“The dining room.”
A rectangular room with an oak table for twelve. No one was seated. The empty chairs seemed to wait for him.
“The kitchen is at the end of the hall. If you’re hungry, go in and take whatever you need. There are staff members, but they don’t bite.”
Ren didn’t respond. He was taking stock. Distances, doors, exits. He did it without thinking, a gained reflex. Dining room: one door, two windows. Kitchen: service door leading outside. He filed it away.
Brody led him to the living room, a spacious room with sagging sofas and a huge TV mounted on the wall. Heavy green curtains filtered the sunlight. A low table with a chessboard and no pieces.
“You can move around here. Bedroom, library, dining room, kitchen, living room, gardens. That’s it.”
“And the rest of the house?”
Brody stopped. He turned. The light streaming through the curtains fell on one side of his face and left the other in shadow, and Ren saw for the first time the deep dark circles under his eyes, the look of someone who hadn’t slept well in a long time.
“The rest of the house isn’t for you.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t.”
Ren felt heat rise in his chest. Not the kind that Brody’s scent provoked in him. A different kind. Anger.
“Am I your prisoner?”
Brody’s jaw tensed. A muscle twitched beneath his skin, just below his ear.
“You’re my guest.”
“Guests can leave whenever they want.”
Brody didn’t answer. And that silence spoke louder than any words.
They stepped out into the garden through a side glass door. The cool air hit Ren in the face, and for a second he could breathe without Brody’s scent filling his lungs. It was enormous, surrounded by a high stone wall topped with a metal fence that didn’t look decorative. Trimmed hedges, a white gravel path, two gigantic oak trees casting long shadows across the lawn.
Ren looked at the security guardhouse in the distance. The same guard as the night before.
“How long am I going to be here?”
Brody shoved his hands into his pant pockets. He stared at the garden with the expression of someone weighing his words before speaking.
“As long as it takes.”
“For what?”
“To make sure you leave.”
“Make sure for whom?”
Brody turned his head. He looked at him. Ren held his gaze this time, though it took more effort than he will admit. There was something magnetic about Brody’s eyes, something that pulled, and Ren felt the tug in his ribs.
“For you.”
“And my family? Do they know I’m here?”
Brody took one hand out of his pocket and scratched the back of his neck. A human gesture, almost clumsy, that didn’t fit with the rest of him. He looked away toward the oak trees.
“We’re working on that.”
