Chain Me (The Ellie Gray Chronicles Book 2)

by Lana Sky

  “Or?” I risked asking as I fiddled with my sandwich.

  His eyes narrowed, glowering beyond me. “Or I’d slice him into pieces thin enough to fit within the pages of his goddamn books.”

  Ah. A threat far too specific to be a mere boast.

  Rather than linger on the topic, I busied myself with sipping from my soup and devouring the surprisingly good sandwich. Perhaps the full belly lulled me into a state silly enough to question, “Have you ever been in love?”

  I flicked my gaze across the table, gauging his reaction.

  He gave me little to go on. Merely a furrowed brow. “Love?”

  “Something beyond mere lust.” I waved my fingers through the air. “In your old age, I’m sure you’ve plied plenty of women with heartfelt poetry and roses.” I laughed, but the joke turned out to be at my expense.

  Of course, he’d had others. He’d all but alluded to it.

  “Roses are a bit cliché,” he countered, sounding bored at the prospect. “I’d like to think I have more creativity than that.”

  I shrugged, turning my attention to my plate. “You sent me one that first day, remember?” Along with a written choice. Life or death?

  “They make for an effective tool to craft a grand entrance, I will admit.” He laughed. “Though I would like to believe I’d profess my love in something a bit more impressive than a rose.”

  Something he’d never give to you, that doubtful voice hissed. I shook it off like a bothersome fly.

  “Like?” I asked Dublin.

  He said nothing.

  “You know, Georgie’s many lovers—the ones she risked sneaking in the manor—would leave roses for her as gifts, smuggled into different rooms,” I said. “Sometimes, they’d assume my room was hers—which goes to show that brains weren’t high on her list of attractive attributes. Every time I saw a rose on my floor, I knew… It was never for me.”

  What a melancholic admission. After a sigh, I sipped more soup and then shoved the rest of my bread into my mouth.

  “Do you miss her?” Dublin wondered.

  His voice was too soft. I could stomach his concern when it came packaged within an elaborate joke—but it was another thing entirely when he didn’t bother to disguise it at all.

  “Georgie?” I stared down at my hands, blinking rapidly. “I…”

  He only cares because he wants her more. And you know it.

  “Stop!” I rubbed at my forehead.

  Dublin’s hand brushed my wrist. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I set my empty plate aside as proof. “I’m just…tired, I think.”

  “Should I assist you?” He grinned, utilizing his dangerous mixture of charm and smug amusement. With unmatched grace, he stood and approached my chair. “Or are you willing to bruise your delicate feet by walking yourself?”

  I choked out something that passed for a laugh. “I wouldn’t want to tire out my weak servant so soon. I’m fine. I think it’s the time zone change.”

  He let me mount the stairs alone, but I could sense him watching. Even as I entered my room and closed the door, I knew he was listening down below, waiting for any hint that something was wrong.

  So, willing to put him at ease for once, I calmly shed my dress and pulled on a robe. Then I carefully lowered myself onto the bed with a contented sigh for his benefit.

  But I didn’t dare to close my eyes. I couldn’t. Shadows painted my room, swallowing up the violet beneath a sea of impenetrable darkness. My breath tainted the air in puffs of white. And the voices persisted, louder without his presence to smother them.

  Silly Eleanor.

  Stupid Eleanor.

  Fucking you is all he desires. Fucking. Fucking.

  You don’t matter. You or that thing growing inside you.

  Abomination. Abomination.

  I tossed and turned, burying my face against my pillow. Air caught between my lungs and my throat, unwilling to move. I was suffocating. Gulping for breath, I inhaled and struggled to regain my bearings. Breathe, Ellie. You’re being ridiculous.

  “Eleanor?”

  “I…I’m fine,” I blurted even before I found Dublin in the doorway, poised forward as if to lunge. “I promise.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. His grip remained on the doorknob as his gaze scanned the room in a cautious sweep.

  “I’m just tired…” I let my eyes drift shut and my head fall back against the pillows.

  If my act convinced him, he didn’t let on.

