The thought surfaces slowly, swimming up through a sudden fog in my brain. I blink, trying to focus, but my vision is starting to blur at the edges.
What the?—
My limbs feel heavy. Too heavy. Like someone's filled my muscles with sand while I wasn't paying attention. I try to lift my arm, but it takes twice as much effort as it should.
"Seraphina?" My voice sounds strange. Distant. Like it's coming from somewhere far away.
She lifts her head from my chest, and the expression on her face makes my blood run cold.
She's smiling.
Not the soft, satisfied smile from before. This is something else entirely. Something sharp and knowing and deeply, deeply amused.
"How do you feel,husband?"
Husband. She called me husband. She?—
The water. The fucking water.
"What did you—" I can't finish the sentence. My tongue feels thick, uncooperative. The fog in my brain is getting thicker, pulling me down toward darkness.
"The same thing you did to me." She sits up, and even through my rapidly dimming vision, I can see the triumph in her eyes. "Seemed only fair."
No. No, this isn't possible. I planned everything. Every detail, every contingency, every moment of this night was carefully orchestrated. She couldn't have?—
"How?" It's the only word I can manage.
She leans down, her lips brushing my ear. "You're not the only one who can plan a surprise, my love."
My vision is tunneling now, darkness creeping in from the edges. I try to fight it, try to stay conscious, but whatever she gave me is too strong. My eyelids are so heavy. So impossibly heavy.
"Sleep now." Her voice is the last thing I hear, soft and sweet and utterly terrifying. "When you wake up, we're going to play a different game."
I try to respond. Try to say something—anything—but my mouth won't cooperate. My body has stopped obeying commands entirely, every muscle going slack as the drug pulls me under.
The last thing I see before darkness takes me is my wife's face.
She's grinning.
CHAPTER 9
SERAPHINA
He's out cold in thirty seconds flat.
I watch his eyes flutter closed, the tension draining from his muscles…I watch my husband—my brilliant, scheming, thinks-he's-so-clever husband—go completely limp beneath me. His breathing evens out into the slow, steady rhythm of unconsciousness.
Got you.
I don't waste time gloating. I have maybe twenty minutes before the sedative wears off, and there's too much to do.
I slide off the chaise and move quickly to the corner of the cellar, behind a rack of wine barrels where I stashed my supplies three weeks ago. Luke thought he was so thorough with his planning. He thought he knew every inch of this place.
But he didn't know about this.
I pull out the black silk robe first, shrugging it on over my naked body. The fabric is cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat Luke spent hours building. Then the velvet restraints—soft but strong, designed to hold without hurting. And finally, the mask. A feminine version of his, black and elegant, covering the upper half of my face.
I catch my reflection in the glass of an old cabinet and barely recognize myself. Wine-stained lips, wild hair, eyes bright with anticipation. I look like a woman about to do something deliciously wicked.
