Bloom: A Dark Romance (The Order, 1)

by Nikki Rae

  “Doe,” he said after he’d swallowed. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t sleep?”

  His voice was calm, casual, none of the sharpness I’d heard before when he was ready to punish me. I wasn’t dumb enough to think he wouldn’t. Just dumb enough to leave my room and think I wouldn’t get caught.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think of something to say.

  He wore no shirt, only jeans and boots. It was too dark to see his scars, but I imagined there were probably more on his back. If a Vulture had truly hurt him, that was the first place they usually picked.

  Master Lyon sighed as he took another bite of whatever he was eating, drinking something as he finished the mouthful. “Come here.”

  My knees shook under my nightshirt and my pulse pounded to the point of pain.

  “Tu ne me fais pas me répéter.” Don’t make me repeat myself.

  His tone hadn’t changed, but I jumped as if I’d been slapped, taking small, quick steps forward until I was standing at the counter.

  He didn’t turn or move towards me an inch. It was dark, so I could only see the shadows that played on his face, in his loose hair mildly tamed but still hanging free down to his shoulders. “Why are you out of bed?”

  I gulped, throat unbearably raw as if I’d been crying. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I did not ask for an apology, Doe.” He drank more from the glass in front of him. “What did I ask?”

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to release the tightness in my ribs. “You asked why I was out of bed, sir.”

  He nodded to himself. “Are you going to answer me?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. If he wasn’t waiting for a response, I would have drawn blood. “I just…” A lie would be easy; to tell him I was looking for him, that I’d missed him that much that I’d seek him out. I could even make it sound like a joke, flirt with him and get him off the topic. But I knew that wouldn’t work right now. He didn’t want that. He wanted a real answer. “I didn’t want to be in my room anymore, sir.”

  My Owner was silent a long time, taking three more bites of food and wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin in his lap. “Sit down.”

  I glanced around the room, in search of a seat. I didn’t find one. “Sir?”

  He leaned back in the chair so far that I knew what he meant.

  I took a step forward as he set his napkin on the counter. Just as my thigh grazed against his leg, he stopped me, mouth close to my ear. “There is another stool on the other side of the island,” he whispered.

  I wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment that flooded through me, but I backed away before I could figure it out. Stepping to the other side of the counter, I found the wooden stool he was talking about, picked it up, and moved it to his side. I knew he didn’t want me to sit opposite him; he always sat beside me. I could have played dumb, but I didn’t have the energy and it was exhausting enough getting caught, wondering what he was about to do, how he would hurt me.

  “Set it down close,” he said, and when I looked at him, I realized he’d been watching me the entire time, only his eyes moving.

  I set the stool next to him and sat. I’d thought I’d made it close enough, but he scooted it and me even closer so there was not even an inch between us.

  If he was going to hurt me, this would make it that much easier. I watched with wide eyes, adjusting to the dark as he picked up his fork. But instead of eating or using it as a punishment tool, he paused. “Are you hungry?”

  I had to blink a few times. Out of all he could say to me right now, this was it?

  “Marius tells me you haven’t been eating,” he said when I didn’t respond. “Are you sick?”

  I hadn’t noticed I was eating any less than normal. I didn’t feel sick except when I let my thoughts get carried away. “No, sir,” I said, realizing how hollow my stomach felt. Now that he’d brought it up, I remembered eating only a few bites of dinner that night, pushing around the vegetables on my plate until it was cold and then leaving the tray when I couldn’t look at it any longer. “I…I guess I just haven’t been hungry.”

  “You don’t need to starve anymore,” he said, giving me the fork. With slightly trembling fingers, I took it from him. “Eat.” He pushed the plate towards me and I recognized the leftovers from that night’s dinner: lemon chicken with green beans.

  It was cold, but I still forced myself to eat, not caring about its temperature after the first bite.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he was still studying me, watching every mouthful I took. Gently, his hand smoothed my hair against my back as if he was trying to soothe me. I wasn’t aware I needed comforting, but I welcomed it all the same. I hadn’t had any type of contact in days and I was ashamed to feel just as starved for this as the food.

  “Do you have nightmares?” he asked after a while.

  I finished chewing and he passed me his glass of water as well. I sipped and set it down in front of me. “Sometimes, sir.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  I nodded. “I don’t think about…those things anymore.”

  He nodded like he understood, but I could tell he wanted to say more.

  “Why are you awake, sir?”

  Master Lyon picked from my plate, keeping to the outer edge while he let me have the majority of the food. “I don’t sleep often,” was all he said.

  He let me finish eating in silence, but now it wasn’t wound so tightly as before.

  “Are you tired?” he asked when I’d pushed the plate away, clean.

  I shook my head without thinking. It would have been so much easier to tell him I was, to go back up to my room, and avoid any punishment, but I’d screwed up.

  Standing, he placed my dishes in the sink. “Come,” he said, motioning for me to follow.

  It took more strength than I possessed to stand, but I somehow managed to do so.