  As stubborn as a guard dog, he stood there even as I felt myself finally drift off.

  But the voices chased me, hissing into the void.

  He doesn’t care.

  He doesn’t want you.

  He could never love you.

  Breakfast came in the form of a cup of red liquid shoved beneath my nose the moment I peeled my eyes open. Quite the departure in service from last night—though I wasn’t particularly compelled to complain.

  Groaning, I sat upright and obediently drank. Watchful eyes chased every single swallow until the last drop danced over my tongue. Then my servant withdrew the cup without warning and left the room.

  “Sleep,” he commanded from the hall before unease could even take root in his absence. “I have some business to attend to, but I’ll be back.”

  I must have dozed off again. The next thing I knew, my eyelids were fluttering open and the sun painted my room in shades of gold.

  But Dublin was still gone.

  His promise echoed in my thoughts, becoming a mantra. He will be back. He will be…

  Or not.

  For all I knew, he could have left again. Abandoned me again. His kiss, his touch—it all could have been a trick designed to lower my guard. Because the walls of this manor reinforced the truth more than anything—I was no different from any other Gray, and I held no real appeal beyond this storied fortune.

  And Dublin Helos wouldn’t want you, a vicious voice seconded from inside my skull. Stop kidding yourself, Eleanor. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

  “No!” I stood and paced, tearing my fingers through my hair. I was being irrational. Pathetic. I…

  Don’t matter.

  Something caught my eye, lying on the floor beside my bed, discarded. I stooped to retrieve it, confused as I found myself holding a beautiful white rose glaringly out of place. I brought it to my nose, inhaling the delicate perfume.

  And the longer I observed it, the more dread solidified in my bones. It wasn’t for me. No. Just like in the old days, it had been left for someone else. Someone beautiful he’d smuggled into my room while I’d been away. That was why he stayed. There was always someone else.

  “What are you doing?”

  Dazed, I looked up, still holding the rose to my chest.

  Dublin stood in the doorway, his eyes wide, fixated on the item contained within my hands. Proof, a part of me despaired.

  “Eleanor.” Racked with guilt, his voice shook, unnervingly soft. “Put it down.”

  “Why?”

  When I pressed the rose to my chest, he lurched a step closer. “Don’t! Put it down. Now.”

  “Tell me why?” I tightened my grip even more. His reaction only reinforced my suspicions. He was lying to me. Deceiving me.

  “Eleanor.” His voice deepened imploringly. “Put the knife down!”

  Knife? Confused, I eyed my hand and gasped in horror. The leather hilt of a slim dagger trembled within my fist—not a flower. Honed to a lethal point, the tip grazed my throat with every frantic breath I took.

  “Oh God!” Panicked, I threw it aside and hunched over, staring down at my hands. “I’m sorry! I think… I think I’m still dreaming. I—”

  “It’s okay.” He knelt before me, easing me into his arms. From over his shoulder, I saw the knife disappear, tucked beyond my reach. “What were you thinking?”

  “I…”

  He pulled back, forcing me to meet his gaze before I could form a coherent explanation. Yel
low sunlight spilled in from the window, almost blinding as it reflected off his features. How could I tell him the truth?

  I’m hearing voices, Dublin. Voices in my head, and they won’t stop.

  They won’t stop…

  “I’m fine,” I croaked. “I…I was cleaning up.”

  “Cleaning up?” He sounded more cautious than ever.

  It wasn’t until I followed his gaze down to my chest that I realized why. I was trembling.

  “Yes.” I staggered to my feet and shook my head to clear it. The paranoia had been the mere remnants of a nightmare. Yes… “I need a bath. That’s all,” I decided, staggering toward the bathroom. “I expect you’ll have lunch waiting for me, slave.”

  I didn’t look back to see his reaction. I raced into the safety of my tub instead, running the water as hot as I could stand. Lavender-scented soap helped erase the unease somewhat.

  When I finally reentered my bedroom, I wasn’t shaking anymore. Heat kissed my clammy skin, displacing some of the unnatural bitter cold.

