And just because of that, he could be angry at me. I could handle it, I told myself confidently.

We reached the mansion in no time. He got out of the car before I could and I gaped as he stomped around it and came to open the door at my side. He held his hand out to me, and I stared at him in surprise.

"Are you being polite because I was shot?" I asked, almost teasing, but the question held genuine curiosity. He didn't answer me, but his jaw clicked. It told me that, that was probably not the case. I took his hand anyway and felt him tug at my unwounded arm insistently. I got up and then tried to pull my hand away, but he held on tight as he pulled me out of the path of the door and then slammed it shut harder than what was necessary.

Okay, I get the message. You are p.i.s.sed.

He dragged me inside the mansion, and up the stairs. The pressure on my hands increased as he pulled harder with each set of stairs we went up. When we were finally standing in front of his room, he opened the door and let my hands go. Yes, he just dropped his hands and then motioned me inside the room.

Always the gentleman, I thought sarcastically.

A white-haired man sat on a folding chair that he had placed beside the bed. It was Edward. Anthony cleared his throat as I entered. The older man turned towards me and his eyes widened just a bit before a warm smile spread across his face.

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