Chain Me (The Ellie Gray Chronicles Book 2)

by Lana Sky

Apparently, we were both in denial of recent events.

  “Georgie and I used to play here as children,” I found myself muttering. Compelled by some need to explain the safety of my hiding place perhaps? Or maybe his skeptical frown amused me. “We used to sneak notes back and forth by stuffing them into this empty urn kept on a shelf for decoration.” An ironic fixture, given my mother’s general loathing of any frivolous displays. “Sometimes, I used to come here to think.”

  “You…played in a crypt?”

  As his expression shifted, I wasn’t sure what might appear. A wry twist of his mouth wasn’t my first suspicion. God, it couldn’t be a smile.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  I turned away. I would take that as an insult rather than a harmless quip. Only he could make the cold boundaries I’d grown up obeying seem more trite than tradition.

  In fact, he made everything about my past life seem trivial.

  Like the days when I could sit beside someone and not recall what their touch felt like, rough with possession. I tried to suppress the thought, but my breath quickened anyway, signaling my unease like blood in shark-infested waters.

  Thankfully, he parked the next second, choosing a spot near the shade of a weeping willow, and I used the task of unfurling myself from my seat belt to fill the awkward silence. When I finally pushed the door to my side open, Dublin was already there.

  He warily extended his hand, as if expecting me to bite it rather than accept it. When I did the latter, he helped me to my feet. Together, we faced my childhood playground and I pretended like I wasn’t affected by his scrutiny.

  Neglect reduced the landscape to a wilderness of overrun grasses and weeds. Without its typical manicured appearance, the area resembled something right out of a horror film. The crypt itself was by far the most unsettling fixture. Square-shaped and framed by Romanesque pillars supporting a sharply pitched roof, it was an anomaly compared to the Gothic style of the main manor.

  “You used to play here as a child,” Dublin reiterated. “For enjoyment?”

  I could sense the typical mixture of scorn and pity he usually showed whenever I mentioned personal anecdotes. This day, however, I decided to inhale the damp, humid air of the overcast day and give in to nostalgia.

  He wasn’t forgiven—but I could pause my ire for history’s sake.

  “Shall I give you the grand tour?”

  The door wasn’t locked. Ironic considering that most of the people buried here had spent their entire lives keeping their secrets under lock and key. Inside was a small entryway formed of gray marble floors and dark walls. A lone statue lorded over a spiral staircase built into the earth, leading deeper into the crypt.

  “Is something wrong?” I looked back and found Dublin lingering beyond the doorway, his frown more pronounced than usual. “Don’t tell me you have an aversion to death?”

  “It’s not that,” he said gruffly. I waited, but he didn’t elaborate further.

  Sighing, I started forward without him. “I can bring it to you—”

  “I would have thought you Grays had some elaborate protocol regarding your sacred structures.”

  I faltered and braced my hand against the wall for stability. Was that another joke?

  “Do come in,” I snapped rather than decide. “Welcome to the glorious Gray family tomb.”

  Without so much as a retort, he finally entered the entryway, and memories stirred as I led the way with him on my heels.

  “My parents brought us here often,” I admitted, brushing my fingers along the stone walls as my voice echoed. Dust coated my fingertips, depressingly thick. “It was the one thing I ever saw my father take pride in, apart from the fortune. He called it our ‘enduring legacy.’”

  At the foot of the stairs was a light that, once flipped, revealed the cavernous interior containing five chambers that branched from the central room. In the center stood another statue, one of a crying angel, her eyes downcast in sorrow.

  “That’s been here for generations,” I remarked.

  Slipping past her, I wandered the circular space and tried to see it as someone on the outside might. Like a vampire perhaps. In death, we Grays were every bit as interesting as we were in life. Our tastes in minimal design had changed little over the centuries. Such as a fondness for our namesake color.

  I crept into the alcove designated for the most recent generation, aware of Dublin’s gaze on the back of my neck.

  “Is this the urn you and your sister used?” he wondered.

