Sanctuary

Prologue

Something just didn't feel right to her. The once calm and almost peaceful atmosphere had twisted into something toxic, almost choking the occupants of the courtroom.  He strode in, the harbinger of darkness, shoving the doors open with an unnecessary amount of force so they shuddered and slammed against the wall. His almost black eyes seemed to slice through her like a knife, and oh he knew it. The pleasure he got from seeing the way she flinched at the bang of the doors or from meeting his eyes, that pure glee sparked and glowed behind his eyes.

Iyla tilted her chin up, just a hair, but it was enough to make his chiseled jaw clench at the sight of her defiance. Her eyes flickered behind him to the two unfamiliar men that flanked him, knowing that no matter who they were, under their expensive suits they were nothing more than killers. It was a ploy to intimidate her, to show her that he was...untouchable. She swallowed the fear that screamed up her throat from her chest and squared her shoulders, looking away as she attempted to maintain the composure that was quickly slipping through her fingertips like smoke.

"You're fifteen minutes late Mr. Buchman," the judge snapped, adjusting the small glasses that sat perched on the end of her nose. Lance Buchman turned his attention to the graying woman dressed in black robes and sent her a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. Iyla swore she heard a juror gasp, and another sigh. Oh yes, he was handsome, but she could see the slippery scaled viper coiled beneath the surface just waiting to strike at the first sign of weakness. He was dressed perfectly, as was custom for him, a custom suit the color of slate that made him look like a male model that had just stepped off the runway in Milan. Everything about him was sharp, a thin nose and chiseled jaw with eyes so dark they looked black, and golden hair that could make Apollo jealous swept back in a clean style. Lance Buchman certainly had the looks of an angel, but he could make the most sinister demons shudder in fright.  Settling in the chair beside his sweating lawyer, Iyla couldn't help but feel pity for the man. He was sweating, and shaking with nerves, and vaguely reminded her of a mole trapped outside the comfort of his hole.

"Forgive my tardiness  Your Honor. My driver got stuck in traffic it won't happen again," his voice sent shivers down her spine, a rich tenor that practically exuded his wealth and status. His voice, so calm, had sounded exactly the same when he crushed her wrist under the sole of his custom Italian wingtips. When he took her as he pleased ignoring her cries and screams. It sounded exactly the same as it did when he informed her that she, by disobeying him, had gotten her closest friend and confidant killed. And it was all her fault.

"If you can't show up on time we will just proceed without you here, am I clear?" Lance's jaw ticked at the disrespect, but he merely smiled.

"Of course Your Honor." The aging judge nodded and turned to Iyla, a look of sympathy flashing across her face. It was time to relive the last hellish four years of her life in front of an entire crowded courtroom and explain every picture, every bruise, every hospital visit, every scar, and every threatening text. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and clenched her hands together under the table.

"The prosecution calls Iyla Barnes to the stand."