Page 30 of Bleed with Me

“I’m fine, Mom,” I repeated when she brushed my hair and checked my face from all angles, making me feel like a five-year-old who had fallen from their bicycle for the first time. “Everything is in its place. Nothing is missing.”

“Be serious for a moment, Dorian.” She raised her voice, checking the piercings in my right ear like they were the most important additions to my personality. “You were kidnapped. But you only have bruises on your wrists from chains, nothing else. Thankfully, you weren’t tortured. Your brothers didn’t receive a ransom demand, but you were injected with a poison. What in bloody hell happened, and who am I going to discipline for this outrageousness?”

My hazel eyes locked with her almost black ones. Zyon learned his signature murderous glare from her. Malin copied it, too. It made grown-up, powerful men stare at their feet just to avoid that piercing intensity. She had an incredibly strong, overwhelming personality. But it didn’t affect me at all. I was used to it. This woman raised me, and the last thing on my mind was to be afraid of her.

“I got married, Mom,” I revealed with a wide smile, seeing her angry, determined expression falter. “And it was epic, I tell you that. I was drugged and chained, a gun was pointed at my face, and right after the vows, Malin showed up to destroy everything and chase my wife away.” I shook my head in disappointment, exhaling exasperatedly. “He ruined my wedding, Mommy.”

“Do you have a fever or are you still drugged?” The disbelief in her voice made me grin wider. She placed her hand with long black nails on my forehead, checking my temperature. “I’ll call Doctor Smith to look at you.”

“What? Why?” I whined, casting her an innocent look. “You should scold Malin for destroying the best day of my life.”

She wasn’t listening to my complaints; instead, she hurried outside as quickly as her high heels allowed, leaving me to laugh my butt off at her reaction. She spent almost forty-one years with my crazy ass and still fell for my antics. She spoiled the fuck out of me, and this was what she got in return. I deserved to be slapped.

Throwing myself back on the comfortable cushion, I couldn’t stop chuckling at Mom’s stunned expression. She didn’t believe a word I said, but she was in for an unpleasant wake-up call because, hell yeah, I truly got married.

What a plot twist!

The buzzing sound of a phone on the nightstand disturbed my musing about the last moments I remembered with my kidnappers. I took it, frowning because I surely had my cell with me when I was abducted, and it was destroyed. Malin probably cloned my number, copied all my contacts, and brought me the new device.

I checked the screen and saw a dozen missed calls and messages, but the newest one literally knocked the air from my lungs.

Unknown number: Welcome to the land of the living, hubby. Feeling refreshed after the beauty sleep?

I blinked at the text, my lips slightly parting in surprise. How the hell did she know I had woken up? What the…

My eyes snapped to the camera above the door, and the realization settled. She was stalking me!

Dorian: Miss me already, ma vilaine?

I watched the three dots move on the screen, ignoring the heat spreading from my stomach. My heartbeat quickened, and the quietly humming machine beside the bed started beeping louder, signaling the change in my rhythm.

Rolling my eyes, I disconnected the pulse oximeter from my index finger. Then my phone buzzed, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

Shit! What was that?

Unknown number: You were out for three days. I was worried you’d leave me without a proper wedding night 🥺.

Three days? That wasn’t a hangover. Whatever she’d injected into me could’ve killed me.

Dorian: It’s not my fault you almost made yourself a widow.

Unknown number: It’s not my fault you didn’t cooperate, handsome. I gave you a choice.

I stared at the words, trying hard not to be affected by them, but the truth was that I was furious.

Dorian: Have you ever heard about the term consent? I said NO!

Her reply lit up my screen half a minute later.

Unknown number: Do you often ask your victims what kind of torture they would prefer?

Dorian: I’m not your victim, little villain. Don’t make a fatal misstep by mistaking me for prey.

Unknown number: It almost sounds like you care for me 😍❤️😍. We’re making progress.

I chuckled at the use of emojis, almost feeling the fire from her gleaming, spectacular eyes on my skin.

Dorian: Of course I care. You’re my wife. I can’t wait to get my hands on you 😈.