The moment the elevator doors closed she stood up on her own again, the smile disappearing from her face as she checked her hair in the mirrored wall, pushing a hand through the front of it to lift the weight of those waves before letting them drop again. He found himself staring at her. She had handled the situation perfectly, and the entire thing had been an act.
“That was -” he started to speak, but she interrupted.
“Don’t worry about it. I told you I know my place.” She had switched back to English, her voice even and calm as the elevator dinged to a stop at their floor. He clapped his mouth shut and led them to the left to his room. She walked in without any issue.
This was all going so much easier than he had imagined, but he really needed to clean up her foot, she must have cut it when they were climbing over the gate. Luca’s request for ‘not a scratch’ was rebounding in his head.
“Come here.” He stepped past her and into the living room, heading to his duffel for the first aid kit. To search in the bag he put the syringe between his teeth, and she started talking again.
“You don’t need to use the Dreamland on me. I’ll behave, I promise.” Her voice was serious as she continued, “- and it would probably kill a human so you probably shouldn’t experiment with it, if you’re into that.” She was still standing near the door, her injured foot angled away from the floor.
Wait, human? “What do you mean?” Alaric’s head turned at her comment and he found himself holding the first aid kit in one hand and the syringe in the other – what a contradiction.
“Mind if I take a shower?” She glanced into the huge bathroom, pointedly ignoring his question.
“Only if you leave the bathroom door open, I can’t have you locking yourself in.” Alaric kept trying to place her accent, but it was difficult because she spoke Italian just as smoothly as English, and her accent sounded like neither.
“You can watch, I don’t care,” she said as she pulled that beautiful blue top off and he spun on his heels, looking at the ceiling to make sure he couldn’t catch her in his periphery. Behind him he heard the movement of more clothes and her footsteps on the tile of the bathroom and then the snap of the frosted shower door shutting.
He dropped the first aid kit back on top of his bag and tucked the syringe into the case. She’d called the liquid Dreamland like she knew what it was. Hell, she acted like she knew what was happening here better than he did. What socialite was calm and composed in the midst of dead bodies and a kidnapping? A better question, what socialite spent the night in a prison cell constructed in the basement of an Italian villa?
Too many questions that he really didn’t need to ask. He really shouldn’t ask.
Moving to the doorway he kept his back to the shower, and the question tumbled out. “What did you mean when you said it would kill ‘a human’?”
Her voice echoed in the shower, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”
“What do you mean?” He turned slightly to send his voice into the bathroom, but told himself he was going to stare at the wall and not her outline through the frosted glass.
“Let me ask you this – do you know what I am?”
“A girl worth 2.5 million pounds,” Alaric replied bluntly, and he heard her laugh a little.
“And why would I be worth that?” The laugh had made her voice lighter, almost lyrical.
“That’s not my business.”
“Ah, well, you should make it your business to know what you sign up for.” She sounded a little mocking as the smell of shampoo filled the room, and the steam started to fog the top edge of the mirror.
He was not going to look at the shape of her behind the glass. “I prefer to know as little as possible about my jobs. Bare bones.”
“So, I’m a job?”
“Yes.” When he said it, it was also to remind himself. This is a job. She is a job. He shouldn’t even be having this conversation.
“Good to know.” Her casual response caught him off guard again. How could she possibly be so calm after she’d watched him step over bodies that he had killed, then watched him blow up a gate? How could she be so okay? This was going to drive him insane.
“Why are you so calm about all of this?” There was more bite to the question than he meant for it, but she was confounding him.
“Who I belong to doesn’t matter, it makes no difference to me.” Her voice synced with the sound of water being wrung out of her hair, the heavy splash of it echoing against the tile.
“And what do you mean by belong to?” Alaric asked the question before he realized his mouth had opened.
“I thought you didn’t want details.”
“I don’t.” He turned his head and caught her silhouette in the white glass of the shower, and he couldn’t look away. Her curves showed up as she bent backwards to rinse her hair. She’d mentioned being sold – who the hell was she?
Details only cause problems. Don’t learn about your targets.
“Okay. I won’t give details then. So tell me, who hired you?” It seemed that she looked at him through the glass.
“I don’t know that. You’ll find out when I bring you to him. I didn’t speak directly with him.”
“Fair enough.” She said as the water suddenly turned off, and the door to the shower opened. Alaric spun around, cursing as he put his back against the doorframe.
“Give me a warning!” He rubbed a hand over his face and could smell the gunpowder on his skin. Her laugh echoed off the walls behind him.
“Never seen a girl naked?” She was still laughing, but it was a mesmerizing sound.
His mind was filling in the outline of her he’d seen in the shower, and he rubbed his face again to stop himself. “Of course I have, but that’s not the point. And Jesus, how old are you? Twenty? Less?”
More laughter that made him want to give in and ask her name, where she was from, her favorite color. “Oh, I’m much older than twenty. You can look now, by the way.”
When Alaric turned he saw her wrapped in one of the big, fluffy, white robes from the counter and it dwarfed her. Her blonde hair was darker from being damp, but the wave of it still showed. She looked at him and her eyes were crystal blue and sparkling from the laughter that even now had the corners of her mouth turning up.
