Interwoven

by Rene Folsom

  “The air?” I don’t have to see him to hear the skepticism in his tone.

  “Yes. Ever since the first day I arrived here at House Kincaid, it has kept morphing, changing colors like this,” I explain while pointing at one of the red strands. I don’t want to talk about any of this, but clearly I’m already in trouble. What’s the harm in figuring out why I’m becoming such a freak?

  “Changing how? When?” He grabs my wrist and tugs me closer, his free hand untying the string holding the hair at the back of my neck. Locks of curls fall to warp around my face. I shouldn’t feel so exposed, but I do. Finally, I glance up at him and watch, enraptured, as he inspects my hair. It’s as if I’m no longer there. Instead, it’s just this man and my hair.

  How odd.

  “I don’t know why, but the strands keep going red,” I explain uncomfortably. “I think it must be something in the air,” I repeat. I don’t know what else to say.

  He grunts, but doesn’t let go of my hair. He just stands there examining it—examining me. I try to take a step back, but he drops my wrist and grabs me around the waist.

  Clearly, the Kincaid brothers don’t know the meaning of personal space.

  I can’t say anything, though. He’s of House Kincaid. To correct him would mean treason. It’s a sad reality with the way they go about treating people—they being the ones who deem themselves worthy. They can be as nice or as cruel as they want, and there is no one they will ever need to answer to. No one.

  It’s another reminder of why I need to be free of this place. I need to be free of this society as a whole, come hell or high water. Long ago, there were whispers back at the colony about a place none of the elite would dare to go—a place where humans, like me, were free to do as they please without risk of being punished. Work for a living and not be treated like dogs. It sounded like a grand life to me.

  “Have any of my brethren seen your hair?” When he asks, I jump, forgetting myself again and clearly forgetting how large the male standing in front of me demanding answers is.

  “No, sir. I’m not supposed to be without my cap.” I dip my head in submission, hoping he will decide to take pity on me and drop the subject.

  He looks me up and down from head to toe, his proximity so close I can feel his breath as a constant heat on my face. I don’t dare mention the beast I came face to face with outside just moments ago.

  Would he even believe me?

  Probably not.

  Do the monsters exist?

  Of that, I am confident. Everyone believes both normal and magical beings walk this earth, but there still hasn’t been a bonafide sighting of the latter in a very long time. They’ve gone publicly dormant, or so it’s been said.

  “It’s a little too late for your damn cap now that you’ve lost it. Come.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he steps away from me, leaving a chill near me where he once stood.

  I have no choice but to follow him.

  We walk down the passageway. I’m thankful there is no one around to see me with my cap off. Then again, I’m already in trouble. I match my footsteps with his large stride.

  Everyone must be at dinner for the halls to be so quiet—so vacant.

  Shit. I’ve missed my meal again. I shouldn’t even be thinking about food, but my stomach reminds me of my hunger. I doubt there’s anyone to take pity on me and leave me the basics like last night. I don’t suspect the one I’m following will even think of my own needs before his own. It’s just how these men were raised.

  I can tell by his long strides eating up the hallway that he’s agitated with me. He’s mumbling under his breath as he walks, and I can’t make out what he’s saying.

  We pass door after door, the halls seeming to be limitless in length, until I finally find myself in a room I’ve never seen before.

  A bedroom.

  “Wait here,” he demands, grunting and turning swiftly. Before I can respond, he disappears out the door. I jump as it slams shut and the lock clicks in place.

  Great.

  There’s no telling what punishment will befall me now. I should have listened to my own warnings and stayed out of that godforsaken garden. I should have been smart—played it safe.

  Everything in the room is red. From the curtains to the bedspread. There are splashes of gold, accents here and there. But the red makes the room dark and foreboding. The one chandelier in the center that casts an ominous glow against the furniture.

  I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes seem like hours. But just as I am about to give up and test the locks in a desperate attempt to peek out into the hallway, the door pops open, startling me. A woman I’ve never seen before enters without so much as a glance my way. I wonder if it’s her room I’m intruding on until I really look at her. The girl’s head is down, a cap adorning her head, while she fumbles with a silver tray topped with fresh meats and cheese. There’s also a clear glass filled halfway with red liquid.

  “I’m Brigeta,” she says with a slight bow, her eyes still never meeting mine. “Master Drake has asked that you eat your fill. He and the others will join you when they’re ready.”

  That must have been Drake who put me in this room, but what does she mean by the others?

  “What others?”

  Brigeta doesn’t answer me, which is beyond infuriating. Instead, she turns, sets the tray on a table in the middle of the room, and quickly exits, locking me back in. I can smell the food from where I stand, though I’m not sure I should eat it. Have they mistaken me for someone else? The aroma of the food makes my stomach growl and my mouth water.

  This could be my last meal.

  It could be, or it could be the very thing that kills me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the food, petal. Eat.”

  Petal? Why do they keep calling me petal? I’m now concerned they have the wrong servant.

