Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

After grabbing a bite to eat, Sylvia took her medication just like the doctor ordered and collapsed onto her bed, sinking into a groggy daze.

She vaguely heard Naomi say something about heading back to the hotel. Sylvia mumbled a half-asleep "yeah," then drifted off completely.

But for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was standing right by her bed, watching her.

She cracked her eyes open a sliver, glanced around, then rolled over, trying to ignore it.

The next second, she jolted upright, wide awake, and glared at the man looming at her bedside.

"Uncle Rupert, it's late. What do you want?"

"Did you eat?" Rupert asked, his deep voice rumbling.

"I"

Just as Sylvia was about to say she had, Orson, who'd been hovering behind Rupert, lifted a takeout bag and waggled his eyebrows at her in a not-so-subtle way.

"Ms. Lloyd! Some of Mountain City's best street food! Mr. Rupert hasn't had dinner yet and brought some to share with you."

Knowing how Sylvia loved to be contrary, Orson basically spelled it out for her.

Sylvia pulled the comforter tighter around herself and pretended not to notice. "No thanks. Uncle Rupert, why don't you take it and eat with Bridget? She loves this kind of food."

She wasn't too worried; Rupert was in a wheelchair-there wasn't much he could do.

But as soon as she finished talking, the whole room seemed to go still and heavy, like the air had thickened.

"She's gone home. You're eating with me." Rupert waved Orson off.

Orson quickly set the food out on the little table.

Sylvia shrank against the headboard, her face losing a bit of color.

So Bridget left, and now he was using her for entertainment.

When she didn't move, Rupert's eyes darkened. "Is this how you thank someone who saved your life?"

Sylvia cut him off. "Fine, I get it. I'll eat with you."

She threw off the covers, slid out of bed, and sat down at the table, picking at the food like a puppet on strings.

Rupert watched her, lips pressed thin, his eyes cold. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed her wrist. "Don't force yourself if you hate it."

"Doesn't matter," Sylvia muttered, eyes down, and kept eating.

Her

was

swollen and sore,

bet

fothrobbing, but she kept stuffing more and more trapped reeling

her mouth anyway, feeling

Why did everyone have to push her like this?

With a loud clatter, Rupert hadn't even touched his food before

slamming down his chop

one Swift movement, he

her

toward him and pulled her into his fap. sŵnovel

Remembering his legs, Sylvia tried to wriggle free.

But Rupert's arms held her firm, locking her in place.

"Uncle Rupert, your legs," she reminded him, a little breathless.

He pulled her closer, his voice cold and rough. "So you do remember. Go ahead, try to move again."

Sylvia wanted to try, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

They'd been married for eight years in another life, after all; she could read his moods.

She turned her head, glancing at him, her eyes misty with all the things she wanted to say but couldn't quite put into words.

"You..."

"What?" Rupert's blue eyes locked onto hers.

She was clever, but not exactly subtle-her feelings always showed in those clear eyes of hers.

Stubborn, embarrassed, a little angry.

Whenever she got like this, her eyes

would get all glassy, making

delicate face even more

impossible to look away

But tonight, Rupert was in no mood to appreciate her beauty.noveldrama

He took a good look at her face, and his own tension slowly ebbed.

When he reached out, she flinched, turning her bruised cheek away on purpose.

Rupert caught her chin and gently turned her face toward the light, exposing the swollen, red side for him to see.

A clear handprint, tiny capillaries broken beneath the skin.

His gaze grew colder, jaw clenched. As he reached to touch her, Sylvia grabbed his hand.

"Don't look."

"Did you put on any ointment?" Rupert asked, pulling her even closer.