Staring at my computer screen, I jiggle the mouse.
Do I dare?
Then again, what do I have to lose?
I quickly set up my VPN, then download Tor. Then I head to the site, which is just a string of numbers punctuated with periods.
Instantly, the sky blue and white flag of Greece pops up, crudely animated to look as though it is flapping in the wind. Clicking through the various pages, I scroll down to the bottom of the page and click on the paw of a rudimentarily drawn lion. It takes a couple tries to hit the link, but I’m soon redirected to a white screen.
Big, thin letters drop onto the screen.
Welcome to the bank of Persia.
The words fade away. Then:
Password, please.
I type my password in, a combination of my favorite street food vendor and my birth year. After a moment, my nonsense word disappears too.
Type your message, the screen prompts.
I’m soon left with a blank screen. What is it I want to say, exactly? Knowing that I only have a minute before the system logs me out again, I type hurriedly.
I want to talk. +33 06 23 12 45 54. Call soon.
Hitting the enter button quickly before I can have second thoughts, I exhale. The screen goes black, meaning that the message was sent. Somewhere in the world, my email is bouncing around, pinging several anonymous inboxes.
Disconnecting from Tor, I make sure to put the cell phone that I gave Damen the number to in my pocket. Then I head downstairs.
Rue is down at the kitchen island, studiously sketching a half-eaten banana. She notices me and gives me a smile of sorts, but she doesn’t stop what she’s doing. Things between us haven’t been very good since I got back. At most, I would say she tolerates me.
At her worst, I think that she could cringe from even my most casual touch. Honestly, she might still be at that stage… but I have been keeping my distance for the most part.
I can feel her gaze on my back as I pull open the doors of the refrigerator. Cocking my head for a moment, I sigh. The kitchen is low on food. Closing the refrigerator doors, I pull out my cell phone.
“Are you interested in takeout?” I ask, barely glancing at Rue.
She hesitates, her cheeks going red. “I’m not sure. I haven’t ever had any.”
That gives me pause. I look up from my phone, my eyebrows rising. “Never?”
All I get back is a slow shake of her head. She sweeps her red hair back over her shoulder, going back to drawing the banana. Of course, if I’d taken a second to think about it, it’s pretty obvious.
First kiss. First lover. First orgasm. I have been so many of her firsts. Why not just this one more?
That makes my brain do a quick turn, changing from one kind of hunger to a carnal interest. I want to have all of her firsts. I want to be the one that comes to mind every single time she touches herself, for years after I’m gone.
On that front, I’ve definitely been neglecting my duty. But no more… after ordering takeout, that is.
“Don’t eat,” I say, tapping the counter near her with two thick fingers. “I’m going to call in an order for gyros and hummus.”
She doesn’t say anything as I saunter away, flipping through my contacts, in search of one of the guards stationed outside. Walking through the doors that lead to the verandah, I’m surprised by a call popping up on my screen.
It’s an unknown caller, number unlisted. It’s not even just a call, but a video call. Of course; trust Damen to make such an uncomfortable, nosy choice. Glancing back at Rue, I close the French doors and then answer.
When I hit accept, I’m expecting to see Damen’s face on the other end. But it’s not him…
It’s Arsen, looking as pissed off as he was the day we argued. Dark hair, dark brows, light eyes… It is almost like looking in the mirror, except I’m sure my expression is quite different. I almost drop the phone, I’m so fucking shocked.
He speaks first. “Hello, brother. Surprised to see me?”
I manage to rein in my expression, sobering. “Arsen. I suppose I am glad to see you.”
His brows rise. “Is that all you have to say to me?”
Glancing over my shoulder once more, I sigh. “No. But it will have to do, for now.” I pause. “I am sorry, Arsen.”
He lets out a snort of laughter. “Like that will be enough. No, Dryas… You know the code. An eye for an eye.”
I hear Rue moving around inside. Shifting so I can keep an eye on her, I frown. “I understand that as well as anyone.”
