Bloom: A Dark Romance (The Order, 1)

by Nikki Rae

  He sighed again as I put it on over the towel, not letting it drop until the robe was tied securely around my waist. He took his time picking it up, hanging it on a hook by the door. He didn’t speak again until he was back in front of me.

  “To answer your question, Doe,” he said. “Why it matters,” he reminded me, taking one more step closer; I wasn’t sure if it was to intimidate me or so I could hear his words as he kept his voice low. “I did not agree to let him touch you. If he wanted to, he should have asked and given me the option of saying yes or no. What’s more,” with one finger, he wiped away a stray droplet of water from my forehead, “I am your Owner. Your master. Your punisher and protector.” The last sentence practically flew from his mouth, though his tone hadn’t changed. “If I am inclined, I can share you, and if I am not, it is my job to keep people like him away.”

  My eyes burned with bottled rage. Protect me. He’d been brainwashed since birth and refused to believe anything outside of the lies the Order told him. My new Owner seemed intelligent, but even smart people were Members; even the most strong-willed could get caught in the tangled vines of it all.

  I wanted to claw out his eyes and scar his unblemished face. He had no idea what girls like me had to endure. He hadn’t seen what I had. He would never be forced to experience it himself. In his eyes, I was a damsel and he was a hero. In mine, he was a wolf and I was forever a child. I couldn’t possibly understand his line of thinking or the reasons for his actions any more he could understand mine.

  He took two steps back, pushing a button by the door that looked somewhat like a doorbell, but it made no sound. “Marius will take you back to your room to change,” he said. “You can eat dinner there or join me. The choice is yours.”

  Master Lyon opened the door, letting out the wet heat that clung to my skin. Any oxygen I could have used to fill my lungs was sucked out of the room with it.

  NINE

  Mr. B was there to take me to my room only moments after Master Lyon left. He guided me back up the stairs and to my room, presenting me with the same clothes I had worn in the greenhouse as if they were brand new. We repeated the process of him waiting outside while I dressed, coming back in to take my robe from me only when I opened the door for him. I let a small part of me enjoy the microscopic amount of power it gave me. He couldn’t come in unless I invited him. He wouldn’t barge into my room while I was vulnerable; he wouldn’t scare me. Mr. B giving me a short time alone gave me a moment to regroup. It gave me time to calm my heated nerves and let air back into my chest.

  “Will you be joining Master Lyon for dinner, Miss Fawn?” he asked as I brushed my hair with a comb I had found on the vanity. I needed something to occupy my hands, and it was a far better alternative to throwing things around the room.

  “I don’t think so,” I answered without having to think about it.

  He actually looked disappointed. “Miss, if I may say something…” He sounded like he would continue whether I granted his request or not. He sat on the edge of the bed—which had been made, most likely while I was being humiliated, violated, or bathing.

  “You needn’t be afraid here,” he said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a white handkerchief from his breast pocket.

  “I’m not afraid.” I wasn’t sure if I completely believed it myself, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was that they believed it, and I could lie better than anyone.

  He nodded. “Of course.” But I could tell he was mostly saying it for my benefit. “All I mean to say is that the master is good at keeping people at bay. He’s been lonely for a very long time, and I fear his social skills have suffered because of it.”

  I stopped what I was doing and gently placed the brush on the top of the vanity, turning fully around to face him. I didn’t appreciate him trying to manipulate me into caring about a man who had purchased me, but I could definitely use it to my advantage. “Lonely?” I asked, doing my best impression of someone who was intrigued.

  Mr. B replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “He keeps to himself mostly,” he went on. “The master only trusts a select few: his driver, me…” He trailed off as he stood, picking up the robe and folding it. “And now he has brought you here.” Mr. B showed a small grin. “This is not a common occurrence for him. Just…try to see things his way.”

  His way.

  Men like him had things their way their entire lives. They were born for it, bred for it, built for it. That small flash of anger from earlier sparked somewhere deep in my belly and I had to fight to keep it contained. I extinguished it completely by forming a new plan.

  “Shall I bring your dinner up to you?” Mr. B was asking, paused by the door.

  I stood as well. “No,” I said, trying to sound meek. “I’ve changed my mind, sir.” I came to stand next to him as he smiled. “I’ve only been thinking of myself in this,” I went on as he led me from the room. “I had no idea he could be going through…his own turmoil as well.”

  We started slowly down the hall and then the stairs. “We never had this conversation,” he said like we were old friends sharing a secret. He thought he was helping me feel more comfortable here. He was helping me, but not in the way he thought.

  I played along for his benefit—a silent thank you—by miming that my lips were a lock and I had the key to seal them. The rest of our walk was without word. We entered the main foyer where he had taken me before. However, this time we walked completely past the lounge and down another hall.

  The dining room was bright with warm, artificial light. The table was long and ran down the center of the room, where it a faced large, tall window which showed nothing but the dark now, but I imagined during the day I would be able to see the many trees that surrounded us.

