That he’d never known a kind word or touch.
It hurt.
Shooting away, I used the flush of embarrassment and another swell of pity to numb myself to the fact that I touched bags of his blood. Locking everything down, I stuck labels on for the monsters who’d forced this man to harvest his own life-force, and managed not to vomit as I carried both horrendously warm and heavy bags to the fridge.
Wrenching open the door, I smacked them onto the moving shelving that would keep them from coagulating.
Under the harsh light, the red glow was obscene. Each bag labelled and shelved like wine vintages in a cellar.
I spun around and bent over.
Planting both hands on my knees, I panted, “Please don’t ever,everask me to do that again.”
He merely buttoned his coat with a shiver. “I’m cold and tired. I’m going to rest.” Not looking at me, he moved stiffly, as if he didn’t trust his legs to support him. At the door, he turned and said, “Let yourself out. Whisper will guide you.”
As he stepped over the threshold, my temper burned away my stress, no doubt leading me into a whole heap of trouble. “You know, you could thank me.”
He turned and held onto the doorframe. “For what?”
“Not throwing up on you for one.”
The faintest twitch pulled at his mouth, but it died quickly. He turned to go but I couldn’t stomach another day where this man used me, commanded me, and refused to know my name.
If he was going to make me care about him. If he was going to make me do things that would irrevocably change me and not for the better, the least he could do was know the name of the girl he was destroying.
“My name...” I straightened and squared my shoulders. “Is Rook Snowden.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “Did I ask for it?”
“No, you didn’t. But now you know it. So use it.”
His upper lip curled and for a moment, it looked like he’d follow through with his threat to kill me, but his eyes snapped closed, he swayed against the door, and without another word, he left.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“YOU CAN LEAVE AGAIN, YOU KNOW.” I narrowed my eyes as I slipped from the kitchen, my arms laden with cleaning products from under his sink. Cleaning products he’d ordered me to collect the moment Whisper had dragged me into his quarters after finding me sunning myself in the garden. “You don’t have to oversee my work. I won’t slack off, even though I’d love to.”
I’d really,reallyhoped Lucien wouldn’t summon me today.
I’d assumed he wouldn’t be feeling well after draining two bags of blood yesterday and would want to rest,alone.But that assumption had been dashed the moment a slinky, shiny panther appeared in my pavilion, twined around me in hello, and not so subtly pushed me toward the exit and the black stone palace on the horizon.
I’d tried to refuse.
I wished I knew how to say no to a giant predator who knew exactly what disobedient women tasted like. But in the end, I’d had no choice but to be herded toward Lucien’s home, spying a few assassins training in the trees along the way.
A couple of girls had daggers, and one even had a crescent-shaped blade that flashed through the air—practicing their killing swings.
The thought of any of them actually harming Lucien made that odd, unfathomable loyalty spring hot, followed by the horror that if they didn’t succeed in killing him then...they were the ones who would be dead.
“Are you wanting me to leave so you’re free to steal from me?” Lucien asked softly from where he sat on the huge window seat. “Or are you planning on setting traps around my home?” Leaning against the wall, his long legs speared in front of him, bare feet smooth and relaxed. The padded seat formed a half circle, the glass soaring to the ceiling and drenching him in buttery sunlight.
My fingers gripped the disinfectant bottles a little tighter as my heart skipped a beat.
Did he have to look sobeautiful?
With the sun pouring over him, his hair turned molten black, every strand slick as wet ink. His face looked carved from pale stone, sharp shadows lingered under his eyes, and lips set in a perpetual curl of disdain. He looked like a man carved to be worshipped, not one who bled himself dry for bastards.
“No, of course not,” I snipped, arching my chin and forcing myself to be utterly unaffected by him.
