“Of course, sir,” Maren said sweetly.
Maren led her back through the main room, and once they were in the opposite hall, she unscrewed her smile. “Why would you get yourself mixed up in this? Tara told me you came in here willingly, you fool!”
“I was only trying to help,” Orelia whispered.
Maren shook her head. Her eyelids were painted in flecks of gold, and her hair fell just past her chin in soft curls. She was stunning and poised, and even if Arielle and Tara hadn’t told her Maren was Doyle’s favored, she could tell. The woman held herself with confidence and exuded a presence that said, ‘I can handle anything thrown at me.’
“I wish I could get you out of this, but I can’t. Doyle has eyes everywhere,” Maren whispered.
“There has to be a way you can sneak me out. Please. I can’t do this. I can’t handle this.”
When they made it to a room with a gold numeral above the door, Maren turned and faced her. “You’re going to have to find a way to handle it. I’m sorry.” She opened the door and nudged Orelia inside.
“No, wait! Please! I can’t—”
The door closed in her face.
Orelia jiggled the handle, but it was locked. She kept trying, expecting a different outcome, smacking her palms on the door and calling out for Maren. When there was no response, Orelia pressed her forehead to the wood and felt the tears building.
A faint sound came from behind her.
Orelia turned her head slightly, barely breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a sliver of a man sitting on the bed. When the bed creaked, her fear spiked.
She kept her eyes downcast where the wall met the floor, legs unable to move, heart beating erratically.
With each of the man’s slow, nearing footsteps, the tears released. By the time he was standing behind her, she was sobbing. Orelia covered her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, sir . . .I . . .I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Shh,” he said, dragging out the word.
Hidden behind the darkness of her eyes, she tried to picture what brought her peace, but no images would come.
She couldn’t remember what the bay looked like, or what Arielle had said she pictured.
She couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that she was about to be raped multiple times since Doyle told the man he had her for two entire marks.
Arms reached around her body, and rough hands pulled her wrists away from her chest, pinning them to her sides.
Orelia was in a full body sob. “Please don’t do this,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want, just not this.”
“Hush,” the man said, the word sounding like the hiss of a snake. Orelia begged and pleaded, but the man didn’t back away. He leaned over her shoulder, and she tried desperately to picture what brought her peace.
Flashes of trees and sky.
Ales with Teegan.
Morton’s apothecary.
Plumrose bushes.
None of it was working.
When his lips brushed the shell of her ear, the scent of something familiar hit her nostrils in force.
Her eyes flew open, and she spun to see a furious fae glaring down at her.
Orelia flung herself at him. “Oh, thank the gods you’re here!” She squeezed him so tight that he coughed.
Vade pried her arms from around his waist and grabbed her shoulders. “What the fuck were you thinking, Orelia? I told you not to go out alone and look what the fuck happened!”