Arsen’s brows lift again. “Is that so?”
“I just…” Rue glances up and makes eye contact with me, searing straight into my soul. “I need more time. There is a girl—”
He interrupts me with a bark of laughter. “Like my girl, you mean?”
The thought makes me uncomfortable. Arsen has let Fiore make him weak, make him flawed. I can’t do that with Rue.
I won’t.
“I just need more time. Two months, perhaps, maybe three. Then you can come for me.”
Arsen’s face twists, sneering. “You don’t make the rules of engagement anymore, brother. I will see you soon enough, face to face… and you had better hope that I can’t find the girl you’ve fallen for.”
Fallen for? No, that’s not what this thing with Rue is, not at all.
I open my mouth to correct him, tell him just how wrong he is. But Arsen just disconnects, leaving me staring openmouthed at a blank screen.
I glance up to find Rue still staring at me through the glass doors, her delicate brow drawn down.
Fuck.
Turning toward the sea, I wind up and throw my phone high into the air. It crashes down, down, down into the sea.
Now what am I supposed to do?
16
Rue
I’m really starting to like coffee. The taste of it, the scent as it wafts in the air. The way that it looks when I dibble cream into it, trying to get the color just so. I wrap my hands around my warm mug and turn another page.
I’m also beyond excited that I can finally use my wrist again, even for something as simple as using it to grip a coffee mug. It’s nice, feeling whole again.
If only psychological scars were as easy to heal as my physical ones. I might not be jumping at every little sound anymore, but my core issue of trusting Dryas… that doesn’t seem to be getting any better, no matter how well he treats me. Part of me just wonders…
Is it all an act? Or maybe he really does mean it, until he gets drunk again. How on earth should I know?
Taking a sip of coffee, I sigh wistfully. Then the object of my sighing comes into view, as if summoned. He looks down at me.
“Get your things together.”
I look up from where I am lounging on one of the couches in the living room area, leafing through a coffee table book of impressionist artists. I think that Dryas looks anxious for some reason. It’s a first; I’ve never seen anxiety in him before. It’s a fidgety kind of energy, combined with a dour expression. It makes me feel… unsafe.
What in the world would worry Dryas this much? No one from Father Derrik’s camp has even been watching us, as far as I know.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, clearing my throat. Maybe I misheard him or something.
He looks at me flatly, his expression harried. “Anything that you want to keep, get it together. We have to leave this afternoon.”
Before I can ask any more questions, he pushes off the doorway and strides off toward his rooms. I set my coffee cup down, biting my lip.
Does he mean just my art supplies? Or like… anything? I have a couple of comfortable sweaters that are favorites of mine. And there is a bowl of little succulent plants in my room that I quite like. I’m sketching each plant, one by one.
I guess I can gather those things. Anything he doesn’t want me to bring, he can throw out. Closing my book on impressionists, I carry it with me upstairs.
The next few hours go by
in a hurry. I keep finding things I like and want to keep. My pillows from my bed. All my colored pencils. A tee shirt that I wear as a dress, soft and heather grey. A pair of royal blue knee socks that I wear in the late evenings sometimes.
After I have put everything to be kept in neat piles on my bed, I take a breath. Looking down at the four little piles of things, I swallow against a lump that forms in my throat.
When I came here, I had nothing.
Now, I have things. But it is still strange, looking at the items that I’ve set aside here. All of them are luxuries, but I don’t know how I’d live comfortably without them.
I grab the bowl of succulents, setting it on top of a pile. As I do, Dryas pops his head in. “Ready?”
“I didn’t have anything to pack it all into,” I confess, feeling as though I had let him down somehow.
His lips lift upward for the briefest second. “That’s fine. Everything on the bed goes?”
My cheeks stain with color. What must he think of my little collection? “Yes.”
He steps more fully into the doorframe, taking up all the space with his big body. “I will make sure it comes, then. Come, our car is waiting.”
He beckons. I swallow against the lump in my throat again and go with him, hurrying down the stone corridor.