She was barely an arm’s reach away, but he made himself step back, turning to step into the living room. “So, it’s been a long night, you should sleep.” He needed to sleep too and he had to secure her. Moving to the couch he grabbed a pair of handcuffs from a pocket in his duffel before he tossed it onto the floor. When he turned he saw a flicker of panic in her face before that A-List smile was back in place.
“Well, you don’t waste any time.” One of her hands started to pull the robe apart as she spoke again, “but I promise you don’t need to use those on me.”
Alaric held up the cuffs. “No. This is just to make sure you don’t run off while I’m asleep.”
“I’m not going to run.” Her blue eyes had lost all of their light, now matte discs of color that reminded him of storm clouds more than ocean water. How quickly those changed. She was focused on the handcuffs, and he hated the fleeting look of panic that had been on her face, but what choice did he have?
“I can’t take that risk.” Alaric felt cold when he said it, that same separation he felt when he went to pull the trigger taking him over as he watched her.
“Because I’m your job.” Now her voice had ice in it too.
“Yes.”
“Well, then I think you should know what you’re getting in to.” She walked forward slowly, her body shifting the robe apart inch by inch so that his eyes had no choice but to devour each bit of bare, ivory skin. The girl stopped in front of him and her hands slid around his waist before he thought to move, her left hand reached for the button at the top of his pants and he grabbed it to stop her.
Shaking his head he gently moved her back by her shoulder. “No, I’m not asking
for that. I’m just transporting you.”
“Alright, well, you should know what you’re transporting.” In her right hand was the back-up knife he’d tucked into the back of his pants, and before he could stop her she dragged it across her arm. Blood welled up fast and she immediately dropped the knife onto the floor so she was unarmed.
Reacting fast he clamped his hand over the wound, but he could feel the blood wet against his palm, and it was already dripping onto the carpet. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” He yelled, dragging her towards the bathroom. He looked at her face to find her staring down at the blood on her arm with a bored expression. Her eyes were so distant she almost didn’t look like the same girl who had been laughing moments before.
“You don’t need to worry. How far away is dawn?” Even her voice was calm and cold. When he lifted his hand blood rushed out and he wrapped one of the towels around her arm, applying pressure with both hands as crimson spread and stained the robe and towel.
“My God! You cut yourself deep – shit – we can’t go to a hospital. Why did you do this?!” The cold clarity Alaric had maintained was slipping. He was suddenly terrified for her. Had she really decided to kill herself after everything else? Because of him?
“We don’t need a hospital, I’ll wake you up at dawn to show you why.” Her flat blue eyes locked onto his when he looked up at her.
“Dawn? What?” He clenched his teeth against a shout of frustration. “Why aren’t you panicking? Don’t you see all of this blood?” He could hear the pleading tone in his own voice. Definitely not compartmentalized right now. Memories slammed him hard and he saw blood on the floor of his childhood home, blood on pale skin. Open, unseeing eyes. Memories he couldn’t handle right now.
“Because I’ll be fine, just trust me.” She mumbled and looked down at the towel, which was rapidly soaking up the blood. Fat drops were on the white tile under her, and the robe she was in was ruined.
He grabbed her right hand and pressed it to the towel. “Put pressure on this, I’m getting my kit.” Stepping into the living room he was shocked by the blood on his hands and the damp sleeves of his gear. Grabbing the first aid kit off the duffel bag he was almost tempted to use the sedative, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt wrong somehow. Moving back into the bathroom he found her sitting on the toilet seat and the blush of color she’d had earlier was gone from her cheeks and lips.
Clearing her throat she smiled weakly at him. “This looks bad, but I promise I’ll be fine.”
“They told me not a bloody scratch! How do I explain this?” Yanking out iodine and gauze he pressed cotton squares over the deep cut. When he blotted some of the blood away he swabbed her with iodine and she barely winced even though he knew from experience how bad that hurt. As soon as it was mildly disinfected he pressed clean gauze pads to her cut and began wrapping her arm tightly.
Her voice was quiet when she responded, “Don’t worry. I’ll be perfect in the morning.” Looking up at her from where he’d crouched to get to her arm more easily, he was caught off guard by how odd the phrase was. Had she said perfect, while she was bleeding all over the place? With a sigh he shook it off and finished bandaging her. For good measure he lifted her foot as well and cleaned and wrapped the small cut on the bottom, but throughout it all she didn’t even flinch.
What the ever loving fuck was wrong with her?
“Come on.” Tugging her back to standing she wavered slightly and he threw a clean towel onto the blood on the floor so they wouldn’t track it back into the living room. Rinsing his hands off he stepped past her, and the girl followed compliantly. Alaric muttered to himself and pushed the couch against the radiator before nudging her to sit down. Leaning her good arm back he didn’t wait before he handcuffed it to the radiator. Her breathing instantly increased with panic as the handcuff clicked around her wrist, and she jerked it hard.
If he was a better man he’d sedate her so she’d sleep it off, so she’d sleep until he delivered her – but he couldn’t. Weakling. Since he wouldn’t sedate her, he couldn’t have her hurting herself, or him, in the night. So the only solution was the cuffs. This was necessary.