  The table was large enough to fit at least ten people. The surface was an off white while the trim and legs were made from such dark wood they were almost black. The chairs matched this color scheme, and Mr. B directed me towards one on the opposite side of where we stood—the farthest from the exit.

  “It seems we’re early,” he commented. “Master Lyon should be down in a minute.”

  With that, he pulled out a chair for me, made sure I was fully seated, and then left the room through another door that I guessed led to the kitchen judging by the smells coming from within. I suddenly realized that I still hadn’t really eaten. With all the events of this afternoon and this evening, my hunger had been the least of my worries. But now, sitting here by myself, I felt the dull stab of pain that made me feel at home in this new place.

  I folded my hands on top of the table the way I’d been taught to wait for someone above me, trying to convince my heart to stop hammering.

  To focus, I scanned the room, taking stock of it so I could offer my new Owner some form of conversation if he offered none. There was a vase of branches in the middle of the table, pink blossoms sprouting from the tips. They looked like they were from the cherry blossom tree I’d seen in the greenhouse. The walls were painted dark burgundy, no paintings to speak of. A few shelves, too far for me to reach, held decorative things like small white statues of horses and other objects I couldn’t quite see.

  Soon, I could hear footsteps on the hardwood down the hall; they were slow, steady, in no rush. They weren’t the rapid, busy gait of Mr. B. I tried not to turn and look at who it was, but there really was no point. He was already in the room, stopping short when he saw me sitting there.

  “So you decided to eat down here after all,” he said, a languid smile spreading across his face.

  I tried to mimic it. “I figured I could use the company.”

  I expected him to sit at the head of the table, too far away to touch me, but instead he took the seat to my left—not even across from me. It was odd, not the custom, and we both knew it. He had probably planned this exact gesture to jar me.

  “Glad you could make room in your busy schedule for me,” he said, playing along with my joke.

  I
f I didn’t know this man, if I was meeting him for the first time right now, as a free girl, in the Mainworld, I would never believe he was the type of man who was capable of beating me unconscious. I knew better. Still, he didn’t need to know that. He could believe I had forgotten all about the circumstances that had brought us together with a few simple gestures and kind words.

  “I had to move a few things around,” I said.

  His lips twitched with words he was about to say, but Mr. B interrupted him, emerging from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with piping hot food.

  It smelled familiar, but with the silver domes over each dish, it was hard to tell just what we were about to eat.

  Mr. B placed them down in front of us, taking the lid off my new Owner’s first and then mine. I tried not to think about how this could have been a trick. My old Owner would often sit me at the table, convince me I was equal, and then kick the chair out from under me and make me eat his scraps from the floor. My throat dried out at the memory—the many memories—of this man, and when I looked up at Master Lyon, I half expected to find him already taking away my seat. But he stared at me expectantly, waiting for a reaction to the food.

  Gazing down, I took in the burger nearly the size of my head sitting on a golden rimmed plate, thick yellow cheese oozing from the sides. Next to it, a mountain of homemade fries sat beside a puddle of ketchup.

  “I thought it would make you feel more at home,” my new Owner said, drawing my attention back to him. It took me a moment to realize I was smiling at the food. “American food for an American girl.”

  Mr. B brought the domed lids back to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine, a wine glass, and a glass of water.

  “Plus,” he said as Mr. B set the water in front of me and poured the red liquid for him, “I was so busy while I was visiting I didn’t have a chance to have one myself.”

  He took the napkin from in front of him and spread the cloth over his lap. I did the same, not daring to touch the food until he started eating first. Your Owner always came first. Even touching my plate before him was an insult.

  But he didn’t go for his food. He sat, smoothing the napkin over his legs, staring placidly at Mr. B as he poured his wine and glancing at me every now and then. I urged myself to say something, and although it took e a minute, eventually I spoke.

  “It’s huge, sir.”

  Mr. B was about to retreat into the kitchen when Master Lyon held up a hand to stop him. “Leave the bottle, Marius.”

  Mr. B nodded once before setting the bottle of wine back down within my new Owner’s reach. “Of course, Master Lyon,” he said simply before leaving us alone again.

  “Eat as much as you like and leave the rest,” he said as if our conversation never paused.

  He took a few sips from his wine and then picked up his burger and started to eat.

  I stared at mine a few moments longer before I decided it was safe and I picked it up the best I could, my fingers stretching to maintain a grip on the bun. Though I was hungry, I was no longer starving the same way I had been the first few times we’d eaten together. This time, I took a slow, calculated bite and chewed. I had to take a deep breath through my nose as the intense flavors overwhelmed me.

  Of course I’d had a burger before—at one time, I was the best-behaved little princess money could buy. I was allowed to eat at a special table once a month and choose whatever I wanted to be brought in from the outside world: burgers, pizza, candy, and anything else a seven year old could possibly desire.

  It had been over ten years since I’d been that girl, and it would take more than a burger on an expensive plate to make me go back.

  Still, it was hard not to enjoy it.

  After we had eaten in comfortable silence for a while, I said, “Thank you for thinking of me, sir.” I even managed a small smile before I wiped it away with the corner of my napkin and replaced it in my lap, smoothing it over my knees and sore thighs.

