by R. J. Blain
Soup was least likely to turn into a fiery catastrophe if the drugs kicked back in and stole my coherency. I didn’t really care what it tasted like, so long as it eased the ache in my stomach. I dug through the refrigerator, pulled out the vegetables I recognized, and hummed to myself as I searched for a knife and a cutting board.
If I was going to make myself at home in some elite’s house, at least I wouldn’t damage their pretty countertops, even if they did clash a bit with their too bright cabinetry. I found a large pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove.
It didn’t take me long to dump my ingredients into the water, leaving it to simmer.
“Miss Daegberht?” Rob called from somewhere deeper in the house, distance muffling his voice.
I turned around and leaned against the counter near the stove. “Kitchen,” I croaked, grimacing at the hoarseness of my voice.
Rob strode down the hallway, his hands in his slacks pockets. Pausing at the entry to the living room, he peered around before spotting me.
He scowled and crossed to me, narrowing his eyes as he looked me over head to toe. “What are you doing out of bed, Miss Daegberht?”
With my voice on its way out the door, I saved myself the effort of trying to speak and pointed at the pot.
Rob sighed and inspected my attempts to make soup. “This appears to be vegetables dumped into a pot of water.”
“So what?” I demanded, stiffening at the dae’s unimpressed tone. “It’s soup.”
“They’re vegetables being boiled to death. While you have the basic idea, this is not how you go about making soup. Maybe I can salvage it,” Rob muttered, sounding doubtful. “I appreciate your attempt at self-reliance, Miss Daegberht, but you’re ill and rather heavily medicated. I’m impressed you made it this far without falling over in a stupor. Your job is to rest and recover. My job is to cook and take care of everything else.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You’re stubborn. Is it truly so difficult to allow someone to take care of you?” The way Rob focused all of his attention on me sent shivers coursing through me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make a run for it or stand my ground.
I didn’t want anyone taking care of me, but I couldn’t deny how my legs shook under my own weight. I leaned against the counter to remain mostly upright.
When I didn’t reply, he closed the distance between us and leaned towards me. He smiled. “You’re in no way lessened by having someone help you.”
All of my blood rushed to my head, and heat spread across my cheeks. I floundered, spluttered something so incoherent I had no idea what I was trying to say, and scooted along the counter to put some distance between me and the dae.
He pursued me to the wall and cornered me, his smile widening. “Sit down before you fall down, Miss Daegberht. I will rescue the vegetables you were torturing. If you’re still alert after you’ve eaten, I’ll fill you in on everything that you’ve missed while you’ve been ill.”
Sitting down sounded better and better with each passing moment. He was right about too many things, which annoyed me, but I was too tired and achy to fight with him over it. The subtle inflection in his voice made me wonder how many times I’d woken up only to fade back into a drugged and sickly stupor.
Swallowing my pride and restraining my urge to slap the smug grin off his face, I jerked my head in a nod. While I could have squeezed by him to go find a chair, I stayed where I was, tense and quivering.
Rob sighed, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me up onto the counter. “Stubborn,” he muttered. His hands were warm, and when he let me go, his fingers slid over the silk covering my sides. A shiver ran through me.
He left me on the other side of the kitchen gawking at him while he busied himself turning my feeble attempt at cooking into something edible.
Eighteen
I’m not scared of you.
My time interviewing the dae taught me they all had some sort of skill, but I couldn’t figure Rob out. He had none of the markers I recognized from fire-breathers. If he aligned with an element, I couldn’t tell which one. If he was a shifter, I couldn’t tell that, either. Werewolves were easy to identify; their eyes gleamed yellow, and they always had a snarly quality to their voice.
In order to shelter me from the other elite, he had to be something. But what? What did he possess that ranked him among the elite without anyone questioning him?
Rob ignored me, and I watched him, not caring if he caught me staring. While the warmth of his touch had faded, my anxiety of the burning itch of a reaction remained. I wanted to check my sides, but I couldn’t, not without hiking the gown up over my hips to do so.
