Not even Lorcán objects. Declan just sighs, like this is all too melodramatic for him, and he could turn back time to when our lives weren’t so complicated.
“Maeve, can you set another place for Elena?” I ask, and she looks around at the table.
“I’m not sure?—”
“Another place,” I repeat sharply. She presses her lips tightly together but doesn’t speak again.
“How many days has it been?” I ask, looking at Lorcán.
“Three, he hasn’t let her out of the room.”
Anger ripples through me, and I wonder what we’re in for when she comes downstairs, but hopefully, it’s enough to clear the air. Maybe with Finn out of the way, along with his dictator bullshit, she’ll realize that we did what we did to keep her safe.
Everything at the club was real. What I feel for her is real.
I know that I fucked up with the way I went about everything, but above all, I need her safe. I almost wish I could go back to before I got shot so I could have shown up at the club and been honest with her before bringing her home to my bed.
It should have never gotten this bad.
“Be prepared for the worst,” Lorcán warns.
“What?”
“She’s sweet, but Elena has a fucking temper.”
It bothers me slightly how much time Lorcán has had with her, all the little things he knows about her personality. Maybe all of her anger will be placed towards my half-brother, who lied to her for years.
“We’ll just explain everything to her. She’s reasonable,” I say, and both Declan and Lorcán wince.
Finn walks down the stairs, a smug look on his face as he takes his place at the head of the table.
“Where is she?”
“Her cage is unlocked. She’s considering your invitation,” Finn replies smugly.
A few moments later, when Elena walks down the stairs, all our mouths drop in shock. Maeve drops the tray she was holding. The only sounds that can be heard are that of the broken china, and the vibrating Alpha growls that echo throughout the room.
18
ELENA
THREE MOTHERFUCKING DAYS.
At least,that’s how long I think it’s been. I’ve been tracking time-based on my meals. Three days of not leaving this room, of seeing no one else but Maeve.
Three days of this fucking dress that is chafing my skin.
Three lonely nights with nothing to soothe this deep ache inside of me. The lack of affection is hitting me the hardest. I just need to be touched so badly. Even more than I need to come.
My fingers get me off just enough that I’m not a total mess, but I feel like I’m going to shatter. Every meal that Maeve brings in is another one closer to me breaking. I won’t beg them—not for anything.
I either need to be sedated or have the edge taken off by someone else. I’d rather poison myself than let one of those assholes touch me.
The telltale click of my door unlocking alerts me to someone entering my room. I assume it’s going to be Maeve, but when I see it’s Finn, a sneer takes over my face.
“Is the food not to your liking?” he questions calmly.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but I’m tired, even though all I’ve done is sleep. He looks sharp in his expensive suit. His hands are nonchalantly tucked into his pockets, like talking tome is just some stupid, trivial part of his day. I’m so lonely that I almost want to fight with him so that he doesn’t leave right away.
