Less than a day and Gianna had left her mark on me. And while her fear shone in those sparkling eyes, only if you looked closer would you see what I did. The silent promise that she would never break—not for her father, not for any fucker, and sure as fuck not for Satan himself. And if you looked deeper, there was more. The hate. The anger. The raw repugnance that burned like flames of a Phoenix on its death. And while the bastard in me welcomed the challenge, I knew that a Phoenix rising was far more powerful than its predecessor.
26
Gianna (18 years)
Staring at the clock on the nightstand, I curled into myself with my hands banded around my stomach. It was just after midnight, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. The pangs were beginning to worsen. Memories of Ishara forcing me to diet once surfaced. I’d failed. I laughed before somber thoughts replaced the moment. Losing one person was an emotional turmoil but losing everyone you loved in a space of a week was mental instability on another level. I couldn’t deny that hope for rescue was diminishing by the second and the idea of death looked a lot more appealing than the life I’d been cast into.
Sudden tears glazed my vision and I swallowed against the ache in my throat. Rolling onto my back I winced as pinpricks of discomfort tortured my ass. Cursing words I didn’t think I was capable of, I stared up at the ceiling. Suicide was a coward’s way out and I could picture my mother’s sad face if I gave in so easily.
Then I thought of Zayne, wondering who was the lesser of two evils between him and Salvatore. They’d both killed without remorse. They’d both treated me like I was nothing but a pawn in their mind games. But who would I have a better chance with?
For the first time since leaving my home with Zayne, I felt well and truly isolated. Remembering the morning we’d spent together before he left for his trip, not realizing it would be our last and that I never got a chance to say goodbye, fresh tears slipped down my temples and dripped into my hair.
“Would you come for me, Zayne?” I stared heavenward, waiting.
I was alone, there was simply no one I could turn to. No one. I would die in this place and no one would miss me. No one would care. Yes, it would be better to just die, forget my miserable existence.
As if in response to my conflicted mindset, my stomach rumbled. This time it cried out at the sharp agony of hunger I’d never felt before. There was only so much water I could drink to sustain myself. I had to eat something or kill whatever ugly alien had crawled into my stomach and decided to add to the pain in my ass.
Sliding off the bed, I strolled into the bathroom, washed my tear-stained face, and cooled down my puffy eyes, sore from all the crying. A glance in the mirror reminded me that I was still naked and I had no clothes. I searched the closet for a robe. Nothing. Grabbing one of the large bath towels, I walked back into the bedroom to weigh my options. My stomach growled its irritation, cutting short my decision to wrap a bedsheet toga-style around my body.
I glanced at the box with the engagement dress. Laughing at the vision of me, the dress, and a midnight snack, I shook my head and secured the towel around my body. It was late. Everyone would be asleep and if they weren’t, chances were they’d already seen my earlier walk of shame, so the towel would be an added attraction. Just as I was about to leave the room, my gaze fell to the credit card lying on the nightstand. I grabbed it and walked out. If he wanted a made-up doll as his wife then he’d have to go shopping. Judging by the elegant clothing I’d seen the women wear at the party, my tastes were not even close to what he’d expect me to buy.
Downstairs, an eerie quiet preceded me and spooked by the notion of being watched, I kept looking over my shoulder until I reached the kitchen. I flicked a couple of switches until I found the lighting I preferred. It afforded the space just enough brightness for me to skulk around. Technically, I wasn’t stealing but given I’d insulted the owner by refusing to eat his food, I was certain he wouldn’t hesitate to call my act stealing. Pulling open the double doors of the fridge, I scanned the contents for something quick and easy to eat.
“Are you all right,signora?”
I jumped barely managing to stifle the scream clogging my throat and turned. “Rosana,” I breathed. God, the woman was like a ghost, and the way she kept popping up everywhere had me wondering if she were employed to spy on me. Did she have hidden cameras to watch my every move? Stupidly, I flicked a glance toward the ceiling, not sure what I should be looking for.
“I’m so sorry,signora, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Even in the dimly lit space, I noticed the pink flush to her cheeks. It was like the woman was scared to disappoint me. I immediately felt bad for thinking the worst of her. When she saw my smile, her shoulders relaxed. “Are you hungry?”
“What gave you that idea?” Despite my grin, I wished I could’ve continued my hunger strike and refusing to eat his food, but recently my stomach had resembled a tornado, swallowing everything in sight. And right now, I was starving.
She pointed to the saran-wrapped plate in my hand, I didn’t realize I was holding. I glanced down at the cut slices of steak then nodded. “Here.” She held out a pale pink bathrobe. “I wanted to bring you some of my clothes, but Mr. Salvatore will not be happy.”
“Thank you. Won’t you get into trouble if I take this?” Even though the castle was relatively warm, the thought of covering myself in something more significant than a towel was appealing.
