Anger flares through me, and my fists clench at my side. I know Thrand. I know he does not care for Angie as I do—he only does this because he likes to compete with me. He would not hold her close as she slept, or touch her as tenderly as I would. He would not rub her feet when they are hurting, or participate in her bizarre knocking jokes. He just wants to win.
