Don’t get me wrong; there are men out there whoaren’tlike that, but they’re few and far between at best. I highly doubt they’re congregating in record numbers at a market for blood-appropriate women.
Slamming the book shut and picking up the next,The First-Time High,I select a paragraph to read about the bonding night.
As soon as the wordsfangandbloodmake their debut, I toss it back to the pile, turn off the overhead light, and head for the bed.
There are no tools inside these books—only horror stories.
Conversely, one of the only boons of this little adventure is the luxurious bedding, so I may as well get some rest and relaxation while taking advantage of it. Clearly, tomorrow’s got a full damn schedule, and I doubt they take kindly to the idea of skipping it to stay barricaded in your room. My guard, in particular, looks as though he’d delight in dragging me around the mansion by my shiny red hair if needed.
Flopping hard, I roll to my side and tuck a hand under my pillow before exhaling dramatically.
I still cannot believe my parents—the people who spent their lives and time and energy raising me—have sent me off to be sold to a freaking vampire just so our family legacy can stay intact.I’ve tried to put myself in their position and see it from their side, but this thing is one-dimensional as shit.
Selling humans equals bad. Period.
Ugh.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply to suck the lavender of the linen to the back of my nostrils and, if possible, my brain. It’s a calming scent innately, but I’m afraid, under these circumstances, it’s got its work cut out for it.
The longer I lie there, the more depressing the darkness of my confinement feels. It’s silent, save a solitary ticking noise I can’t place, that comes and goes every ten seconds or so, and with that comes a myriad of unblocked, unchecked, wholly distressing thoughts.
How scared I am.
How nothing I’ve ever known—not even my childhood crush on the nicest boy in school—seems safe.
How hopeless I feel against a power so much greater than me.
How lacking in support I am, even from the people who’re supposed to love me most.
A single tear escapes my closed eyes, and I wipe it away frantically before squeezing them shut tighter. My ears whoosh with the effort to close everything but sleep out, but the noise persists.
When I find myself counting along to its rhythm instead of drifting off to a numbing slumber, I cover my ear with my hand. But it’s like a dripping faucet—impossible to ignore.
Rolling to my back, I stare at the ceiling and will it to go away. It doesn’t.
I groan.
Instead, it gets faster the longer I disregard it, and, finally, frustrated enough by the incessance, I throw back the large comforter and pull the string on the lamp at my bedside to turn it back on.
As the sound grows, I climb from the bed and trudge toward it, pausing in front of the armoire on the wall when the sound gets louder. Shaking slightly, I pull the brass knob on the door to open the cabinet, fearing the worst inside—like a ghost or a demon or, I don’t know, a portal to the next dimension. I know it’s farfetched, but it’s hard to imagine a bottom to the well of possibility when I’m already dealing in freaking vampires, for Pete’s sake.
Chalk it up to the new digs, but my brain is firmly in nightmare territory every time it tries to make something up.
The armoire is empty, though, save a plush black robe and two extra pillows, and after a quick shuffle of the contents with my hand, unfortunately, the noise persists.
What the hellisthat?
I move to the side of the cabinet and press my head to the wall to take a look behind it, and when a sliver of silver light hits me square in the eye, I jump.
Oh my God. Is that…is that awindow?
I haven’t seen the outside in six, maybe seven, hours, and even then, it was a rushed jog from the car to the front door upon arrival.
I could go for a big gulp of real air right now—or maybe, a shimmy down my sheets and an Olympic sprint to somewhere, anywhere, else.
Leaning my shoulder into the dark, rich wood, I push as hard as I can in an attempt to move the heavy cabinet to the side, but the only thing that slides is me.
I pull off my socks and chuck them toward the bed, getting a running start and slamming my shoulder into the wood once again. If there’s anything that could renew my determination and sheer strength of will, it’s the possibility of escape, and a window at this point is practically a portal to another dimension.