  The voice inside my head is dark, smoky. It’s not like from before when I was around Graham and Vulcan. Nope, this is all in my head. None of it is real. Well, except maybe the food. That’s real. The voice in my head will be chalked up to stress, at least long enough for me to eat. The last few days living inside my own personal hell, which I like to call House Kincaid, is enough to make any girl go insane.

  “How do you know this is hell, petal? It could be a very pleasurable stay if you just try.”

  I snort out loud, very aware there is no one else around who can hear me.

  “Why do you keep calling me petal?” I ask, but the voice doesn’t respond.

  Moving closer to the food, I can’t help the groan that slips free.

  “That’s right. You need to eat. You’re nothing but skin and bones. When did you get here? Have you eaten since you’ve been at the house?”

  I shrug, then realize the voice in my head, although not real, can’t see my gesture. I speak out loud. “I’ve been here a few days now. Started off seeing to that spoiled brat Greann.”

  “You mean the selectee.”

  “If that’s what you want to call her. I don’t have to live her life, so what do I care? She lives to see other people in pain. She is one of the biggest bullies I know.” I nearly slap my own mouth in reaction to my outspoken words. I should never speak of the chosen one so harshly, yet I still keep putting my foot in my mouth each and every time I’m around the Kincaid Brothers.

  “I find it hard to believe that anyone has bullied you.”

  “Damn straight they don’t.”

  The voice inside my head chuckles before saying. “Why were you outside? What did you see?”

  I glance around the room, figuring there must be some sort of sound system. Electronics aren’t a huge commodity these days, but some houses will still use older items like speakers and amplifiers. Back at the colony, they had a sound system so the workers could hear whoever was speaking a mile away. It was a crappy one that barely worked, but it got the job done. I study my surroundings for anything that would identify itself as a
speaker or even some sort of surveillance camera.

  “There are no electrical devices in this room. Not from what I can tell anyway.”

  “What? You can read minds now?” I’m very aware that I’m talking to myself, but frankly, I don’t care.

  “Depends on the mind.” Again, I can hear a smile in his voice, even though I know it’s all a figment of my imagination. My imaginary friend must find me amusing.

  “Are you going to eat?”

  “Are you going to shut up so I can eat?”

  That earns me another chuckle before silence engulfs us. I immediately feel the absence in my head. One moment the voice is there; the next, it isn’t.

  Slowly, while keeping a handle on my surroundings and the voice plaguing my mind, I raise a small biscuit to my nose and sniff. Fresh bread is always a delicacy for me, especially after the crap I ate before coming here. My mouth waters when I realize the meat is warm and the cheese is still soft.

  With the ingredients on my platter, I make myself several bite-sized sandwiches, nibbling on one to test its flavor before drinking my fill of the red liquid that’s included. It’s dry and tangy, but has a hint of sweetness to it.

  I don’t know how long it takes me to finally sit and devour what I deem my last meal, but if it is, I’m going to eat until I can’t eat anymore. Thankfully, the voice in my head doesn’t return as the tray goes from full to empty.

  There are drapes covering the windows to the left of me, a deep red with golden tassels that hang at the sides. Sitting here seems stupid. But I’m sure they have the doors guarded, so trying to escape would be even more stupid. My efforts will be pointless. I can’t leave the room, but that doesn’t mean I can’t explore it just a little. Maybe there will be something I can use to protect myself once they come for me. Maybe this will be my one and only chance to escape—to put this crap behind me—to pretend this whole thing never happened.

  I mean, who is to say they will even remember I’m here? Of course they know I’m still locked in here.

  I stand and head toward the drapes, pushing them aside to look out the window. The sky is dark now, the sun a faint orange glow that bleeds into the black of the night. There are mountains in the distance, but nothing more greets me.

  I have one goal: escape.

  Leaving all of this behind is the right thing to do. I’m still not sure what to think about Langston, though, or how to find out what has happened to him. The thought makes me sigh as I stare out into the dismal evening. He isn’t my friend. Not really. He probably wouldn’t call me a friend anyway. We barely know each other, but there’s something about him that tugs at my heartstrings. The fact he cared enough to show me the ropes, offer advice, and allow me to be myself gives me pause. If I could take him with me, I would. But would he be an asset or a liability? The thought holds merit. But I am quick to come to my senses.

  That’s stupid.

  No one cares about anyone but themselves in this place. Talia won’t be sympathetic to my cause at all, and Greann is happy to be here. The only one I know of who would even think to come with me if they could would probably be Langston. Albeit, there could be others, but it’s doubtful. When they are removed from the dregs of society, most of them get comfortable with their new life. Anything is better than living like a dog. Moving to one of the grand houses is seen as a blessing and not a curse. Except from the perspective of someone like me. I could never thrive here. Survive? Sure. But thrive? No fucking way. I wasn’t meant for this kind of life. No one is really. Being ordered around and constantly fearing for our lives is no way to live. Alive one day, a person could be dead the next just by pissing off the wrong person by simply breathing. And that will get someone all kinds of fucked.

  Leaning against the glass of the window, I let out a giant sigh, fogging the surface right beneath my nose and mouth. When I finally allow the failure to overcome me, even if it’s just for a moment so I can breathe, my shoulders drop with defeat. I step back and look at my reflection, trying to think of a time when things weren’t so bleak. While there is no mirror in this room, my reflection is cast into the glass in vivid color.