“Rue.”
I wince against the intrusion to my sleep, burrowing down in the nest I’ve made for myself. It comes again, shaking me with gentle hands. “Rue. Wake up, Rue.”
Groggily, I open my eyes. Where am I again? Oh yes. This is the last leg of our trip deep into the Swiss Alps. We’ve been climbing for a couple of hours now inside our warm little aerial tram pod.
Blinking out across the snowy landscape, all I can make out is the black lines of the aerial tram, fading into the distance. Everything else is grey and smudgy, like a watercolor that someone has swiped their hand through.
I look to Dryas, who looks completely exhausted. The trip has taken the better part of a day, and he has been awake for every second of it. Well, every second of it that I wasn’t asleep, burrowed in the cashmere and wool coat the Dryas presented me with.
Dryas glances at me, dark bags under his eyes. “We are nearly there. Look.”
He points upward, to a dark and looming platform on stilts that we are lurching toward. I gather myself, shivering already though it is quite warm in here. Outside is a different matter, I’m afraid.
When the tram comes to a stop, Dryas stands up and opens the door. I’m not ready for the gust of frigid air that fills the car. Though I lived through many Liechtenstein winters, my body has acclimated to the warmth of the French beaches.
“After you,” Dryas says, waiting patiently. He holds out his hand, but I don’t take it. I’m too squeamish. Instead I just bustle outside, hurrying to the waiting car.
To my surprise, no driver awaits. Instead Dryas comes around and sits in the driver’s seat himself, waving me into the car. “We’re not far. You’ll see.”
He’s telling the truth. He pulls up outside of a lodge of sorts, if you could call it that. It’s three stories high and made of light-colored wood, with an enormous window on each side. It’s only partially buried in the snow drifts, only I can see the light shining through the windows onto the ground below.
Dryas slides out of the car, waiting for me. I hurry to keep up as he hustles up to unlock the bottom door. He steps aside and shoos me in, locking the locks and arming the alarm after me. I look around at the light-colored wood and the orderly spaces for shoes and coats. There’s more to this bottom floor behind a closed door, but Dryas ignores that.
“Come on,” he says blearily, his voice gone to gravel. He shoves off his boots and jacket, motioning for me to do the same. “Upstairs.”
Hurrying out of my warm coat, I lead the way upstairs. Emerging into an open living area and kitchen, I look around. The ceiling soars above my head, light wood again. The living room is lush and low, an assortment of white plush sofas and matte white furniture clustered around a big black TV that’s mounted to one wall. The other walls feature huge windows so that you can look out over the astounding Alpine views.
I wander toward the all-white kitchen, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill from being outside. In the back, I notice a light wood and steel cable staircase rising toward the third floor.
That must be where the bedrooms are, because Dryas is stalking toward the staircase with a determined look on his face. Following Dryas through the big room and up the stairs, I find a quaint reading nook with a couple of overstuffed chairs and a small bookshelf. Behind that, the private bedrooms span a short hallway.
Dryas ignores the little reading area, tiredly opening all the doors. He reveals a bathroom and three bedrooms, picking one and collapsing onto the huge bed in the center of the room.
I’m tired too, but I am more hungry. Padding back downstairs, I go straight to the refrigerator. To no one’s surprise, the refrigerator is fully stocked. Grabbing a banana and a jar of peanut butter from the pantry, I eat bites of banana interspersed with spoonfuls of peanut buttery goodness.
While I eat, I look out the window. I try to guess at the size of the twin windows on either side of the house. They are nearly the size of the space itself, each one easily twenty feet by thirty. How could you not look out onto the frozen view outside, even though it is still too dark to make much of anything out?
Chewing slowly, I try to figure out what my feelings are about the change of location. It is certainly different from the sun-kissed Mediterranean beach. A part of me longs for the roar of the ocean and the sultry heat.
