The room’s lights were dimmed low enough to keep my eyes from hurting. Someone, likely Rob, had left another nightgown draped over the back of a chair beside the bed. On trembling legs, I explored, grabbing the silky garment on my way by and draping it over my shoulder.
I found a bathroom connected to the bedroom. The lights were dimmed but strong enough for me to fumble my way around without killing myself stumbling into something. I groped for the switch, found the dimmer, and brightened the lights.
The tub took up most of the space, tiled with white marble veined with black and gold. Extinguished candles waited on the tub’s ledge and were also scattered on the wall-to-wall vanity. My reflection caught my attention.
All signs of the burns and rashes on my face were gone, and entranced, I inspected my skin. While there was still a faint grayish cast to my bronzed skin, I found no evidence of my usual rashes.
I didn’t itch. Puzzled, I rubbed my cheek where Rob had touched me the last time I had been awake, wondering if I had dreamed it. The mirror confirmed what my fingers told me; no bumps, hives, or rashes marred my skin. Unlike my hands, there were few scars on my face. I leaned against the vanity, turning my attention to my feet. While my toes were scabbed, the rashes I remembered from Arthur’s touch were likewise gone.
How long had I been laid up recovering? I vaguely remembered Rob mentioning three days, but how long had I been with Arthur? How much time had gone by since I had rescued myself and Rob had found me on the streets?
I shuddered at the thought of Arthur, and my skin crawled as though filth covered me. In addition to the huge tub, a glass-enclosed shower took up a corner of the room. Determined to scrub away the memories, I closed the bathroom door, locked it, and stripped.
While I was aware of the fact Rob had dressed me in the silk nightgown, the presence of a lacy bra and equally lacy panties disconcerted me. They were black and so comfortable I hadn’t noticed I was wearing them until I took them off.
Narrowing my eyes, I set them aside, torn between keeping them or tearing them to shreds and burning them. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy them.
They were too pretty—and expensive. What Rob really was started to sink in, and shivering from more than the cold, I stepped into the shower. It took a little bit of experimentation to figure out how to work the taps to get the water to a temperature I liked.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to take a shower without the sting of blisters and rashes. Scrubbing at the invisible stains, I cleaned until I turned red and my skin wrinkled. By the time I emerged from the shower, my stomach gurgled protests at being empty, I had a faint cough and a sore throat, and I couldn’t decide if I was too hot or too cold.
I decided to wear the underwear and the clean nightgown, wiggling at the way the silk clung to my skin. With no one to watch and make fun of me, I ran my hands over the material, marveling at how something could be so smooth.
Had my persistent rashes dulled my sense of touch? Curious, I brushed my fingers over the marble vanity. The stone was cool and slick under my fingers. The faucets and knobs were made of brushed metal, textured enough to draw my attention.
I emerged from the bathroom, pausing to trail my fingers against the walls. The subtle bumps of the paint beneath my hands intrigued me. I crossed to the bed, sitting on the side to grab the blanket. It was as plush and soft as I remembered, and with a contented sigh, I brought it to my cheek and rubbed my face with it.
Stealing from the elite was stupid, but I wanted to take the comforter home with me. Would they even notice its disappearance? The thought of trying to sneak back to my apartment while carrying such a large blanket made me giggle.
My stomach gurgled again, and the discomfort of hunger distracted me from my enjoyment of the bedding. Scowling, I staggered to my feet and resumed exploring.
The bedroom alone was large enough to fit my apartment, and a maze of hallways led deeper into the house. I lost count of the number of offices, bedrooms, and sitting rooms I discovered before locating what had to be the living room.
The television was as large as the bed in my apartment, dominating one wall in front of a couch easily able to sit ten with room to spare. My eyes widened as I took in the dark upholstery—leather, I guessed—and the golden oak end tables and coffee table. Tall lamps in each corner illuminated the room. On the other walls were hundreds upon hundreds of books. My mouth dropped open, and I tiptoed into the chamber. The nearest shelf held leather-bound volumes.
With shaking hands, I touched the spines with my fingertips. The leather was smooth and pebbled at the same time, and the contrast intrigued me almost as much as the lack of a title. Pulling it down, I flipped it over. The cover was blank. Careful of the spine and the pages, I opened the book.
Lined but otherwise blank pages waited for someone to fill them. I returned the journal to its place and picked up the next one to discover it was also blank. I headed to the next case to discover government-issued encyclopedias. I circled the room, my disappointment growing as the library proved to consist of allowed material only.
On the other side of the living room, I located the dining room and the adjacent kitchen. Like the bathroom, the kitchen favored white marble with matching countertops. Stainless appliances contrasted with golden oak cabinetry.
“Weird,” I muttered, wondering why anyone would match marble to such a bright shade of wood. I shrugged. If I had the wealth to own such a ridiculously large house, I’d probably have a crazy kitchen, too.
Rummaging through a stranger’s kitchen unnerved me, but if I didn’t find something to eat soon, my stomach would eat its way through my spine. I peeked into the refrigerator, finding a bewildering assortment of meats, vegetables, and fruits. I sighed.
I turned my search to the cupboards, discovering a lot of spices, flours, and other dry ingredients. If I wanted to appease my hunger, I’d have to either figure out how to eat the strange fruits crammed in the fridge or cook something. Cooking while under the influence of drugs was never wise. I chewed on my lower lip, sighed, and decided it was worth the risk.
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 infliction 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.
Chapter Eighteen
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 gaze 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?”
The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1) Page 19