Chain Me (The Ellie Gray Chronicles Book 2)

by Lana Sky

  Or fear.

  Of me.

  “What did you do to me?” Chocolate sprayed from my lips.

  Quietly, he gathered the empty cup and the plate, tossing them both into the trash. His eyes met mine once again, the longest he’d held my gaze since I’d woken up. Like pools of ice, they reflected my hollow expression back to me. Wide eyes. Open mouth. Flushed, hollow cheeks.

  In silence, he left.

  And I closed my eyes, determined to wake up.

  Addenda

  Black hair.

  Frail skin.

  Haunting black eyes.

  “I will make you a wager, Eleanor,” he told me, his name every bit as beautiful as his youthful appearance. Raphael. “I will tell you what Dublin bartered for you—in fact, I will give it to you. As long as you help me discover something that he might value more…”

  I should have run. I tried to. Red walls enveloped me, forming an elegant dining room, crowded by watchful figures with hooded eyes. I took a step and the scenery expanded around me, stretching forever. No matter where I turned, black eyes held me captive, boring deep to scrape my soul.

  His hand captured mine, as quickly as a striking cobra. “I already have my suspicions.”

  He was so cold—shockingly, abnormally so. It felt as if death itself had taken hold of me.

  “All you would be required to do is help me prove it to be true or false. Then I shall uphold my end of our bargain. Simple enough?”

  A frigid thumb traced the back of my hand. As if drawn by an invisible force, my gaze drifted to his throat, where a serpent pendant hung. Its red eyes kept me in place as Raphael placed his hand over my stomach, imparting his chill into the flesh underneath.

  “A simple suspicion,” he repeated in a burst of breath so cold that I half expected frost to crystallize right there on my skin.

  Then he lowered his head and bared his fangs…

  I startled awake to a familiar scene—an empty room. Warm daylight streamed in through the massive window, unabated by the curtain someone had partially drawn over the view. My panic subsided as the fragments of my nightmare faded.

  But I wasn’t at Gray Manor. Noisy machines still monitored my body through various wires and devices—still in the hospital room, then. At least the IV was gone, as was the mysterious bag of blood.

  I could recall those details, though my brain seemed determined to avoid remembering anything else. Thinking took a back seat to the desperate ache unfurling in my belly anyway. I sniffed and realized why. The bedside tray had been drawn up close to the bed and on it was a steaming plate of eggs, along with a Styrofoam cup. My selective memory gave me an inkling as to what might be inside it.

  Something red that tasted like copper.

  Not exactly the most charming of breakfast invitations. My “doctor” was exerting his presence into my life with little effort.

  At least he wasn’t here. I had no one to prove anything to. No one to judge. Just my own terrified thoughts playing a morbid commentary as I eyed the straw and pictured the liquid within.

  This is insane, Eleanor.

  You’re hungry, Eleanor.

  You’re starving, Eleanor.

  This is insane.

  I clung to that last voice, the pathetic whisper of the person I had spent twenty-six years living as. Calm, reserved Eleanor Gray. The woman content to be a spinster. The heiress who needed no one. That girl wouldn’t drink whatever was in that cup. She would cross her arms in stubborn pride and suffer.

  Don’t be so childish.

  That newer voice was unwelcome, suspiciously masculine. To silence it, I sank back against the pillows and pulled the thin sheet over my head, smothering as much noise as the cheap cotton could. Almost as if to mock me…I felt. Movement. Something. Deep down inside me, like the flexing of a muscle I didn’t even know existed. It throbbed, demanding attention. Acknowledgment.

  The longer I attempted to ignore it, the sharper the pain became. Insistent.

  Drink.

  I hauled myself into a sitting position. My hands trembled, outstretched before me, but it felt like ages before I gathered up the nerve to reach for the cup. I cringed with the first sip of lukewarm liquid. Before disgust could fully register, I was already swallowing the second. Third. An endless stream that didn’t cease until the final few drops noisy crawled up the straw. My hands still shook as I set it aside and pulled the tray closer. The eggs were lukewarm, but I managed to redeem myself by devouring them slowly.