I had zero intentions of flashing Rob with my black lacy panties. I was tempted to hunt down the nearest bathroom. Sometimes the reactions were so mild all I got were a few red marks. Was the thin silk enough to protect me from him?
The drugs Rob kept pumping into me were probably preventing a reaction, but I’d start suffering again when the drugs finally wore off. I trailed my fingers over the smooth countertops, following one of the black veins cutting across the stone.
“Take this,” Rob said, and when I glanced in his direction, he was beside me, holding a steaming mug in his hand. “If you’re not sick in an hour, you can have some more.”
I took the mug in both hands, frowning at the liquid. “It’s orange.”
“The color is from the carrots you murdered, Miss Daegberht. I didn’t want to waste your efforts.”
Was soup supposed to be so thick? I scowled, swirling the thick stuff in the mug. “Is this really edible?”
Rob laughed, headed to the pot, and grabbed a clean spoon. While I watched, he dunked it into the soup and stuck it in his mouth. “I assure you it’s edible. Why would I go through the effort of treating you to undo my hard work with poisoned food?”
He had a point. Grumbling curses, I took a tentative sip.
Maybe the soup had started its life as a mix of carrots and potatoes, but it tasted a little sweet with a bit of a savory bite. It was a lot thicker than any soup I made for myself, but I swallowed it easily enough, and it didn’t aggravate my sore throat.
While it lacked the chunks I expected, it eased my hunger. Rob watched me with narrowed eyes, nodding his satisfaction when I set the empty mug aside.
My pride would never recover at the rate I was going, but I braced myself and mumbled, “Thanks.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Rob replied, grinning at me as he claimed the mug and rinsed it in the sink. “You’re welcome. If you’re still hungry in an hour, you can have more. In the meantime, you’re due for your medicine.”
I shook my head, my hair whipping side to side. “No.”
“You’re going to hamper your recovery, Miss Daegberht.”
“Don’t care.”
“You should, unless you really want to be sick longer. Then you’d have to rely on me even more than you already have to,” he replied, smirking at me.
The dulling haze of drugs lingered. I was keenly aware of the pleasuring high from before, and I craved it. I wanted to float into blissful oblivion, free of pain and worry.
It’d be so easy to get it back. All I had to do was ask. I could say I still hurt. My feet did ache, but it was tolerable.
I didn’t need any drugs, but I wanted them, and that frightened me most of all.
A shudder ran through me. “No,” I whispered.
“Stubborn.” Rob closed the distance between us and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re not as fevered as before.”
I flinched in expectation of a reaction to his touch, a shiver rippling through me.
“You’re frightened.” The surprise and concern in Rob’s voice shamed me even more than my awareness of having recoiled from him.
“Rashes,” I blurted. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Rashes. Ah, your skin sensitivity. That little makes you react?” Rob pulled away, his gaz
e focused on my forehead. “No redness,” he reported.
“Drugs,” I reminded him.
“It’s been a week since I’ve given you any antihistamines, Miss Daegberht.”
A week? How long had I been with Rob in some elite’s home? I frowned. “That long?”
“You’ve been mostly incoherent for two weeks,” Rob informed me in a neutral tone. “You were on the antihistamine regimen for a week at the recommendation of the dean’s personal physician. I informed them you were incapable of answering questions, and that I suspected an allergic reaction to something. I didn’t allow them to see you, but the dean was generous enough to provide all of the medications required for your care. It seemed fair, since it was his fault you were kidnapped in the first place.”
“They don’t believe I was involved?” I cringed at the hopeful tone of my hoarse voice.
“The surviving witnesses all claimed the same thing; you were taken completely by surprise along with everyone else. Shifters have sensitive noses and even better hearing. He was overheard when he grabbed you.” Anger deepened Rob’s voice. “Quite a few dae owe their lives to you; if your kidnapper hadn’t wanted to take you and those children alive, there would have been many more deaths.”