  He led me towards the greenhouse door and opened it wider, the muscles of his chest playing in the dim light. I caught small glimpses of the scars there, how they were raised differently than the rest of the skin. Part of me wondered what they felt like. Would they be smooth, the way mine were? Or were they rough, the way mine used to be when they had just healed? The light from the greenhouse only made these thoughts intensify, as if the whiteness wiped my mind clean of anything else.

  ***

  I remembered bits and pieces from then. How I’d woken in the room where other escapees had taken me. I didn’t remember how I’d found them, only that there was a girl older than me, darker skin, bright blue eyes, holding my hand, leading me through the crowded street as my legs began to ache. The pain was awful when I woke. It was the worst I’d felt—any punishment before it was nothing in comparison, and when I lifted the cotton sheet from my legs, I found my lower half naked, covered in bandages.

  “You’ll scar,” a voice said from the hall, opening the door. As soon as I recognized him as male, I covered myself, cowering against the wall next to the bed.

  He had brown hair, pale skin, and a small scar of his own near his right eyebrow. He was my age—maybe eight or nine—yet the way he carried himself seemed more suited for someone far older.

  I opened my mouth to speak, to ask where I was and who he was, but the door opened further and the same girl I remembered from the street walked in. She was the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen, and I’d seen many in my short life. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, her hair a honey brown and pulled up high on her head. Though she wore simple jeans and a T-shirt, she looked like an angel to me, watching me with her blue eyes. When she saw I was awake, she smiled with full lips and moved towards the bed.

  “Fox,” she said, “You’re scaring her. She just got here.”

  All his confidence disappeared and he stared at the floor, hands folded in front of him. “Sorry, Miss.”

  She ruffled his hair. “None of that, silly boy.” He looked up at her and giggled. “Go help with dinner.”

  Without an
other word, he raced from the room.

  The girl had an accent I couldn’t place, but it didn’t matter. She had brought me here and I needed to know why.

  She sat carefully on the edge of the bed. I tried to back away solely on instinct, but I was already against the wall as far as I could press myself into it. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “You’re safe here.”

  I watched her skeptically as she moved the blanket further over my legs, up to my hips. “Where are we?”

  “Still in the city,” she said. “But we’ll be moving on in a week or so, once things die down.”

  My head spun and my legs hurt. “What?”

  “We’re on the same side,” she said. “We’ve all escaped Compounds and Owners.”

  I stared at her in disbelief.

  “I was actually on my way to the airport when I spotted you. I could tell you were from a Compound.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I just knew.”

  I looked down into my lap even though I couldn’t see any of the injuries. “Is it true what that boy said, that I’ll scar?”

  She gave me a sad smile. “I’m afraid so.”

  My joy overrode my pain. “Good.”

  ***

  Master Lyon was standing right in front of me, eyes boring into mine.

  I blinked.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  I shook my head as if I could shake out all of the thoughts. “Sorry, sir,” I said.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Doe,” he said. “Not unless you need me to.”

  It was meant to be reassuring but I felt anything other than comforted.

  “I didn’t think we were coming here is all,” I said in a tiny voice.

  He grinned. “Where did you think we were going?” he teased as he grabbed my hand and took me into the greenhouse, closing and locking the door behind us. “My room?”

  I gulped and I was sure he could hear it.

  “It’s a joke, Doe,” he said. “You’re not in trouble. If I wanted you to stay in your room, I would have said so.”

  My Owner tugged on my hand and led me forward. Thankfully, he had turned away, because my eyes were so wide it was impossible he wouldn’t have seen.

  Under the artificial sunlight, I could see more of the scars, but only when he glanced back at me to make sure I was still there, as if he couldn’t feel my hand in his. In contrast, his back had no scars at all—surprising. It was bare, shoulders muscled yet soft, the bones shifting beneath as he walked.

  “Did you miss me that much?” he asked as we rounded a corner and made it to the bench. “So much that you were looking for me?” It appeared that he had been here a while, his shirt hanging over the handles of the wheelbarrow, a tray with a glass and a bottle of some kind of alcohol on the ground. The wheelbarrow itself was once again filled with debris, branches from the tree behind the bench and petals that had fallen.

  I didn’t answer.

  He laughed to himself. “You’re not in a joking mood tonight, I see.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  I expected him to be angry, or at the very least annoyed, but he only shrugged as he sat down, pulling me into the space next to him. He didn’t bother to put on the shirt behind him, and my eyes were drawn to the white line that traveled from his belly button to his chest. He caught me staring before I could look away.

  “You may speak freely, ma petite.” He moved a fraction closer, but it was enough so our thighs touched—mine bare and his clothed in dark jeans. Master Lyon pushed my tangled hair out of my face and gathered it at the nape of my neck. An involuntary shiver ran through me, and I was more than grateful when he said nothing about it.

  “Please,” he said, gentler this time, “Tell me why you’re out of bed.”

  He released my hair and let it fall down my back. My arms were drawn around my middle, holding me together. He’d already told me I wasn’t in trouble, but I still couldn’t help but anticipate when he would change his mind.

  “I—I don’t know, sir,” I said. “I just…” What the hell? I might as well tell him the truth. He would have been able to tell if I was lying right now anyway. “I was getting lonely, I guess.”