  My hair. My fucking hair has more streaks in it today than it did yesterday. Will it turn completely red? I hope not. It doesn’t do good to garner attention from others if my hair becomes freakier than it is naturally. I’ve always been teased and harassed for my curly, frizzy hair. The last thing I need is to be sporting odd colors, too.

  I need to stay low key—under the radar.

  Keep low. Stay out of the way.

  I repeat the mantra in my head. I say it so many times I start to get dizzy… dizzy enough that the image of my reflection in the window’s glass, the woman standing before me, begins to go in and out of focus. My head hurts, and my legs are taken from beneath me as I fall to the ground. The surface is hard and cold, unforgiving as my knees make contact and I crumple like an inanimate sack of potatoes.

  What the fuck is going on with me?

  I can’t stop this overwhelming feeling of sleepiness as I try to stand, but fail. My limbs are heavy, wobbly, and my heart begins to slow. I try to keep my mind about me, but reality gradually slips way. I waver somewhere between consciousness and dreamland. When I try to crawl toward the chair I was sitting in, my arms won’t budge. I can no longer hold my weight. As my head introduces itself to the floor with a loud thud, I realize my mistake.

  This was definitely my last meal on this earth.

  As my eyes drift closed and darkness consumes my every thought, I have no doubt in my mind that my food has been poisoned.

  11

  I’m in someone’s room. I don’t know who’s room I’m in, but its plush and rich, the sheets feather-soft. My head throbs, and I want to stay in bed, but I know I can’t be here. I try to lift myself, but my head swims with the movement, and I fall back on the cloud-like pillow.

  Dragons. I remember seeing a huge, blue dragon.

  Shit.

  When I finally muster the strength and balance to stand, my legs wobble. I grab the column of the bed to steady myself, and my heart stops when I see five figures standing in the dark.

  “You’re finally awake. Graham didn’t think it would work.”

  Two figures emerge from the darkness, and I come face to face with Graham and Drake. Out of the brothers I’ve met, they have been the most amicable.

  “How much trouble am I in?” I scramble to ask.

  Graham steps closer, his presence intimidating. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drake come to stand behind me, his hands at my hips.

  “You’re in no trouble at all,” Drake whispers against the shell of my ear, making me shiver.

  Graham steps even closer to me, one hand cupping my face while his other is placed gently on my chest, right over my heart, the thudding threatening to implode inside me.

  My skin feels as if there are a million tiny sparks that go off simultaneously, delivering a deadly dose of fire that heats a part of me that’s never been touched.

  “Stay here with us for a while,” Graham whispers against my forehead. I feel every part of his body—from his hard chest to his soft, firm lips.

  Against my stomach is something hard—hot. I squeeze my eyes shut, unsure of how to react, because it’s obvious what it is.

  I don’t want them to stop, even though I know this is wrong… all wrong. I can’t be attracted to the brothers, yet they seem intent on pushing me to the brink of passion.

  My breath completely leaves me when I feel Drake against my backside. His head is dipped low enough for me to feel the prickly hairs from his roughened jaw against my cheek.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, my words touching Graham’s chin.

  Both brothers chuckle, their chests heaving, warming my chest and my back. I’m confused and aroused at the same time, which is definitely not a good combination for me. I don’t understand their sudden interest in me, but it’s clear my body has woken up to their touch.

&n
bsp; “You’re right where we want you to be,” Graham whispers before turning my head with his fingers. “Look.” I am stunned by what I see. It’s me, in a bed, prone and chained. But I don’t look to be scared. Instead, I am patiently waiting. For what, I don’t know. I try to focus on what’s in front of me, but my head gets heavy, and I find I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

  My skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I’m still in the plush, comfortable room I suddenly know is Drake’s.

  I’ve must have fallen asleep.

  The lights are dim, and I can hear water running in the background. When I try to sit up, I find I’m tied to the bed. I struggle but feel an overwhelming sense that nothing will harm me here.

  This is a safe place.

  I’m home.

  Why my men have decided to leave me tied to the bed is a mystery. I don’t struggle. There’s no reason to fight. They haven’t forgotten me.

  The water I hear, the steam that hugs my skin, is from the enormous tub Drake insists isn’t big enough. I can’t seem to grasp how I know all this. I just do.

  “Are one of you going to come and untie me?”

  I hear them chuckling in the bathing room.

  “You just want one of us then? Not the whole lot of us?” Drake yells.

  He’s right. I can’t decide on which of them I will enjoy more. I only know I need them all. When we’re apart for too long, it’s a physical ache inside my soul. Seneca calls me needy, but he likes it. William finds it adorable, and the twins find everything I do interesting. It’s Vulcan who makes me work for his affections.

  “Send Vulcan,” I say back playfully.

  When the door swings open, Vulcan comes out with a billow of steam following his broad form. He’s in a pair of sleep pants, the thin fabric hung low on his hips.

  I love the sound his feet make as they creak against the wood floor. His steps, like him, are dominant—strong.