“Liar.”
I bit out a bitter laugh. “Liar?” My hands bunched into fists, and I lifted them both and shook them right in his face. “That’s rich coming from you, spinner of deceit!”
His mouth thinned, and his features became an icy mask. “This is where you’ll be staying.” His gaze roamed my body. Not suggestive, just assessing. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, toward an inner room. “The bathroom is in there. You need to shower.”
Both of us were sweaty, smoky messes. And me—I smelled of death.
Graysen went into the walk-in closet, disappearing for a moment. When he reappeared, he was holding a soft gray t-shirt. “You can wear this in the meantime, while I find you some clothes.” He held it out, offering it to me, and when I blatantly ignored it, he let out an exasperated sigh. Padding over to the bed, he placed the shirt at the end of the mattress.
My mouth fell open, and I sucked in a sharp breath. “There is no way in Nine Hells I’ll be sleeping there, with you!”
“Fuck,” he hissed. The stare he gave me over his shoulder was flinty. “I barely use it. I hardly sleep, remember?” He jutted his chin at the soft leather couch. “I’ll sleep there if need be.” He locked his spine straight and shot a steely look at the door as if some resolve had been met. “Shower. I’ll have Penn bring you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I snapped, crossing my arms in an act of defiance. I hadn’t eaten for some time, just his shitty, burnt pancakes, but I had no appetite. “Who could be, after all of this?”
“Perhaps not,” he replied quietly, swiping a knuckle back and forth below his bottom lip, his gaze shadowed in thought. “But you need to eat. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“Don’t bother,” I seethed, flinging out an arm. “In fact, do me a favor, and trip down that staircase and break your godsdamned neck!”
He ignored me and strode toward the door.
I couldn’t resist one last parting shot. I crept near and spoke softly, my tone threaded with menace, heavy with promise. “You were right about one thing, Crowther.” He froze, his back to me and a hand braced on the doorjamb as he silently waited for me to speak. “This will be war. Fucking war… I am going to destroy you, and your entire family, and when I find freedom, I will raze your House to the ground.”
His soot-stained fingers twitched on the trim. Then he was gone in a blur of unnatural speed.
The walls shimmered with the effect of whatever magic was infused within those blocks of adamere, then settled as the door swung shut with an ominous click.
I blinked, taking in the room, the sudden silence, not caring about the details, only that I couldn’t leave. His bedroom seemed to have all the comforts one needed, but it was still a jail cell.
I rolled my eyes, shifted my weight, brushing my toes through the soft carpet. A shower, he said, as if all of what had happenedwas everyday-normal, and it was time to shower before a good night’s sleep.
Prick.
Despite a desire to do the opposite of what he’d suggested, Graysen was right, I was filthy.
Rough stone rasped at the bottom of my feet as I stepped inside the bathroom. It was large and luxurious, in a different way to my own ensuite with its white tiles and streaks of gold, the old-fashioned clawfoot bath. This one was masculine and minimalistic.
A sunken bath, big enough for four people to comfortably sit in, and an open shower that had a pebbled floor underneath the rainshower heads. The set of chrome shelves held rolled towels, and there was a door that led, I discovered, to a toilet.
Rifling through the drawers and cupboards beneath the sink, I found a spare toothbrush. Unwrapping it from the packaging and squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles, I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, minty paste frothing in my mouth. I looked as if I’d been dragged out of a burning house by my hair. My bloodshot eyes were abnormally bright in a sooty face. My hair was charcoal-gray, clumped with ash. And my gaze drifted down to the thickly coiled cord tied around my neck. My fingers slunk underneath the collar, scratching at my itchy skin, tugging and pulling, hoping for some give. I sighed. Nothing, exactly as I had suspected.
Spitting the toothpaste out and rinsing the toothbrush clean, I left it on the vanity sink. Turning the shower on, I shucked off the filthy t-shirt, its fabric dotted with burn holes, and stepped beneath the spray of hot water falling from the ceiling.
On a sigh, I closed my eyes and let the water stream over me, its warmth settling deep inside.
It didn’t take long to wash my hair with the shampoo I found neatly lined up with other products on a recessed shelf and scrubmy body with soap, watching with disinterest as the dirty suds slid down my leaden limbs and course toward the drain set in the gently sloping floor.
I felt closed in, imprisoned, suffocating, as if there wasn’t enough air. So much had happened over the span of a weekend. Only a few days ago my family was preparing to announce my sister’s betrothal, and now…here I was, trapped like a bird in a cage.
Everything caught up with me. My muscles trembled with the effort to remain standing. Stone. I felt as heavy as stone.
The tentative flame burning inside me winked out.
The rushing noise of falling water did nothing to muffle my sobs, the shuddering pants of heartache that filled the room with the twisted sound of agony.
I keened, and let out everything I’d been holding in.
My knees buckled. I lurched sideways, flinging out a hand to the wall to steady myself. The slipperiness of soap on my palms loosened my grip, and I half-sank, half-stumbled to the ground with a heavy thump. The pebbled floor was hard and dug into my flesh, but I didn’t care. I barely cared about anything. In a moment of weakness, I’d put the collar around my own neck.
