11

Portia
“Jesus!” I’m startled at the look of the very large and very excited German Shepherd that comes through the door.
Callahan turns to look at me with a grin on his face-asshole which is gone the instant the giant hound sniffs me then sets his head on my lap, tail wagging like we’re old friends.
I admit, this is a scary looking dog but they’re usually the sweetest. It’s the little fuckers you have to watch for. I still remember a friend’s yappy poodle chasing me around the dining room table on my first visit to her house when I was barely five.
“Well, hi there. What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask him in a voice that makes Callahan roll his eyes as I lean down to cuddle the dog.
Callahan mutters something under his breath. I don’t hear what it is, but he sounds annoyed. Good.
“Cerberus. Here.” He points beside him, but Callahan nuzzles his nose into my hair behind my ear. “Christ,” he mutters and tugs the dog away. “Sit.”
“Hey!”
The dog whines but sits, just barely, tail still wagging and eyes on me like he wants to play.
“Cerberus?” I ask Callahan, feeling my eyebrows arch high as the food is laid out on the table. The feast includes roasted chicken, vegetables, potatoes and salad along with a basket of warm rolls.
“You know the name?” Callahan asks, looking surprised.
“I can read, you know.” Arrogant fucker.
He harrumphs. Gym sock.
“You named your dog the guardian dog of the Underworld?”
He ignores me, pouring each of us a glass of wine. Then he places a hunk of chicken on my plate before pointing to the vegetable tray.
“Which do you want?”
“It’s pretentious, don’t you think?”
“Which do you want?”
I look at the food, my stomach feeling empty again. “Everything.”
He seems surprised but heaps food onto my plate before serving himself. I pick up my fork and knife but stop.
“Has Nathan eaten?”
He picks up the chicken and bites into it confirming my earlier assessment. Neanderthal.
“I have no reason to starve your cousin. Eat.”
I do even though I’m not sure I believe him. One step at a time. When I see Nathan, I’ll ask him if he’s eaten. If he hasn’t, I’ll figure out a way to convince Callahan to give him food.
We don’t talk for long minutes. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He eats like he’s not used to eating in public or with company. And apparently, he doesn’t feel any qualms about openly watching me as he does.
Cerberus comes to sit under the table, laying his head on my bare foot. He’s soft and warm and I slip him a piece of chicken.
“Don’t feed him,” Callahan says.
“Why? Are you afraid he’ll like me more than he likes you?”
“I am his master. It’s not about like.”
I shrug a shoulder and abandon my knife and fork to pick up my chicken with my hands. He studies me, an eyebrow arching as I finish my dish then reach for the other drumstick. I give him a grin and take a huge bite.
Maybe if I’m gross enough he’ll realize he doesn’t want to fuck me and let me go instead.
Right?
Not likely.
When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth on his napkin. He rises and leaves the table, disappearing into the kitchen without a word.
Cerberus sits up as soon as he’s gone and rests his head on my lap again. I feed him the last of my chicken, worry creeping back in.
For all my bravado, I am afraid. I don’t know what Callahan wants what hell do to Nathan or to me. The chances of this turning out well for either of us are pretty much nil.
When Callahan returns wiping his hands on a towel, I school my features. I don’t want him to see that I’m anxious. He holds the kitchen door open.
“Cerberus,” he calls and gestures to the kitchen.
Cerberus disappears into the kitchen as Callahan returns to the table. He eyes my dish.
“You eat a lot.”
“I was on a hunger strike.” And I have to admit, I may have overdone it tonight. I put my hand on my full belly.
“Why?” he asks.
“To protest my wedding.”
“A hunger strike is ineffective unless your life holds some value. It only weakens you.”
“Sometimes whether or not you eat is the only thing you have control over. I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that since you’re probably usually the one on the other side of things.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” He watches me for a long minute. “What did you hope to achieve?”
“Nothing, actually. I knew it wouldn’t achieve anything. Wouldn’t change anything. I know my brothers,” I pause, remembering.
“Knew them.”
“Mm.”
“I sat and I ate. Can I see Nathan now?” I ask, taking care not to sound like I’m bossing him around.
“Finish your wine.” He finished his and two more glasses as we ate. I’ve only sipped mine.
I pick up my glass and drain it. He raises his eyebrows as I set my glass down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Callahan shakes his head at my bad manners, stands and pulls my chair out. I find this strange because I didn’t think he had any manners himself.
I stand and follow him to a bathroom. He holds the door open and switches on the light. It’s beautiful inside, like the rest of what I’ve seen of the house. Italian style with elaborately painted walls, some with frescoes depicting scenes from Greek mythology. It all looks like it’s been touched up recently.
Even this tiny bathroom has a vaulted ceiling, similar to the rest of the first floor.
“You eat like an animal,” he says. “Wash your hands, you dirty girl.”
“Bold of you to address this. I only mimicked my host.”
“If I’m your host you imply you’re my guest.”
I wash my hands and switch off the water before grabbing a towel and turning to him. “Your captive then. Is that better? Call a spade a spade, a devil a devil.”
“You come from a family of devils,”
He’s right. I do. So, I don’t answer. Instead, I follow him through the large, open living room with its elegant, Venetian style furnishings and glance at all of the paintings we pass. I notice his eyes linger on one in particular. A woman in her late twenties. She’s beautiful.
“Who is that?”
“My mother,” he says without turning around.
His mother.
She was executed with the rest of his family by my brothers. By the man I was to marry. I shudder with a sudden chill. If he notices he doesn’t say anything as we proceed into the decidedly cooler and darker corridor, the smell of must already present here.
It’s the one that leads to the cells. I remember being dragged up here. I make a mental note that we’ve only passed one soldier inside the house.
“Hold on to the handrail,” Callahan tells me. He walks ahead of me like he can see in the dark.
“There aren’t any lights here?”
“No.”
“Are you keeping Nathan in the dark?”
He turns and I can just make out his eyes from the little bit of light coming from the house. “Better than six feet under, isn’t it?”
I swallow. Yes, I guess it is.
I miss the next step, gasping as I stumble forward. Callahan catches me, steadies me, then wraps my hand around the handrail, his hand covering mine entirely, the skin rough but the act gentle. He keeps it like that, holding mine for a moment too long and I still have to look up at him even though he’s standing on the lower step.
“Hold on to the handrail,” he repeats. I nod, breaking eye contact.
We walk on. Once we take the next turn on the curving stone staircase, I see light. I don’t wait for Callahan to step aside or lead me to it, but rush there myself.
“Nathan!”I close my hands around the bars and see my cousin sitting on a cot eating the last of his meal. The source of the light, a flashlight beside him.
“Portia!” He rushes to me, hugs me through the bars. “How did you get away from him?”
“She didn’t,” Comes Callahan’s voice. He takes up space at my back, too close, making the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end.
Nathan looks up at Callahan who has a good six inches on him and about seventy-five pounds.
“You ate?” Callahan asks as I look my brother over. He doesn’t seem to have any new bruises, no broken bones that I can see.
“Yes, sir,” Nathan says.
I can tell Callahan likes this.
“Have you been beaten?” he asks.
“What?” Nathan asks.
“Beaten. Did anyone abuse you?”
“No. No, sir.”
Callahan nods and turns to me looking at me with a ‘told you so’ expression on his smug face. But then he takes my arm and turns me away.