While I had suspected werewolves had better noses than humans, Rob’s confirmation made me wonder what else the dae knew. I chewed on my lower lip. Two weeks laid up in bed didn’t surprise me in the slightest; I remembered the burns, the injury to my wrist, and the head-to-toe rashes from my stay with Arthur.
Anyone would be sick after that. I tried to convince myself there was no reason for me to be ashamed of being human. I had planned to hole up to recover, possibly for weeks.
If I had done things my way, I’d probably be dead or close to it.
If Rob was telling the truth, I owed him far more of a debt than I could repay, and the realization stung my already wounded pride. Flushing, I averted my gaze to the marble countertop, staring at the gold and black streaks running through the white stone.
“It’s still not red,” Rob said, drawing my attention to him.
I lifted my hand to touch my brow, puzzled by the lack of irritation. “Oh.”
“You seemed quite intrigued by my arm a while ago, Miss Daegberht. I thought it was a side effect of the medication, but it seems there’s more to it than that.” Rob held out his hand, and I sucked in a breath, staring at him. “You’re curious, aren’t you?”
The memory of how soft and smooth his skin was rattled about in my head and refused to leave me alone. Had his hands been freshly cleaned and free of the oils and sweat triggering my reactions? I had touched him, all over his hand and arm, and it hadn’t hurt.
Without the rashes on my hands, everything felt different from the marble to the paint on the walls. Would Rob’s skin still be soft and smooth?
“Should you have an adverse reaction, I still have plenty of antihistamines left over. By all means, satisfy your curiosity. You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I’m not worried about you,” I snapped.
The anger I expected at my rude outburst didn’t manifest. Instead, Rob chuckled. “I’d worry, too, if I had rashes like yours. Some of them were quite severe. Did you have them before you were kidnapped?”
My secret was out, which was frightening enough, but it was Rob who knew. Rob, who had a fondness for viewing me as his property. What would he do with the knowledge?
Kenneth would delight in using it against me if he ever found out.
Burying my fear behind anger, I demanded, “What does it matter?”
Rob leaned towards me until his face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my skin. “I am listing every single injury you have suffered from him. I will carve the sum of every ache, pain, rash, cut, and broken bone out of him. When I am finished with him, there won’t be enough left of him to toss in an alley. I’ll destroy him, Miss Daegberht. Did you have those rashes before he took you?”
My mouth dropped open at the dae’s vehement tone. Like many dae, Rob’s eyes changed, but instead of the swirls of fire and smoke I so often saw among the fire-breathers, his eyes hardened, retaining their bright blue but reminding me of the diamonds the wealthiest elite wore.
“Miss Daegberht?”
I sat straighter on the counter, clenching my teeth together. It took one thought of having my revenge stolen from me to ignite my anger to its full strength, and not even the lingering drugs in my system dulled my fury. “He’s mine.”
Rob’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
I don’t know why I did it, but I snatched Rob’s tie, yanked on it, and brought him close to me, matching his glare with my own. “I will make him regret every scar, every rash, every blister, and every cut.”
I wanted to say I’d make Arthur feel the fear he had smothered me with, but the words stuck in my throat. I shook with rage and tightened my grip on Rob’s tie. “I don’t need you doing my dirty work.”
“And how do you intend to do it?”
“He’s a fire-breather. I’ll extinguish his flames and leave him as a wet, greasy pile of ash,” I hissed.
“You aren’t a dae.”
“So?”
“That puts you at a rather extreme disadvantage, Miss Daegberht.”
I would always be at a disadvantage as long as I didn’t have a dae like so many others did. “I don’t care.”
Rob scowled at me. “Did you have the rashes before he took you?”
“My hands and my elbow where Kenneth grabbed me,” I muttered, releasing the dae’s tie. “The burns were worse.”
