Chapter Fifteen
THREE MORE DAYS PASSED AND THEY weren’t...good.
By night, I sat on the outskirts of the flaming torches, braziers, and lanterns. I didn’t dare venture into hell or wander the gravel pathways. I didn’t want to give Lucien a reason to kill me or watch another murder in action.
But keeping my distance didn’t mean I was safe from hearing the screams. The quick shouts of surprise. The screeches of the female assassins who thought they could exterminate a man with a panther as his bodyguard.
I’d return to my bed and huddle beneath the blankets, begging for sleep to carry me away only to turn into an insomniac with panic. My only reprieve was Whisper. The black beast appeared after his master had finished killing, and I no longer questioned my sanity as I scooted back in bed, opened my arms, and almost burst into grateful tears as the giant feline collapsed beside me.
I’d learned ‘it’ was actually a boy. And he didn’t grumble as I bear-hugged him. He didn’t bite me as I buried my face in his soft scruff. He didn’t grant me the gift of sleep, but at least his company stopped me from completely losing my mind.
The nights were scary, but the days were worse.
With the light, I’d go for a walk around the estate, doing my best to get some exercise so I could become tired enough to sleep and forget. I tried to focus on the lake or gardens, pagodas and mazes, yet each morning, black-suited men drove in through the gates they’d shoved us through and parked in front of the black stone palace.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I found a bench to sit on, waiting to see what they were up to. Perhaps they were bringing supplies—stocking up all the women’s pavilions and whatever other pantries existed in Lucien’s stronghold.
Only...they weren’t bringing things in; they were taking thingsout.
The first day, two bodies wrapped in bloody sheets were removed—shoved unceremoniously into the back of a G-wagon. The second day, another three. The third day, just one.
Lucien, it seemed, had been telling the truth that he wouldn’t grant mercy to any of us. Judging by the six bodies, there were now six less women trying to kill or seduce him.
By the seventh morning, my emotions were rubbed raw.
Sleep—my one saving grace—had abandoned me, and every nerve stung with over sensitivity and stress.
Lying in bed and drenched in sunshine, something inside my skull tightened—an invisible fist around my throbbing, broken brain. Light fractured along the edge of my vision.
God, not now.
Please.
I sat up and leaned forward. Elbows on my knees, I pressed my fingers into my eyes. The old tricks: counting backward from a hundred, slowing my breath, visualising a different place—none of it helped.
The pain in my head grew worse.
Birdsong and the babbling stream outside became distorted and almost evil. A sharp pain lanced behind my right eye.
“Get it together, Rook. You can’t do this. Not here.”
Forcing myself upright, I staggered out of bed and lurched outside.
When I got this bad, I needed extra strength painkillers. And sometimes, even then, they didn’t work. But in here, on my own, with no access to help...
The sky swooped. My stomach lurched. The trees and flowers multiplied and melted into one. I made it two steps before my knees forgot what knees were for. My hands hit the grass, followed by the rest of my body. A dirty, familiar taste flooded my mouth—old pennies and sour lemons.
The world funnelled to a thin, echoey tunnel.
“Breathe,” I gasped. “Don’t pass out. Don’t—”
A shadow fell across me. For one panicked beat, I thought Lucien had finally come to finish me off. That he’d kill me while I hurt so badly. I supposed I should be grateful. Thankful that any second, this awful pain would end and this useless body of mine would stop torturing me, but a soft chuff and a cold nose came instead of death.
“Whisper.” My vision continued to splutter and bleed.
The panther circled, close enough that he warmed the air around me, his tail looping around my neck.
If I passed out, would he stop trying to be friendly and just accept me as his daily snack?
