“I don’t feel like reading anymore,” I told him. Then I violently yanked my arm from his grip and marched over to the bookshelf, setting the books back on the shelf where I’d found them. Without so much as a glance in his direction, I stalked past him and out the door.
It wasn’t until I was inside my room with the door closed behind me that I raised my shaking hands and covered my face, fighting back the tears that threatened.
CHAPTER 11
Luna
My eyes drifted open. It was still dark, and for a brief moment, I didn’t know where I was. When I remembered, I moaned with disappointment. In the faint light of the nightlight I left on in the bathroom, I could barely see the lazy rotation of the ceiling fan. It didn’t matter how cold it was outside, I couldn’t sleep without the ceiling fan on.
As I watched it, the heaviness of sleep weighed down my eyelids again, and I breathed in deeply through my nose and tried to stretch, then roll over.
Two things hit me at the same time.
One was the smell. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell. Just the opposite. It was dark and spicy and filled me with peace, even as it made my pulse pick up with interest. Like a waterfall in a fragrant forest.
Second was the fact that I couldn’t move my arms or legs.
Alarm shot through me, and my eyes flew wide open as my brain—still half in the dream I’d been having—tried to catch up with this new reality. I tugged my right arm. Something bound my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but it was tight enough that I couldn’t slip my hand out. Same with my other wrist and both of my ankles.
I was on my back, tied spread eagle to my bed. The sheet and comforter were pushed down to my waist, my tied ankles still underneath them.
“Are you going to scream?”
The voice came out of the darkness to my left, and I whipped my head in that direction. My sleepy brain tried to place it as I searched for the body it was attached to. Something moved, and I vaguely made out the outline of a dark form not five feet from my bed. “What?” My voice was dry and husky with sleep.
“Are you going to scream?” he repeated. “Because if you are, I’ll have to gag you. Or drug you. And I’d rather not do that.”
“I’d rather you didn’t do that, either,” I answered honestly. If I was drugged, I couldn’t fight back. “So no. I won’t scream.” Not yet, anyway.
“Good,” he told me.
I felt his eyes on me, like an electric current zipping across my skin. Or maybe it was just my imagination. I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I asked the obvious question. “Why am I tied to the bed?”
“Because I don’t want you to touch me.”
My racing heart slowed down a notch. “If I promise I won’t touch you, will you untie me?”
There was no answer.
“Hello?”
“No,” he said.
“Where’s Gino?”
I heard the soft rustle of clothing and saw the dark form move slightly as he shifted positions, as though my question made him uncomfortable. But his tone, when he responded, betrayed nothing. “In his bed, I would imagine.”
“So he’s still alive?”
“Yes. For now,” he added. “He’ll stay that way unless you make him come in here.”
I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed about that bit of news and hung somewhere between the two. “I won’t do that.”
There was another long silence, the only sound the heavy beat of my heart pounding in my ears. I breathed through it, trying to stay calm and control the panic rising inside of me.
My imagination raced through every horrible scenario of what could possibly happen from here. Why the hell was he just standing there staring at me? The anticipation was worse than anything he could do to me. My nerves were stretched so taut, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What do you want?” I finally asked.
After a pause, he said quietly, “I don’t know, exactly.”
