AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her anger tightened. True, Aristeidis had made some mistakes after the death of Dorian, but still. He was Atticus’s father and he was dying. Surely Atticus could put aside his own bitterness for his dying father? Elena didn’t remember much about her own father, but she knew she would have done anything to have one last conversation with him.
If you’d managed to get the attention of someone to search through the rubble instead of running and hiding like a coward, you might have had the chance.
Elena ignored the whisper in her head. It was an old doubt that visited from time to time, but she never listened to it. There was no point. She’d been eight when her family had been killed and what could an eight-year-old have done? She’d barely survived herself.
Anyway, getting angry with Atticus wouldn’t help the situation. It was a weakness she couldn’t afford, and besides, it never got you what you wanted. When Atticus had left her on Kalifos she’d been furious, both at the world and at him. The world for taking away her family and then at him for abandoning her.
Aristeidis had been appalled at her arrival too and hadn’t wanted anything to do with an angry child who seemed more spitting, hissing cat than human being. He wasn’t a man who approved of strong displays of emotion. He was ex-military and valued strength and control, and so that was what Elena had turned herself into. A strong woman in command of herself and who never let her emotions get the better of her.
She couldn’t let those emotions get the better of her now with Atticus. Though...perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let him know how much his father needed him. Perhaps even a small plea. She wouldn’t allow herself to be vulnerable, not the way she’d been all those years ago, in the rubble of her devastated town, but she could allow him to think that she was.
She had no idea what kind of man he was now—she hadn’t really had any idea of what kind of man he’d been when he’d rescued her all those years ago either—but he was clearly someone who responded to those in need. He ran Eleos, after all, and you didn’t start up a charity then turn it into one of the world’s biggest without being somewhat of a giver by nature.
Maybe if she was convincing enough he’d change his mind and come home. She’d turn on the tears if she had to. She wasn’t above begging, not for Aristeidis’s sake.
Taking a steadying breath and forcing her anger away, Elena started off in the direction Atticus had gone. Hopefully when she found him, he’d have put on some clothes, which would help matters.
However, when she eventually found him in a small clearing in the tangled jungle behind the house, standing at a tall wooden bench, he was still naked and in the process of gutting and cleaning the fish he’d caught. He paid her absolutely no attention at all as he stripped the scales from the fish, cut the head and tail off, then deboned it with ruthless efficiency.
And for a second all thoughts of pleading with him vanished from her head as she watched him, half mesmerised by the assured movement of his strong, scarred hands. He looked as if he’d cleaned and filleted his catch a thousand times before, every action precise and confident.
Of course he would. He’s a hunter.
Where that thought came from, she had no idea. But it was true, she could see it in the hard, carved muscles of his body and the air of relaxed readiness about him. He didn’t take his eyes off the fish he was preparing, but she had the sense that if prey or a threat appeared, he’d grab that knife and attack without hesitation.
‘I thought I told you to leave,’ he said, casually arrogant as he set aside the fish he’d cleaned and then dealt with the offal without looking up.
The tight coil of anger and grief inside her flexed and even though she was trying not to give into her emotions, what came out was, ‘And I thought I told you I wasn’t leaving until you came with me.’
‘Get back on your boat, Elena. I’m not changing my mind.’
She tore her gaze from the distracting motion of his hands. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m not explaining myself either.’ He looked up all of a sudden, his gaze black and glittering, the wickedly sharp boning knife held loosely in his hand. ‘Make no mistake. I will forcibly remove you if I have to.’
An inexplicable shiver worked its way down her spine. Still naked, tanned by the sun, and holding a knife, there was something wild about him, something primal and, really, she should have been afraid of him.
Yet despite her anger, she found herself strangely thrilled instead.
Over the years she’d built up this idea of him, the warrior who’d saved her, the prince who’d carried her to safety. He was a fairy tale she’d embellished in her head and how could she not? At first Aristeidis had never spoken of him, not when she was growing up, that didn’t happen until she’d been in her teens, so she’d had nothing real to base her imaginings on. Nothing but his rise as head of Eleos and she’d only watched that the way everyone else had—through the eyes of the media.
But this man in front of her wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t a prince. He wasn’t a myth. He was real and the reality of him was covered in scales and fish blood and holding a knife, and she found that oddly exciting, though why, she didn’t know.
She wasn’t leaving, though, regardless of his threats.
‘Please, Atticus.’ She let a thread of grief colour her voice and she didn’t have to fake it. ‘He hasn’t even got a month. He needs you.’
‘No,’ he said, very obviously unmoved.
Elena clasped her hands in front of her and twisted them, making her eyes large and dark, and pouting just enough to hint at tears rather than a sulk. ‘He’s your father. It would mean so much to him.’ She paused. ‘It would mean so much to me too.’
While the hints at vulnerability were fake, she wasn’t lying. It would mean so much to Aristeidis and it would mean so much to her as well. She wanted him and his father to reconcile, for both their sakes.
But he was already turning away, her little performance of no interest to him. ‘I’ve already told you my decision. I’d go now if I were you. There will be a storm front blowing in at some point this evening.’
Frustration gripped her, but she knew better than to give in to it.
You were too impatient. You should have waited for him to invite you here.