  Master Lyon drained his glass of wine as I drank some of my water. He poured himself another glass as he ate a few fries. Once he swallowed, he said, “Ne pense à rien, Biche.” Think nothing of it, Doe. He took another gulp of wine and placed the glass on the table.

  Well, that conversation was a dead end. I picked up my burger again, scanning the room more as I thought of what to say. My eye caught one of the white horse statues sitting on a shelf of old books. “Do you ride, sir?” I asked, casually gesturing to it.

  His eyes shifted to where I was indicating. “Sometimes,” he answered. “Have you ever been on a horse?”

  I pretended to be thinking as I ate some of the fries. I was already beginning to feel full—my appetite had shrunk as much as my clothing size in the past month—but I didn’t want our conversation to be over so soon. Each word was laying a brick in the foundation of trust and I wasn’t about to throw them away.

  “Yes,” I answered, watching as his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I own like, five horses.” I added so he knew I wasn’t being serious. He liked humor, so I could definitely use that.

  “Of course,” he said, playing along as I nervously sipped my water. “You must be an expert. Forgive me for being so presumptive.” He smiled. It was more fluid than any he’d shown me since he’d sat down; the alcohol must have been affecting him more than he realized—I doubted he would get drunk in front of me so soon. Still, I could hope he kept pouring those glasses. It would only make it easier for me.

  “What are their names?”

  “Names?” I knew what he was talking about of course; I just wanted to draw things out.

  “Your horses,” he said after another swallow of food. “You said you have at least five?”

  I acted like I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it, even letting him have a tiny laugh. Not too much—I didn’t want to make myself obvious. “Oh, you know…” I said, “I got real creative with the names—I’ve learned from the best, after all.” I finished my water. “Blaze, Rocky, Spirit, Lady, and Buddy.”

  He finished his third glass of wine, poured a forth. “Creative indeed,” he said in the same playful tone. He glanced at my plate. “Are you finished already?”

  I looked down at my food; I had barely eaten half of what I’d been served. “I think so, sir,” I said, turning on the shy voice. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not used to eating so much.”

  “No,” he said, voice turning slightly more serious. “I suppose not.”

  There was a finality to the statement; he would send me back to my room and all of this banter would have been for nothing. What was more, I didn’t know if I would have another chance to get him drunk, or at least close to it. Though he would never tell me so, the stranger had rattled him in some way as well—if nothing else, he had taken away my new Owner’s control. I had to seize the opportunity. I might not get another one like it.

  “Fortunately,” I said, letting a few moments slip between us, “I cleared my entire schedule for the night.” It was difficult, and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less right now, but I smiled.

  “Good,” he said, not even pausing to think about it. Was my game of make-believe not working?

  Then we were silent as he ate the rest of the food. He took a sip from his wine, the sound of his swallow too loud because he was too close. “Would you like some?” he asked, noticing my staring and tipping his glass in my direction to emphasize what he meant.

  I’d never had alcohol before, and he most likely knew that. Where would a caged girl ever get any?

  “O-okay,” I answered, not wanting to say no only for the reason that it would end our night—and if not end it, refusing would definitely make it more difficult.

  He smiled and stood. “Not this one,” he said, walking to the bar cart near the door to the kitchen.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  He worked the cork out of a different bottle, a small, hollow pop signaling it was open moments before I heard liquid filling a glass. He came over t
o the table, setting it down in front of me. This one was translucent yellow, completely different than what he was drinking.

  “You wouldn’t like it,” he explained as he took his seat again.

  I feigned being offended. “How would you know, sir?”

  Master Lyon pretended to put up his hands in defense, tilting his head to the side so he could see me better. This was a delicate dance we were performing, these little gestures and jokes. It didn’t matter who was leading as long as it continued. The longer it went on, the more I would learn about my partner. The more I knew, the easier it would be to lead him without him becoming aware.

  He slid his glass the short distance over to me, indicating I should try it.

  I picked up his wine glass and took a small sip. It tasted bitter, dark, and smoky. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it—not really—but that it was just too strong, overpowering even. It was something I wasn’t quite ready for.

  Setting the glass back down, I made an exaggerated disgusted face for him.

  He chuckled. “I told you, ma petite.”

  I swallowed what was in my mouth. “Okay, okay, sir,” I said. “You were right.”

  Taking his glass away, he drank from it now, sliding the other with the yellow liquid towards me. “You’ll like this one better, trust me. It’s much sweeter.”

  Trust me.

  I knew it was just a saying—people said it all the time—but it was pretty fitting considering what I was attempting to do.

  I picked up the drink, finding it much easier to go down this time. It was as he said: sweeter, smoother, lighter.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded as I set the glass down. “Much better, sir. Thank you.”

  He gave me a small nod.

  Then we were silent again, drinking once in a while and not saying anything to each other. I didn’t want to be the one entirely in charge of the conversation—that might make my motives too obvious. I decided to wait for him to speak first this time. He cleared his throat and poured himself more wine, finishing the bottle. How he was still coherent and not slurring was beyond me.