  My Owner stared back at me and I couldn’t tell if he was convinced. Figured. The one time I was being honest he didn’t believe me.

  “I’ve…been away from you often,” he finally said.

  I nodded, glancing at the scenery around us as if gesturing. “I can see that.” The flowers had been well tended, everything trimmed and pristine. It looked like a painting in here, not a branch or leaf out of place. “It looks lovely, sir.”

  “Thank you,” he said like he was swatting away a fly. He wanted me to keep talking.

  “I just didn’t want to be in my room anymore, sir,” I repeated. “I know I shouldn’t have left, but…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence; I could only tighten my arms around myself more.

  He took one of my hands and unwound it from my body, holding it a little too long before setting it in my lap. “Are you cold?”

  I shook my head.

  Master Lyon cleared his throat and I remembered to use my words. “No, sir.”

  “So why are you trembling?” he asked. “We have not spent any time together in days. Are you truly still afraid of me?”

  I licked my dry lips but it didn’t do much. I had to think for a long time as to how to answer. was I?

  “Tell me what you fear from me, Doe,” he said, adjusting how he sat so our legs were pressed together even more. It was incredibly difficult not to think about the night in front of the fire, how our legs and everything else had been touching. And then how he’d made my body feel, how the wave crashed into me and the blissful few moments of peaceful thoughtlessness before the world came rushing back.

  “I…” It was completely against everything I believed in, everything I’d taught myself.

  “I cannot make it better if you do not tell me,” he said, urging me to continue. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. It was the gentlest of gestures I’d received from him in a while.

  His arm lingered on my back, eliciting goose bumps that I realized didn’t feel altogether unpleasant. He sighed. “Let’s make a deal.”

  I turned towards him, surprised at the direction the conversation was heading. “A…deal?” My voice was raspy.

  Master Lyon smiled, pleased that this had captured my interest. “Everyone wants something,” he said. “Name one thing you want more than anything—within reason, of course—and it will be yours as long as you answer me and allow me to fix things for you.”

  I blinked a few times, unsure of what to say. “Why do you want to make things better for me, sir?” I asked. “Isn’t…the fear part of the reason why men like you own girls?” I wanted to cut off my tongue.

  “Careful.” But it wasn’t really a warning or a threat. More like an automatic response. After a moment, he asked, “What is it that you want?”

  He couldn’t be serious. What did I want? He knew what I wanted as much as anyone else. The one thing I wanted I couldn’t ask for and he couldn’t give it to me. He seemed to realize this, as he lay what I supposed was meant to be a comforting hand on my knee. I was impressed with myself when I didn’t flinch or recoil.

  “Not that, Doe,” he whispered. This time, when I looked at him he gave me a sad smile and it was hard to see it as anything other than genuine. “Anything else.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek—to keep from crying or screaming, I wasn’t sure. “I…” It was hard to formulate a response. “I don’t think I can come up with anything else, sir.”

  I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, deep in thought. “Do you know what I think you’re afraid of, Fawn?”

  It was the first time I’d heard him use my name since we’d first met. Nonetheless, something told me that he didn’t want an answer, and even if I gave him one, he would probably tell me what he thought
regardless.

  “You are afraid because all of this is new to you,” he began. “You are afraid of how I will react to each thing you do or say, and you are scared of letting down your guard.” I only now realized his hand was still on my knee, squeezing gently as if to remind me of its presence. “You fear how you will react to the things I say and do to you.” He moved closer so his mouth was right next to my ear, shifting stray strands of hair and making the goose bumps reappear. “But what you’re most afraid of,” he said, one hand warm on my leg and the other running through my hair. “The thing that keeps you awake at night, the thing you fear more than pain or any type of confinement, that’s simple.”

  I wanted to reply with something that showed his words weren’t affecting me, that he wasn’t right, but every ounce of muscle was concentrated on not moving, not shaking.

  “You’re afraid of liking what I will do or say to you. The way you did in front of the fire that night.”

  Though what he was saying wasn’t completely unexpected, it still stung. Not only was he right about what I feared most, but he’d also shown me that he hadn’t forgotten about what had happened as he had led me to believe. Part of me wanted to think that it was for my benefit, not bringing it up again, but I could never be sure.

  “Am I close?” he asked when I didn’t respond.

  “I want to you to teach me how to ride Onyx.” My voice was quiet, but still out of place. It felt wrong to be speaking when he was here exposing every bit of me without touching any of my flimsy clothing.

  He actually laughed, his smile wide and bright. His eyes glistened when he did this and it made me think of him as a younger man, one who wasn’t woven into all of this ugliness and dirt. I could so easily imagine him in a smaller garden, perhaps his mother’s, courting a young girl and succeeding without issue. The sharp question of why I was here stabbed my stomach, threatening to make room for itself so it could remain there. He didn’t need to be here. He wasn’t meant for this life any more than me. But was anyone? Who could say with absolute conviction that they loved every aspect of this small world? Sure, there were the perverts, sadists, and downright sociopaths that thrived in the Order’s environment, but most of us were just trying to adapt the best we could. Maybe Master Lyon could have, at one time, been just like me: scared, unsure, and planning.