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“I don’t trust your family.”

“Neither do I,” Genevieve answered without hesitation. “I don’t trust most of the Delacroix family, and I definitely don’t trust the Laveaus.”

“Fascinating.”

Her mouth curved into another smile. “Families like ours aren’t built on trust.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“I want you alive. I want you clear-headed, and I want you strong again. After that, what you choose is your business, but I don’t want you making choices from weakness. You need to step into your power without being afraid of it.”

I studied her again.

She was genuine. Mostly.

There was still something underneath everything she said because people with power always had a motive, but I didn’t think she was lying to me.

“I’m not afraid of power.”

“I know. You’re afraid of being owned.”

“I’m not property.”

“You’re not, and I won’t let you become anyone’s property.” Genevieve paused before continuing. “When I was seventeen, I was pushed into a marriage I didn’t want. Nobody saved me from it quickly, so I recognize what I see when I look at you.”

For the first time since she walked into the room, I didn’t have a smart-ass response ready.

Genevieve stood from the chair.

“Rest, eat, and get stronger. I’ll come back in a few days to check on you.”

She made it to the door before looking back at me.

“You don’t have to like my son, but don’t underestimate him.”

“I don’t underestimate anyone.”

That made her smile.

“Good.”

Once she left, I looked through the windows at the garden again. My attention followed the stone path all the way toward the gates while I thought about how much space there was between them and how fast I could probably run once my body belonged to me again.

Somehow, my thoughts ended up back on Ares.

Everything about that man irritated me. He talked with the kind of calm that made it seem like the world had already agreed to whatever he wanted. I hated men who moved that way.

I hated even more that I kept thinking about him.

I flipped my sketchbook to a blank page and put my pencil against the paper. Before long, a face started taking shape. I drew the bone structure first, then the mouth and those green-hazel eyes he got from his mother. I shaded them darker than everything else until it looked like he was staring back at me from the page.

I kept drawing while the question I had been trying not to ask finally came out.

“When is he coming back?”

CHAPTER 16

Ares