The air between them was thick enough to choke. Clara's question still rang in the chamber, slicing through the silence:
"Who is she?"
Jared had turned, his back rigid, one hand gripping the carved banister with such force the wood groaned. He did not answer. The golden gleam of his eyes flickered dangerously in the torchlight, but his mouth remained a hard, unyielding line.
Clara took a step toward him, her gown whispering against the stone floor. "Say it," she pressed. "If you have found your mate, then admit it."
"There is no one," Jared bit out, his voice cold, flat, final.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, low and sharp. "You lie, Jared. And you expect me to swallow it like a fool. Do not insult me. I know why you spurn me. I know why you refuse the very duty you forced upon me."
He spun then, eyes blazing molten gold. "Enough." The single word cracked like a whip.