  That hollow feeling in my stomach felt sated once I’d cleared the plate, but it still demanded…more.

  “Eleanor?”

  I looked over at the doorway and found a woman standing there. Her dark eyes softened as recognition seared through my chest.

  A much more welcome sight than Dublin.

  “Yulia?”

  “Who else?” Her mouth cracked into the most beautiful smile. With her black hair slicked back against her head and her slender body clad in an ebony pantsuit, she looked as witchy as ever. “I’ve brought you something to wear other than those hideous gowns.” She lifted her arms, each one displaying a dress on a hanger. “Which one do you prefer?”

  Amid the chaos and turmoil I desperately fought to ignore, fashion was an abrupt, though preferable, change in subject.

  One selection she held was a rich, modest black, made of silk. The other was a similar design but made of white lace.

  “I’m partial to one in particular,” Yulia admitted, fingering the white dress. “But I’m curious what you think.” Her accent gave the words a lilting edge and I relished every note. I’d forgotten how lovely someone’s voice could sound when they weren’t growling threats or shouting insults.

  Or peddling vicious lies.

  “The white one,” I blurted, pointing toward my selection.

  “Of course. I see you still have your good taste.” She gently set the chosen dress over the foot of the bed. Slung from her shoulder was a black duffel bag, which she set down at her feet. “Dublin asked me to design a few things for you,” she explained while folding the black dress and tucking it inside the duffel. “Luckily I’d just finished some new designs that I managed to tailor in a pinch. Though I probably should get your measurements again…”

  I’d been in the process of sitting up while she spoke, and her eyes settled over my concave stomach.

  Memories gnawed at the edges of my skull. Snippets of a hushed conversation too terrifying to interpret—poor Eleanor…

  “You should try it on,” she said, gently dragging me back to the present. “Though I should warn you that Dublin made some…specifications.”

  “Like what?” I ran my hand over the surface of the white dress. It felt silky smooth—not laced with broken glass or any other devious tricks I could discern.

  “Things he promised were utterly necessary.” Her upper lip contorted in a grimace. “I’m sure you’ll discover that soon enough. Here, let me help you.”

  She eased my gown over my head and guided me into a bathroom suite attached to the room. Facing my reflection in the mirror, I cringed. For a woman who’d needed a blood transfusion, I didn’t have much to show for it. There were no bruises. No cuts. No broken bones to explain away my slow, sluggish movements.

  But I was still rail thin. Too thin.

  “I will definitely have to measure you again,” Yulia deduced, observing me with a frown. “You’re skin and bones—”

  “It’s nothing,” I blurted, letting myself ignore my hazy memories of Dublin’s diagnosis for a split-second. Something about a growth. Utterly trivial. “I’m sure anything you make will fit just fine.”

  “Oh.” Yulia swallowed hard. Her eyes scanned my face, and her lips twitched, resisting a frown. “Did Dublin talk to you?—”

  “More or less.” I shrugged and turned my attention to the shower. As the water warmed, I tested the temperature with my fingers. Then I stepped beneath the spray, allowing the sound of rushing water to obscure t
he awkward silence.

  Dublin deserved some credit. Pregnancy was an intriguing diagnosis, but no different from hemohemorrahgia—a complex lie designed to extort something at my expense.

  That was all it was.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Yulia called to me, her voice muffled by the shower spray. I snuck a glance at her while lathering my hair with the bottle of shampoo. “I should have visited you sooner. But…” She shook her head, her smile strained. “Do you need help? I’m dying to get my hands on those curls again.”

  I let her assist me—and I needed the help. For the first time in ages, water felt hot. My skin seared, painfully raw. There was no residual numbness radiating through my bones to shield from sensation.

  But…

  I froze, half dressed, transfixed on my reflection in a mirror hanging above the sink. A stranger stared back at me. I scanned her eyes, searching for the hint of a monster dwelling within her fragile frame.

