Page 68 of The Black Table
Cool it, Kai.
Not now. Not…yet. Or possibly ever.
Instead, I just tug the shirt down, over the soft liquid space ofher stomach, and take a step back, biting my lip hard, clicking the ring against my teeth.
She looks…comfortable enough. Hopefully less hot, anyway. Better for sleeping
I curl my fingers in tight to my palms, digging the nails into the flesh.
There’s my good fucking deed for the day, I think. Hell, this should count for more than a day, maybe a month. I breathe out hard and breathe in slowly, and as I do, catch the faintest edge of her scent—not anything perfumed or artificial, but clean, warm, the smell of soap and human girl.
The most of her I’ll ever be able to take in.
I don’t know where that thought comes from. I shake out my hands, give the room one last look, and leave, shutting the door just firmly enough not to wake her.
EIGHTEEN
GWENNA
I wakeup from dreams of fire with a gasp.
Sweat drenches my body, my neck, and I sit up, heart pounding. The light is gentle, the sheets are soft and cool, and the room…
The room is not mine.
Consciousness slams into me like a tidal wave. Flashes of last night: the formal hall, the dress, the wine, the stupid shoes and my painfully throbbing ankle.
My arms go loose where they’re propping me up, and I fall back into the pillow.
And now I’m…where am I?
I take a few unsteady breaths. It smells like sandalwood and spice. Masculine, quiet. Sunlight pours through a wide window with a narrow seat and cushion.
And there’s just this one bed. Like a real bedroom, not a dormitory. A few feet a way, on the floor, I see a mass of red silk, and that’s when I realize I’m in different clothes: a T-shirt, sweatpants, too big and baggy to be mine.
A boy’s room. I’m in a boy’s room.
I draw the blankets to my chest and look around. Contextclues. Textbooks. Clothes. And then I see it. A framed photograph of a dark haired boy with bright blue eyes and a man who looks almost the same. His father, presumably.
Lanz. I’m in Lanz’s room.
My skull clenches.How did I…?
I close my eyes, pulling my memory back in time. The walk, the room, the bathroom. I threw up, needed air, went downstairs, ran into someone. Him.
I open my eyes again. That doesn’t answer much, but it answers enough.
The terrible thought seizes my mind.
Was I…
As soon as it comes in, I banish it just as easily. There’s no way, I think. I just can’t see that happening. Can’t see him doing that. Besides, who would assault someone just to dress them in pajamas?
All of a sudden, I spring out of bed, like a sudden impulse has come to life in me, and land with a wince. My anklehurts—not broken, I don’t think, but twisted pretty badly. Still, I pull the blankets back in a single tug, smooth them, and slip to the door. I have to not be in there, I think, get out of here.
But once I’m out on the landing, my breath catches.
The house is ridiculous. Vaulted ceilings, two balcony-like hallways—one of which I’m standing on—that sweep into a massive wood staircase leading to a huge entry hall. Above, a skylight lets in honey-warm morning light and everything smells like cedar and wood smoke.
