The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance novel Chapter 1885

The longsword in Sellers' grip was rendered utterly useless against the sheer, crushing mass of the wild beast. A single swipe of its massive paw sent the weapon clattering across the floor.

Sellers scrambled across the dirty ground, rolling out of the way before snatching up a long staff to defend himself.

But the lion's claws were devastatingly fast and packed with explosive power. With a casual, brutal swipe, it shredded the flesh right off the side of Sellers' face.

Blood instantly poured from the gaping wound, painting his face crimson.

The heavy stench of copper whipped the lion into an even wilder frenzy. Jaws unhinged, it lunged straight for the fragile expanse of Sellers' throat.

Joshua's icy, disappointed voice drifted through the iron bars.

"Too weak. Just pitifully weak. An entire rack of weapons, and you couldn't even buy yourself a minute."

Harold stood silently behind Joshua, his dress shirt already plastered to his back with cold sweat.

He had been by Joshua's side for years, but this was the very first time he had ever heard him speak of his time in Crestmont.

It was a dark chapter that even Laurel Quinn and Beckett Torres knew absolutely nothing about.

Those brutal memories were supposed to be permanently locked away under deep hypnosis.

But for Joshua to bring them up now so casually...

Did this mean his memories... had completely returned?

Joshua's flat, emotionless order snapped Harold back to reality.

"Don't let Sellers die."

Harold jolted and immediately signaled the guards to unload a volley of tranquilizer darts into the beast.

The lion, moments away from ripping Sellers to shreds, went limp and collapsed onto the floor, out cold.

"How utterly boring," Joshua muttered, standing up with a distinct lack of interest. "Get a doctor down here to patch him up."

Only after Joshua's footsteps faded down the hall did Harold finally dare to raise a trembling hand and wipe the sweat from his brow.

Staring down at Sellers' mangled, blood-soaked face, Harold couldn't help but think that living like this was a fate far worse than death.

...

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