“I saw them.”
He had seen all of me, and I flushed as the realization sank in. Of course he’d seen me naked. He had kept me from drowning in the bathtub the first time I had woken up. Someone had to change my clothes, and Rob was the only dae present with hands.
“Where’s Colby?”
“Hunting.”
I shivered at Rob’s emotionless tone. “Hunting what?”
Lifting his hands to his throat, the dae adjusted his tie, which matched his eyes. A faint smile spread on his lips as he loosened the knot and smoothed the slick material. “Your kidnapper. Your refusal to identify him is rather tiresome, so we’re hunting him the old-fashioned way. It’s Colby’s turn right now. Colby left a little early, probably knowing I was on my way back.”
“Colby’s alone out there?” My voice rose an octave and cracked before a coughing fit tore through me. By the time I recovered, Rob had gone to the refrigerator and was holding a glass out for me.
“Drink,” he ordered.
It was orange juice, and while I was tempted to toss it in his face, I took it. Sipping cautiously, I winced at the worsening ache in my throat. “Stupid cold.”
“You’re doing a lot better than you were last week,” Rob informed me, smiling at me. When I finished with my glass, he took it from me and set it in the sink. “There’s only so much you can put your body through, Miss Daegberht, and you discovered your limit. Still, you’re much better than I thought you would be today. I think you’re well enough to remove the painkillers from your medications.”
I tensed. The temptation to cave in and beg for more surged through me. “No more drugs.”
“Antibiotics, Miss Daegberht. Your wrist’s infected. Unless you want to lose your hand…”
I shuddered, staring at my left arm. I couldn’t see the injury beneath the bandage still covering my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but that didn’t mean anything when drugs were involved. “It’s infected?” My fear turned my voice shrill.
“You used a rusty nail. Are you surprised? Yes, it’s infected. There is a local anesthetic under the bandages, an ointment to help it heal, and you’re on quite a few antibiotics. Your other injuries have healed well.” Rob shook his head, and before I could stop him, he took hold of my arm, pressing his thumb against my wrist.
The pressure sent stabbing pain lancing up my arm, and I sucked in a brea
th. “That hurts.”
“It’ll hurt more once the painkillers wear off completely.”
“A risk I am willing to take,” I replied through clenched teeth.
Rob shifted his thumb away from the bandage, adjusting his hold on my arm to reveal where he had touched me. “No redness. Your forehead looks fine as well.”
I stared at the spot, my eyes widening. “It doesn’t itch.”
“How long does it normally take for the rashes to show up?”
Rob didn’t let go of my arm, and because his hand was warm and didn’t hurt, I didn’t jerk free of him. “Right away. Handshakes are the worst. Why do people always want to shake hands? People think I’m defective when I want to wear gloves in the summer.”
My mouth had a mind of its own, and I blushed from embarrassment, clenching my teeth together so I’d shut up.
“You can tell a lot about a human—or a dae, for that matter—when you shake their hand,” Rob replied, releasing my arm to clasp my right hand. My initial instinct was to pull away, but he tightened his hold on me while smirking.
Hand strength was necessary to scale buildings, but my grip was weak and shaky, which made me growl from frustration.
“You’re not a shifter, Miss Daegberht. Your species doesn’t growl.”
“Shut up. I’ll growl if I want to.”
Rob laughed, easing his hold on me. He turned my palm over so I could see it. “No redness, no rashes, or any other reactions. I think you’re safe.”
I stared at my hand. Rob rubbed his thumb over my palm, tracing the pale scars stretching across my skin. Most of them were thin lines, evidence of mishaps with glass and sharp stones on buildings, although I had more than a few pockmarks from blisters that hadn’t healed well.
For a long time, I stared at my scarred hands. If I earned my Bach, I’d be able to afford the treatments to remove most of the scars. I could have the smooth skin of the elite, unmarked from my years of clawing my way from the lowest rung of society’s ladder.
