthiest men in Texas, golfed with the president, and rubbed elbows with politicians and celebrities, yet because I’d chanced to save his young son’s life he considered himself beholden to me. It was a strange dichotomy, a man like that considering himself in the debt of somebody like me. But if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be here in his mansion and he wouldn’t be speaking to me as if we were somehow equals instead of basically a nobleman and a peasant.
More than that, I couldn’t help recalling what I’d accused him of to Carter—a businessman who wasn’t above shady dealings, including physical violence. Carter hadn’t denied it. Had pretty much confirmed it, in fact.
The point was, someone like me should not be mixed up with someone like Sean Costas, or Carter Ballis, his head of security, and yet here we were.
“I’m okay,” I lied, trying to appear okay even though I was not only nervous but still confused and a bit upset from Carter’s and my argument. “Thank you for asking. How are you and your family?”
“Well enough.” That didn’t sound too great, but he didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. “I was on my way to Carter’s rooms to speak with you, and here you are. Do you have time to talk?”
I hoped my eyes didn’t widen. Time to talk? A private chat with Sean Costas? Had something gone wrong with my family’s relocation, and he felt compelled to give me the bad news himself? Had he decided I was too much of a liability and he wouldn’t be helping me or my family anymore?
All sorts of disaster scenarios whirled through my head as I nodded and he led me aside into one of the mansion’s many living rooms. Sitting rooms. Parlors. Sunrooms. Morning rooms. I didn’t know what rich people called them. As we seated ourselves, the question brushed my mind of exactly how many rooms this place even had. Having lived in military housing most of my growing up years, I could barely fathom a home like this, but I shoved the idle contemplations aside as Mr. Costas took a seat, facing me.
“I can send for coffee, tea, anything you like,” he offered.
I shook my head. “No, thank you. Carter and I just ate, actually.”
Carter had eaten. I hadn’t taken more than a few bites, but my appetite was still in hiding.
“A drink, then? Wine? Vodka? Whiskey? Something mixed or straight, from the bottle or on the rocks?”
I blinked at him, saw his trimmed beard part in a smile.
“That was a joke. I remember you’re not much of a drinker.”
“No, not really,” I hedged, nervously smoothing the wrinkles in my jeans. “I mean, I do enjoy the occasional glass of wine.”
“I can provide that, if you wish.”
Again, I shook my head, although a slice of me did acknowledge that maybe some wine would be nice right about now.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Very well.” He dropped the subject of refreshments. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked to speak with you.”
“Yes…is it my family? Are they okay?”