Another part of me wonders why Dryas would make the change at all. Until yesterday afternoon, he seemed content with staying at the castle forever. Something changed in him. He learned something that spooked him, maybe.
But I don’t think it had to do with Father Derrik, at least not directly. From Amabel’s letter, I know that Father Derrik is busy arranging the marriage of Ama and Prince Henrick. He wouldn’t have time to do that and be worried about me, would he?
Sighing, I throw my banana peel away and settle onto the long white couch, pulling a faux-fur throw over myself. As the first threads of dawn begin to appear in the sky, I doze off.
17
Dryas
When I come downstairs in the full morning light, I find Rue asleep on one of the couches, almost entirely covered by a heavy blanket. She looks so innocent like this, a bit of her face and her vibrant red hair sticking out of the blanket. The sunlight makes her skin look nearly translucent, makes her dark lashes stand out where they lie on her cheek.
For a second, it takes my breath away. How fragile she appears, even though she has proven to me time and again that she has a backbone made of steel.
She’s the reason for my hasty retreat to a harder-to-reach and more defensible place to live, way up here in the Alps. My brother will pull no punches when he comes for me. I can’t be apart from Rue, not before I’ve lured Derrik out into the open. It just wouldn’t be wise.
Squashing the little voice inside my head before it can have any opinions about that, I cross the living room. Though I’m quick, only blocking the sunlight from Rue’s face for a moment, she stirs.
When those blue eyes open, I’m the first thing she sees. And before she can remember anything that I’ve done, she smiles at me, stretching.
I’m almost unmanned by her casual innocence at that moment.
Too soon though, she remembers what I’ve done, what I’ve put her through. Her forehead wrinkles, then her eyes cloud with doubt.
Fuck me. It’s heartbreaking, watching her innocence bleed away like that.
She pushes herself up, suddenly self-conscious. “Were you watching me sleep?”
I want to grin, but I merely smile. “Of course, I was.”
She turns the loveliest shade of pink, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep down here.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I move clo
ser. The black sweater she is wearing is big and loose, dipping low enough to bare her shoulder. That shoulder is like a siren’s call to me, daring me to touch her pale, bare flesh.
As if she senses the shift in my mood, she bounds up and moves toward the kitchen. “You want some breakfast?”
I watch her go, more interested in the shape of her ass in those jeans she’s wearing than in bacon and orange juice. Prowling after her, I catch her as she opens a cabinet, pressing her against the cabinets with my hips. She’s so tiny under me, already squirming.
Like I need her to wiggle when she touches me. My cock is already standing at full attention, ready for me to free it. I don’t, though.
I just press her into the cabinets again, my arms coming down to cage her in on both sides.
“Dryas!” she says, laughing nervously. I don’t miss the sharp warning in her tone, but when did I ever listen to warnings? Pushing aside the curtain of her hair, I kiss the slope of her neck.
“Dryas…” she says again, trying to shift out of my grip. I hold her in place, nibbling sweetly and then sucking hard. She’s rigid for ten long seconds, making me wait for it.
Then there is her breaking point, the point at which she relaxes in my arms and lets me do what I want. The point at which she starts to enjoy it, too. Her breathing changes to a breathy moan, her legs and ass lift as her core tightens up.
It does not exactly escape my attention that they are the same.
When she lifts her head, her mouth seeking mine, I step back. My lips curl up as I tell her, “Go change. I’ll make breakfast. You’re going to want to wear something warm, because we’re going outside after we break our fast.”
She turns, her eyes narrowing at me. I can tell she doesn’t like that I teased her and just left her hanging like that, but she’s too soft-spoken to say it out loud. If only she knew that just a few words from her, and I’d fuck her right here over the kitchen counter.
She trudges off with a sigh, vanishing up the stairs. I hurry through making some oatmeal and toast. Soon enough she is back downstairs, allowing me to push the heavy breakfast on her. She looks cute, all bundled up in a heavy pink sweater and several pairs of black athletic fleece pants.
Possess: Protect Book 3 Page 8