“Who’s there?” Blue called out.
“It’s Raven. I brought lunch.”
“Just leave it outside the door.”
Viktor had ordered me to take short breaks, but this detour wasn’t about feeding Blue. The peace offering was a way inside her room. Blue’s door had a lever instead of a knob, so I pushed down on it with my wrist and let the door swing open.
The first thing I saw was Blue’s reflection in a full-length floor mirror to my left. Her fingers traced the deep scars through her unbuttoned blue flannel shirt.
When she saw the door moving, she whirled around. “I said to leave it outside.”
I thought she might try to cover herself up, but Blue kept her arms stiffly at her sides and closed the distance between us.
My throat felt as dry as the Sahara. Maintaining eye contact, I pretended not to notice her scars. It was as if a giant monster had raked its claws over her body in a downward, diagonal slant. Because the lion had mauled her falcon, the marks were large and spread apart. One long gash traveled from her left shoulder to her right breast, but because of her bra, I couldn’t see the full extent of what I already knew. Another started between her breasts, and a third cut across her belly. From what I remembered, she also had one even lower than I could see.
I stood there like an idiot, holding a plate and glass.
Blue heaved a sigh and took her lunch. “Go ahead and look. There’s no point pretending they don’t exist.”
Ignoring the obvious was futile, so I broke eye contact and slid my gaze down to the grotesque trails that navigated over the valleys and mountainous terrain of her body. “They look better,” I said truthfully. The last time I’d seen them, they were open and bleeding.
Blue gave me a curt look and marched over to a table in the right-hand corner. She had a small desk similar to mine. In fact, all her furniture was nearly identical—just a different layout. Located on the second floor, her square room sat on the west side of the mansion, giving her two windows on the northwest adjoining walls. Opposite the door was a black armoire, and her bed was located in the northeast corner, a dreamcatcher pinned above the headboard. The fireplace on the east wall got plenty of use judging by the soot sprinkled about the hearth. But it seemed strange that she didn’t have her bed closer to it or at least a chair. Watching the flames could be therapeutic, but maybe her therapy was flying around the property.
With her shirt still unbuttoned, she took a seat in the desk chair and ate her grilled cheese. It was the same sandwich I’d often made for my father—a little mayonnaise on both sides, a pinch of sugar, and Texas toast.
“I’ve been in the gym all morning,” I began. “When I went upstairs to get a drink around noon, Wyatt said you didn’t show up for breakfast or lunch.” I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. “I feel shitty about the whole thing. You should be the one working inside the club, not Claude.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said matter-of-factly. “I just need to get over it.”
“Anyhow, I thought I’d bring a peace offering. My dad used to love ’em.”
Blue held out half her sandwich. “Do you want some?”
I fanned my shirt, still cooling down from the fight maneuvers I’d been practicing all morning. “I can’t eat. Viktor thinks it’ll slow me down.”
After another bite, she set down her sandwich and angled her chair toward me. “Hunger motivates a person. Viktor’s always right.”
Silence blanketed the room. My gaze again fell to her scars through her open shirt.
“It really doesn’t look as bad as it did before,” I heard myself say. I cringed inwardly and chose to elaborate. “The ointment Shepherd used must have helped. At least the skin closed up.”
Blue touched her grey feather earring and stared at the wall. “I’m a monster. Had this never happened, Viktor would have put me in the club. Claude will have your back, but he’s not a woman. I would have been able to get workers and customers to confide in me. No matter how you slice it, these scars are a hindrance.”
“Don’t take it personally. We all have physical traits that eliminate us from certain jobs. Christian can’t even go into the club.”
Blue played with a small pocket on her right thigh. “I guess.”
“Why do you like pants with so many pockets?” I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
Daytime Blue had a particular style that was different from nighttime Blue. She loved knee-high boots with dark jeans but also wore cargo pants and combat-style boots. Not the heavy ones with chunky soles, but the ones that were feminine and ideal for running.
She opened one of the pockets and pulled out a thin wallet. “Who needs a purse to lug around when I’ve got these? Hands-free. If I’m chasing someone with an axe, I don’t have time to worry about who’s going to hold my purse.”
I chuckled softly. “That’s pretty smart. Maybe I should rethink my wardrobe.”
Blue didn’t seem especially hungry, but she finished her sandwich.
I drifted over and leaned against the edge of her desk. “I know what you’re going through right now.”