  And I felt fine.

  I was fine…

  Liar, that voice cackled from within. You’re going insane, Eleanor.

  You’re going insane.

  Quiet

  The following days passed in stiff, tense stillness. Desperate to put the knife incident behind us, I fell into my role more fervently than ever—the obedient ward under a monster’s control. I didn’t dare so much as breathe the word “answers” or mention Dmitri.

  Yet, with each passing moment, our delicate routine strained at the edges.

  For one, Dublin stopped serving me anything requiring silverware, insisting more often than not that I drink my meals. If I asked him why, he evaded giving me a solid answer—and, as if to disguise the concern, he tried distracting me with taunts.

  Insults, even.

  “If you become any thinner, I won’t have anything to hold on to the next time you decide to straddle me while airborne.”

  But I knew he was worried—and that terrified me more than hallucinating a weapon into a rose. When he looked at me, his expression became hollower than ever. Trying to maintain eye contact was a game of averted, downcast glances. Eventually, the man began to resemble a living statue in my presence more than a protector.

  Always on guard. Always watching.

  Even worse, I could sense what little glimmer of trust we’d built up slip further away. The quest for answers itself had cemented our unnatural union, yet each day without them felt like another unwelcome shove off a cliff toward an unknown drop.

  Maybe the delusions were my body’s way of trying to warn me?

  You aren’t ready for this.

  You can’t handle this.

  You shouldn’t prolong this.

  “…consider your time up,” Dublin snarled. He sounded faint, as if his voice were coming from down below. But, bellowed like thunder, each word reached my ears clearly even as I lay in bed, too drained to eavesdrop. “You have an hour to return with whatever ‘answers’ you have. I won’t even waste my breath on a threat. And if I learn that you’ve somehow harmed her…”

  Murder resonated in his tone and some numb piece of my soul stirred in response. Me. He was afraid for me.

  Faked of course, the callous voice in my skull taunted. Lies.

  “Something is wrong. I talk to her and it’s like she doesn’t even hear me. I’ve never seen her like… Do you think I haven’t? I’ve taken the precautions. I’ve restricted her meals. Any blood I give her has been vetted to Hell and back. But if you are behind this, then know that I won’t stop at merely killing you—”

  Lies. Lies. Lieslieslieslieslies…

  “Eleanor. Look at me.”

  I flinched; he sounded closer now. From the doorway, I realized as I turned toward it. Without an invitation, he entered my room, consuming the small space with his presence.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I insisted. “Just tired.” To prove as much, I shifted, placing a pillow over my head, my eyes squeezed shut. Nonetheless, I sensed him step closer—remaining far away enough to judge me unmolested should I ache to touch him. Far enough away that he didn’t have to touch me. “I’m fine,” I repeated hoarsely. “I just need rest.”

  “You’re not sleeping.”

  I winced at his accusatory tone. Was he angry?

  Of course he is.

  Alarmed, I lifted the pillow enough to observe him. Stern frown. Blazing eyes. Hell yes, he was angry.

  Because he hates you.

  “You need to eat.”

  “Like you care.” My words echoed the voice hissing in my head, but I was too tired to ignore them anymore. They were the only truth to be found within these walls lately. The only answers I had to cling to.

  His lies. Lies.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he stated bluntly.

  But that voice overpowered him. He’s lying. He’s…

  “You’re lying,” I whispered. “Like you really care whether or not I live or die—”

  “Oh?” His expression darkened, his eyes flashing with warning. Any other day, I’d rush to heed it. “You don’t want to play this game with me. As you recall, our contract specified honesty. I’m demanding my fair share now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing,” I insisted. Because saying it out loud would have been far too insane. Too real. If I had to gauge his reaction in real time… I wasn’t sure if I could handle the truth I might find.

  Because he hates you.

  Hates.

  Despises.

  Obsesses.

  And you know it.