  A salty taste still lingered on my tongue, impossible to choke down.

  “Eleanor?” A warm touch on my shoulder drew my attention to the woman beside me. “What do you think?” she asked while helping me into the white dress.

  “It’s perfect.” The praise wasn’t an understatement. Softer than gossamer, the material fit just as comfortably as any previous item of clothing she’d designed for me.

  “I think so too. But damn.” Frowning, she glanced at a watch on her wrist. “I wish I could stay longer, but Dublin will kill me if I don’t finish at least a good bit of your clothing as soon as possible. In the meantime, I left a few things to tide you over.” She winked and headed back into the hallway. “You should get some rest. I will check on you later.”

  By the time I had the sense to whisper, “Goodbye,” she was already gone.

  Semi-darkness greeted me as I opened my eyes. The ceiling was a swath of flickering shadow, and a lone fluorescent bulb illuminated the room, throwing the man standing at the foot of my bed in stark contrast.

  Once again, he’d come armed with a cup of mysterious liquid and a bowl of food. Soup, it smelled like. Along with a thick slice of bread and another piece of cake.

  “Eat,” he prompted, placing the meal down before me.

  Drowsiness rendered me compliant enough to accept the cup without complaint. It was already in my hand as I closed my eyes. Drank.

  The moment I downed the last drop, he was there to ease it from my grasp. I opened my eyes and found him eyeing me from head to toe. I squirmed as he lingered over my face.

  The rage was gone from his expression, but in its wake remained something far too close to concern.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I croaked. “For someone who has cancer, anyway.”

  “Cancer?” So much for concerned. He went rigid, his eyes narrowed.

  I nodded. “A tumor. That’s what you implied, isn’t it? I must have vampire cancer. Either that, or I am a harlot with no morals—”

  “Eleanor…” His teeth clattered, but he snatched up the spoon rather than arguing. “Here.”

  Accepting it, I twisted the metal between my fingers. The polished surface displayed my reflection, but I barely recognized it. Wide, green eyes and a pursed, pensive expression. Turning away, I fished for any distraction. My scattered thoughts provided one. “Yulia brought me clothing.” I gestured to the duffel on the floor. “But she said you requested an alteration. What?”

  “How are you feeling?” he repeated without acknowledging my question. “I’ve asked Dr. Martin to reexamine you—”

  “I have my own doctor.” I fought to put some indignation into my tone and failed. My voice shook. I spent more time eyeing his suit than meeting his gaze directly. He hadn’t changed, and the color scheme made him seem even paler than usual—a statue formed of ivory.

  “Your so-called doctor, one Elodie Goodfellow,” Dublin said.

  Was I surprised? Perhaps. Frankly, I couldn’t tell fury from shock.

  “A medical doctor with more than a few mysterious donations in her bank account from undisclosed benefactors. I’ve taken the liberty of severing ties with her on your behalf and canceling your donation to St. Mary’s. The fewer who have access to your medical records, the better.”

  My brain blanked at his audacity. One detail stuck out, however. “So, that wasn’t you. The D.H. donor?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “D.H.,” I explained. “One of the board members of St. Mary’s hospital. A donor, I might add, who only appeared after Dr. Wallis vanished. Literally overnight.”

  I had two different brochures in my stash at home to prove it. One printed only a week after he’d supposedly left the country.

  “That’s why you went to see Gabriel Lanic?” He asked. “If I were to stalk you from afar, Eleanor, don’t you believe I’d hide behind an identity more obscure than my initials?”

  He had a point.

  “I… Like hell I’ll go to your doctor.” With one hand, I shoved the blankets back and sat upright, facing the window. “You have no right to—”

  “Do not fight me on this.” His tone. I had never heard it quite so hard. As if maintaining this conversation alone had stretched his tolerance paper thin.

  I twisted around to face him. “And why shouldn’t I?”

  He laughed, but his eyes were wide, his mouth partially open—a chilling display of ivory fangs. “You have a rare form of cancer,” he growled. “And you think that just any doctor in the world can help you?”

