40. Warm Reception

We left the portal right in the middle of a dark corridor, lit only by fuming torches and moonlight penetrating through narrow loophole windows. My captor held my hand tightly just above the elbow, probably leaving fingerprints on the delicate skin, but I was afraid to be indignant, not knowing who he was and whether he really valued his captive. Still, I really pissed him off, not allowing me to finish off our husbands and our wounded, avenging his fallen soldiers.

The man, as if sensing my thoughts, squeezed his fingers even tighter and sharply pushed me into the first door on the right. I could not...