  I peered over my shoulder and found him staring up at the old marble container on the shelf across from the somber angel. “Yes. It was one of the most reliable ways to reach Georgie back in the old days, if you can imagine that. I should look inside it.” I started toward him, hope bubbling in my throat.

  Maybe after weeks of silence, she would decide to reach out by recalling an obscure tradition from our childhood?

  I changed course only when I noticed Dublin watching me. How pathetic would that seem?

  Somewhere around very and depressing, I decided.

  I turned instead and approached the wall where my parents were interred. Joined in eternal rest, they dominated the top two places. The layout resembled that of a vertical grid with each tomb marked by a stone placard engraved with the occupant’s name. Per chamber, each wall could hold up to eight corpses in rows of two.

  And, like any doting parents, mine had ensured that Georgie and I already had plots picked out beneath them. While we’d barely spent quality time together in life, we would spend the rest of our miserable eternity in close proximity.

  How charming.

  I trailed my fingers over my mother’s engraved name, and I swore I could hear her scolding from beyond the grave. My God, Eleanor, what have you done now? You were always such a dutiful child.

  “Sorry,” I told her out loud, as contritely as one could while talking to herself.

  Sinking into a crouch, I felt along the edge of the placeholder for my tomb. A sharp tug pried it loose enough to slip my hand into the space beyond. Tucked just within reach was a leather-bound book—and something else. I’d almost forgotten hiding it as well—a small plastic ring with a chipped blue bead in the center.

  “Don’t tell me you’re too enthralled by nostalgia to remember why we’re here?” Dublin remarked behind me.

  Clutching the book to my chest, I stood. “I’ve got it.” I turned and found him mere steps away. Extending the contract book with one hand, I quietly concealed the ring in my other. “My end of our bargain.”

  His face unreadable, Dublin took the contract from me and tucked it into the breast pocket of his suit.

  Even though he’d mentioned as much earlier, I still felt tempted to ask, “So what does this mean?”

  “The book is merely a symbolic token,” he explained. “Your name is on it. Regardless, I find that it’s best to keep these things close.”

  “Ah.” I nodded along as if I knew the first thing about soul collecting. “Well, now you have it.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretched on for endless seconds. The longer we lingered, the colder the atmosphere felt. My teeth chattered as the monotonous scenery made me picture…well, decay.

  “Yours?” Dublin nodded toward my earmarked tomb. “I suspect this isn’t a new purchase.”

  “Oh, no.” I followed his gaze and brushed my thumb over the etched letters of my name. “It was a Christmas gift. My parents presented them to Georgie and me when I was eight.”

  “A gift?”

  “Of course.” I chafed at his tone. As if such a thing weren’t normal. “At least they had enough sense to realize that I didn’t need any space beneath mine. I should have it engraved now: Eleanor Gray, forever alone.”

  Oh, the poetic justice of it all. One of the last Grays doomed to die a spinster.

  “You believe that?” Dublin questioned in a tone that made me bite my lip. It was too stern. Too soft.

  “Why shouldn’t I?�
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  “You never envisioned yourself marrying someone? Anyone? You’ve never wanted children—”

  “I’m tired.” Sighing, I turned to him, swiping my dust-covered fingers on my skirt. “Now that you have your precious…”

  He was looking at me so strangely that I lost my train of thought. It was different from his usual scowl—eyes narrowed, mouth in a firm, odd line. Something flickered across his gaze, too elusive to name. Before I could, he marched toward the central chamber, beckoning with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Perhaps talk of tombs was too morbid, even for the undead? I tucked my ring into my purse and then followed him, uneasy. As he mounted the stairs, I couldn’t resist slipping my hand into the urn on my way past. Unsurprisingly, I found nothing but dust.

  Georgie was probably galivanting on a beach somewhere with a new lover, her pathetic sister forgotten.

  “I’d rather not spend the rest of the day among your deceased family members, if you don’t mind,” Dublin called from above.