  “Like you care,” I hissed. “According to you, I’m a harlot who should consult another man for assistance in this matter. Right?”

  He didn’t even look insulted. Or guilty. Or contrite.

  He met my gaze unflinchingly and said, “You should pray that you accidentally wandered into another man’s bed and developed your cancer. Otherwise…”

  My stunned silence seemed to satisfy him enough that he left that statement hanging in the air. He tugged on the hem of his jacket, smoothing the edges, his poised, calculating self once more—but there were cracks. For one, he was still wearing that gray suit from the other day, but it wasn’t so neat anymore. Dark splotches stained the suit jacket, rivaling the deep crimson of his tie. Strangest of all, my cross shone against his chest as if he’d never removed it.

  Too much. Closing my eyes brought me seconds to regain control of my thoughts. Focus, Ellie.

  He was something to focus on. My rage. My fear. This impending panic surging through my veins. Grasping for stability, I honed it all like a laser, pointed it directly at Dublin Helos.

  “I’m sorry if you didn’t realize this,” I croaked. “But you don’t own me. Not anymore. So take your insults and get the hell out!”

  It was the last part of that statement that did it. It, as in made his jaw clench and his irises shrink around fathomless pupils.

  “Your body is practically decomposing around you.” His eyes lowered to my throat. “And you think this is the time to flaunt something as trivial ownership? If I didn’t bring you here when I did, you would have died.”

  Died. He made that word sound too final. Not a joke.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  His back stiffened as he turned away. “The talisman I’d given you…”

  “What?” I demanded. “What did it do?”

  When his gaze returned to mine, I barely recognized it. “Let’s just say there was a complication I hadn’t foreseen.”

  “So, that’s why you took it back?” I watched it swing from his neck as my fingers brushed my bare throat.

  “I brought you here,” he said without confirming it. “I ran the tests. Trust me when I say that cancer is the last conclusion I would come to. So take this at face value. Or as a warning. Until this is resolved, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head, but I remained silent.

  “I don’t intend to spend all of my time fighting with you, either.�
�� A deliberate pause punctuated the air before he asked, “Your sister—have you heard from her?”

  Don’t fall for it, Ellie, my inner voice warned. I didn’t like how carefully he had phrased the question. Soft. Almost nonchalant, like a normal change of subject.

  Funny, because it was my turn to laugh.

  “I told her to leave,” I found myself confessing without understanding why. “And she did. I told her I never wanted to see her again. And I haven’t. So, no, I haven’t heard from her.”

  “Not even a phone call?” His tone conveyed the suspicion he didn’t voice—I don’t believe you.

  “No.” I shrugged, eyeing my trembling hands. “Not even a phone call.”

  I had mulled over the various reasons for the silence. Maybe she hated me for not being the special, chosen one? Maybe I hated her. For leaving me when I needed her, and then coming back…

  But only to clean up a mess she’d made.

  Dublin would have never poisoned me without darling Georgiana. Despite everything, I thought I could ignore the deception—but betrayal was a strange animal. One day, all might seem well again. Those fresh wounds might even start to heal, scabbed over with assurances of love and heartfelt promises.

  But a promise couldn’t soothe the underlying infection for very long. Georgie, despite her apologies, had been unwilling to enlighten me on any aspect of her life. She didn’t possess Dublin’s penchant for brutal honesty, either, and every day that I saw her there, wandering the halls of Gray Manor as if nothing had changed…

  The house was mine, technically, as was the fortune.

  I just never expected her to forfeit it all so easily.

  “You haven’t tried to contact her?” Dublin pressed, his suspicion palpable.

  “And what could I say?” I blinked and moisture spilled down my cheeks. In vain, I tried to banish the tears with a swipe of my hand. “Hello, Georgie. I’m… I have vampire cancer?”

  It all had the makings of some sordid, morbid drama my mother would read when she thought no one was looking. I had some self-respect.