Fuck, what if they needed her delivered tomorrow? How was he going to explain the cut on her foot, and the deep gash on her arm? He needed to call Luca. He’d never reported in.
“Please uncuff me, I’ll do whatever you want.” She sounded desperate as she twisted her arm in the cuff. The phrase made it very clear what she was offering and he had a whole new level of understanding of what her life had been like. Yes, he was happy he’d killed Gianni.
“I’m not going to touch you.” He said it so she knew she was safe from him, and then he pointed at the cuffs. “And this is to keep both you and me safe. If you stay quiet, I won’t need to gag you. Just get some sleep. Goodnight.” He had to turn away from her before the look on her face made him cave and release her.
Then what would he do with her?
Grabbing the bloody knife off the floor, he walked into the bedroom and shut the French doors behind him so he could call Luca on a secure line.
Chapter Six
I’m not going to touch you.
The soldier’s words felt more like a slap than if he’d actually struck her. Of course he wouldn’t want to touch her. He’d found her in a cage, and she was nothing more than an item to be delivered to her next master. He’d made that clear.
Why did that simple phrase even hurt her?
She should be grateful he didn’t want to touch her, but she would have gladly exchanged a favor to not be cuffed to the radiator. Yanking on the metal cuff she fought the urge to start screaming or crying as memories flooded her, but being bound and gagged would be worse.
She didn’t like to be tied down, it was always worse if she was tied down.
The more she focused on the feel of the metal on her skin the more the panic was choking her and she felt the heat of tears burning at the edge of her eyes. She’d said yes to the soldier, she had agreed to whatever he’d wanted, she had behaved perfectly and done everything he asked – and she was still chained. Her lungs burned for the air she wasn’t able to draw in fast enough.
She had to get a grip. She needed to separate from this situation.
Tucking her arm underneath her she allowed the sharp pain from the cut and the steady throb of her arm to start numbing her out. Pain always triggered the reflex to simply step out of herself so she didn’t panic. If she could just get numb she could breathe evenly, because right now there was not enough air in the whole hotel room for her to be gasping like this.
Pressing harder onto her arm she finally felt the numbness edging in, overwhelming the panic and the memories that were fighting for headspace. Her mind started to float inside her as she stared at those closed French doors. Then she heard him speaking.
His voice came out clearly even though the doors were closed, the French doors serving as a terrible barrier. “Luca?” His voice was so smooth, but he sounded stressed.
That was probably her fault, he had reacted really badly to the cut on her arm.
“Yes, we’re secure. I have her.” He said the words with a loud exhale.
She had, admittedly, cut deeper than she meant to, but she knew if she didn’t have a large enough cut to heal he wouldn’t understand. Not when she would light up like she was standing in a spotlight at dawn. Most humans didn’t handle it well. Things had gone very badly in the past when they were surprised.
“Of course she’s sedated.”
Hmm, apparently he could lie. That came out smooth as silk, and she was definitely not sedated.
“What do you mean?” He sounded nervous suddenly, and Tara tried to sit up further but her arm was fully extended to the radiator. When she felt the tug on her arm and heard the clank of the metal she had to clench her teeth against the rising panic.
“How is she weird?” He raised his voice a little, and the anger in his voice made her feel more trapped. She yanke
d hard on the cuff and felt it cut into her skin. Memories were surging, memories she fought to forget.
Don’t fight, it’ll be worse if you fight.
“Luca, tell me what’s going on. What did you get me in to? I’m at a hotel with her, do I need to move her?” His voice was under control again, but she was a little dizzy from the blood loss and rapidly growing light headed. She twisted until she could lay down on the couch with her arm stretched above her. It didn’t help.
She could hear their voices, their laughter, feel their hands.
“Fine. Don’t answer me. Look, I need at least an hour blackout on traffic cameras in the area. I had to leave quite an impression at the location and I don’t need the Polizia di Stato tracking my car from the scene.” His voice had a growl to it.
Tara had twisted as much as she could on the couch, and the stinging pain from the cuff told her she was probably bleeding, but she knew if she looked at it she’d lose it completely.
“Tell me when they decide on the drop point, I want out of this ASAP.” His voice sounded farther away, and she winced when she heard him throw something. He didn’t come out of the room though, she could just hear him moving around, stomping angrily. The sound was growing harder to focus on, especially with the buzzing in her ears.
Black started to creep into the edge of her vision, and she felt like she was being sucked down into a pit where it was impossible to breathe. It increased her panic, but there was nothing she could do, if she screamed he was going to use the Dreamland and then there was no way to wake up from the nightmares.
But, by the gods, she didn’t want to sleep.
She didn’t have her music to keep the memories away.
Tara was kneeling on carpets that overlaid the dirt beneath them. She knew the tent she was in, had memorized every inch of the fabric that formed it. Over fourteen hundred years was nothing to memories this strong. She also knew why the bands on her wrist were lit so brightly… this master had always been angry with her. Pain was already thrumming steadily up her arms, making her shoulders ache.
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