  When I finally rejoined him, he was waiting for me outside the building and I steeled myself for a plot-twist-style reveal. Ha! He had been lying all along. This was the part when he’d entrap my soul for eternity. I could only hope he didn’t drug me first before spiriting me away.

  “Get in,” was all he said, wrenching the car door open for me.

  Confined again, I had no escape from the thoughts that months alone had kept at bay. Things like memories of him I wished to smother. His touch. His taste.

  The night he returned…

  My lips burned and I brushed my fingers along them, tracing the remnants of him. Had that kiss been another twisted game?

  A way for him to lower my guard.

  Again…

  Stop, Ellie.

  Rolling my window down and inhaling fresh air helped somewhat. Or at least the biting chill put everything back into perspective. Once again, I’d signed a portion of my life away, though I wasn’t quite sure what I’d bargained for in return. In all honesty, I didn’t need his protection. A squadron of security guards on my family’s payroll would have sufficed—though, admittedly, not as effective as a vampire.

  But sufficient.

  I didn’t need him.

  “Where are we?” I asked as the car finally slowed before a building in the heart of the city. A secluded high-rise accessible only through a security gate and a garage activated by a keypad.

  “Somewhere safe,” Dublin replied before exiting the vehicle. He circled to my end and offered his hand to help me stand.

  Wary, I followed him into the building, observing everything as objectively as I could. “You certainly haven’t changed,” I blurted. “My house would have been just fine, you do realize?”

  It was a lie.

  “Your house looks like it should be condemned,” Dublin replied, tugging me along.

  I tried to regain my anger, but I was too busy gaping at our surroundings to remember to be insulted. Dublin had always had a flair for elegance, but this…

  Black walls and marble flooring created a hushed world of darkness. Elevators lined in gold led to the upper floors. There was no lobby. No grinning receptionist. Just a silent trip up to the tenth floor, where we exited into a darkened hallway. At the end awaited a black door that opened the moment Dublin approached.

  A woman stood behind it, her smile warm. “Good evening, sir,” she greeted while stepping aside, allowing Dublin and me to enter what appeared to be a private suite.

  I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, hating how my stomach tightened with every detail observed. Blond hair formed a neat bun at the nape of her neck, displaying beautiful features subtly enhanced with makeup. Her modest black dress did little to disguise her curves. A strange sense of déjà vu warned that I knew her.

  From where?

  It was only when she gestured for my coat that I remembered. Katherine. That was her name. The woman whose contract he managed. He’d saved her from Saskia and her henchman if I remembered correctly.

  And now she was apparently at his personal beck and call.

  “Thank you. That will be all, Kate,” Dublin told her, sending her scurrying off across the spacious entryway.

  Kate. The nickname echoed inside my skull. The same man refused to call me Ellie, professing a hatred of “unprofessional” monikers. And yet, this woman was Kate.

  “Nice to see you’ve had company.” The statement slipped out, but I didn’t know how I intended it to land. As an insult? A jab? Something innocent, I decided when Dublin trained his gaze on me. Merely a harmless question. “Last I remembered, you lived alone.”

  Whether out of an unwillingness to fight or simple disinterest, he gritted his teeth against a reply and stalked forward to throw open two double doors directly across from us.

  Beyond them was a sight so unexpected that my mouth dropped open, all else forgotten.

  A room formed the center of the suite, one almost entirely encased in glass, each massive window displaying a harrowing scene of the city. Multicolored swaths of skyscrapers bathed in nightfall created a fantastical landscape of neon and navy.

  “Does this meet your expectations?” Dublin wondered, his tone as smug as ever.

  Perhaps for good reason, considering I had to physically nudge my mouth closed with the tip of my finger.

  “It’s fine.” As I spoke, I crossed the room, wandering as close to the glass as I dared. Awe turned out to be no match for pride, however. “It’s beautiful…”

  “There is no family crypt,” he added. “But hopefully it will suffice.”

  Was that yet another joke?