  “I’ll come back later.” His voice cut through the chaos for a heartbeat’s reprieve—but then he turned for the door and the whispering intensified. I barely heard him growl, “You need to get some rest—”

  “No, you know what I really need? I need answers!” I sounded so damn tired. So worn. A hundred-year-old woman howling from her deathbed. “I need the truth. And you’re hiding it from me, aren’t you? You’re keeping me here. You’re waiting, aren’t you? Waiting for me to die—”

  “Eleanor.” His face was stone, but that of a statue carved in the guise of concern. Eyes too wide, mouth too tense. “Listen to yourself.”

  “I know why.” I wrenched my blankets back and stood, pacing as everything became clear. His motives. His true intentions. “You’re just waiting for me to die. You want me to. You don’t give a damn about me—”

  “Eleanor…” Confusion crept into those hollow eyes, a more terrifying sight than the visions. “I think you need to lie down—”

  “No!” I cringed against the wall as he took a step in my direction. “Stay away from me!”

  He doesn’t care about you, the voice warned, growing louder. Deafening. He doesn’t. It’s obvious.

  “You don’t care! Get out!”

  But he didn’t look smug, like a villain called out in his vicious grand plan. He looked at me like I’d grown three heads. Like I was the monster.

  “Get out!”

  “Eleanor—”

  “Get out!” I lunged for my bed, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at him.

  When he easily sidestepped it, I snatched the vase on my bedside nightstand instead. It smashed against his chest, the broken pieces speckling the floor, as sharp as knives. But he remained, so I hurtled a picture frame at him next. A lamp.

  Each weapon betrayed a shifting intention—less to repel him and increasingly to hurt.

  “Get the hell away from me!”

  When I aimed for the doorway again, another pillow in hand, he was already gone. I swayed, my weapon slipping from my fingers. Maybe he’d never been there at all? Maybe…he was already away from the manor, leaving me again.

  Abandoning me again.

  He didn’t give a damn about me. All he wanted was…

  No. I tugged at my hair, desperate to clear my thoughts. My memories portrayed someone far different than what the voices painte
d. Someone who’d held me at my darkest moment. Who’d claimed to crave me. Protect me.

  Voice breaking, I called out for him. “Dublin? Dublin!”

  No response. My room remained empty—or was it?

  No. Something was at the foot of my bed. Moving.

  “D-Dublin?”

  He didn’t come, and the noise strengthened, intensifying. Soft. Sweet.

  I crept along my bed frame, drawn forward as if hypnotized. When I finally spotted the creature lying on the floor…

  Shock brought me to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even scream.

  It was a baby. Someone had left her there naked, her tiny limbs perfectly formed—and an emotion unlike anything I’d ever felt drowned me.

  She wasn’t a grotesque monster. No abomination.

  She was beautiful.

  Lively. Alive.

  And as I gaped, her hands grasped at the air for me, her impish grin infectious. But the longer I stared, the more demanding her cries became. Insistent.

  She needed me. I needed to hold her.

  Cautiously, I drew closer, bringing a trembling hand against her tiny head and the cap of golden curls that shielded it. The strands felt like silk, a hue I’d only seen one other person possess. But her eyes… They were a blazing, burning green.

  Like mine.

  “Shhhh…” I tried to slip my hand beneath her tiny body. To hold her. To soothe her. Everything would be all right. She was safe. No one would ever hurt her. No one.

  But my fingers disobeyed and encircled her throat instead.

  “No!” One by one, they clenched no matter how hard I tried to stop. “No! No!”

  Tighter I clenched, until her beautiful babble ceased mid-song. That delicate face turned blue, those tiny limbs frantically flailing.

  “No!” I tried to pull away, clawing at my frozen wrist, but it wouldn’t budge. I tugged harder, scraping with my nails. “No! No! Stop!”

  My grip wouldn’t loosen, and her tiny body grew limper by the second. Lifeless. With every heartbeat, the color faded from her rosy cheeks.

  And I’d lose her forever.

  “No! No! No!” I scanned my room, desperate for help. But salvation appeared like magic in my hand—a jagged piece of broken glass, honed like a knife.