Page 8 of Caution

Couldn'tget caught.

In the new visibility provided by the moonlight streaming through the window, I deduced I'd been separated from anything I could claim as mine. Most notably my cell phone, which would have been my first choice for getting help or figuring out my location.

The checking of my pockets made me realize the clothes I was wearing werenotthe ones I’d worn to work.

These are not my clothes.

These are not my clothes.

I wasn't sore anywhere, didn't feel any indication that I'd been handled violently in any matter, but that didn’t make the revelation any less disconcerting.I’d dressed comfortably in leggings and a T-shirt for work, but was not currently wearing either item.

Why?

Now, I was in black jeans, a black tee, black bra and underwear that were also not mine.

I’vegotto get the fuck out of here.

No hesitation, just a resolve to not to get caught, I made my way to the door, steeling myself to find it locked.

It wasn't.

The knob turned easily—too easily?—and the door opened without even the slightest creek from the hinges.

I don’t have on shoes.

Shit.

No shoes would make it harder to traverse the natural terrain of those trees, but on the flip side, I didn't have to worry about my feet making noise as I slinked out of the room, following the sound of voices down the hall.

Why would you follow,Brosia?! You need to go away from the voices, away from whoever brought you here!

That would have been the sensible thing for sure.

But something still drove me toward the sound of the voices. Maybe the overwhelming need to understand what the hell was going on.

Whatever it was… I listened.

I couldn't help it. I let those voices lure me to a room just off the stairs that represented my freedom. The door was closed, but there was a glow of light underneath, a beacon in the dark hall.

As quietly as I could, I walked right up to it, put my ear to it, and waited.

“You know this is… unorthodox, right?” were the first words I could make out as my brain keyed into the conversation on the other side of the door. “Supposed to be at least another year, maybe two.”

“You bonded your mate way earlier than you swore you ever would.”

My heart crashed against the front of my chest.

That voice.

That was Cassius Black.

“That's not the gotcha you might think it is. I was weak.”

Cassius countered whoever he was speaking to. “I'm not looking for a gotcha.I'm trying to make it make sense. I'm trying to talk myself into it.”

“Why?” the other person, maybe Elias, asked. “You know what was written, and you know what must be done. Besides that, the woman is gorgeous.”

“Those are not my only considerations,”Cassius countered.

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