  “Luckily, my pre-chosen tombstone isn’t going anywhere,” I said. “Who knows, by the end of the month, I may be enjoying it the way my parents always intended.” A smile shaped my mouth. “I should pick out my coffin tomorrow, I suppose. A nice, sensible, boring one fit for a spinster.”

  I was breaking my resolve to stay angry again. Perhaps hating him took too much effort? Still grinning, I looked over—but Dublin wasn’t laughing. Instead, his eyes cut to mine, imparting a chill that made me shiver.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Oh?” I returned my attention to the view and braced my fingers over the glass. “About what?”

  His scoff warned that he wasn’t playing along this time—but anger I could stomach. His low tone alarmed me far more. “I think you know what.”

  Did I? No, I decided, shaking my head. “I’m tired.” I turned toward a random direction. “Is the bedroom this way?”

  “Eleanor.”

  Before I could take a step, his hand fell over my shoulder pinning me in place.

  “I’ve played along until now,” he admitted. “But I lack the energy to pretend anymore.”

  “Pretend?” I asked innocently.

  “Yes, pretend—as though you don’t know what really ails you. It isn’t cancer.”

  A part of me felt relieved that I couldn’t see his face from this angle—and that he couldn’t see mine.

  “My contract was one aspect requiring clarity, but now we need to discuss—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this now,” I said. “Frankly, I’m not in the mood for more personal attacks on my character, either—”

  “Can you blame me?” His strained tone turned cutting. “Put your pride aside for a second. This isn’t a little game, or a fantasy, or a contract that you can confront by stripping naked and turning the tables. This is your life. For whatever reason, I’d rather not see you squander it in denial.”

  “As if you care.” Because he didn’t obviously. At least, not beyond some ulterior motives he had yet to reveal. Sighing, I tossed out potential answers, saving him the trouble. “Allow me to guess why. Raphael has put a bounty on my head? Or maybe your aim is more selfish than that? You get your precious years back as long as you—”

  “I’m trying to talk to you reasonably. You decide to provoke.” His grip tightened, straining the
fabric of my dress. I could feel the ridge of every finger and memories triggered. Sensations I didn’t want to recall. Emotions I didn’t need. All of them descended at once, constricting my chest in a vice. “Look at me.” He spun me to face him. “You demanded an apology. Fine. You have one.”

  God, I trembled at what I saw in his gaze, lurking beneath the gray irises, so faint that it could have been a figment of my imagination. Hate?

  Or something far worse. Guilt.

  “But I won’t humor you anymore. I refuse to let you mock me as well.” His tone deepened and I understood the true source of his irritation. I had the nerve to taunt the great and terrible contractor with two concepts that seemed to affect him more than any other. Life and death. “According to Dr. Martin, your condition is not fatal. And yet you still choose to refer to your mortality as casually as the weather? Fine. But first, face the fact that you may have a tumor. Or—”

  “Stop.” I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from slapping them over my ears as he snarled his next words.

  “Or something far different. If I can acknowledge as much, why can’t you? Say it.”

  “Fine. Something unnatural.” I blinked, surprised as moisture slid down my cheeks. “So unnatural that you accused me of having loose morals rather than believe it. Is that what you want me to say? I would rather have a tumor—”

  “I had every reason in the world to deny it,” he pointed out. “Or at least deny that I had any part in it. Can you admit that?”

  Maybe I could… If life and death weren’t the very tools of his trade.

  “So, why believe it now?”

  He laughed, spitting out each chuckle through clenched teeth. “Perhaps because I’ve ceased being surprised by anything where you are concerned? And I don’t want to fight with you, but I won’t watch you lie to yourself, either.”

  More tears spilled from my eyes though I wasn’t sure why. “Why not? Tormenting me is what you do best, after all.”

  “Stop trying to bait me into a fight.” He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

  I went rigid—there was no gentleness in the act. He lingered as if daring me to recoil, so I dug my heels in just to ensure I didn’t.