Page 23 of Chain Me
Words couldn’t describe what it felt like to taste an actual, solid meal after so long.
Words also couldn’t describe the look on Dublin’s face; it lingered for barely a second, but it was no less intense than his blank stare. Narrowed eyes containing the briefest hint of emotion. Revulsion?
Or fear.
Ofme.
“What did you do to me?” Chocolate sprayed from my lips.
Quietly, he gathered the empty cup and the plate, tossing them both into the trash. His eyes met mine once again, the longest he’d held my gaze since I’d woken up. Like pools of ice, they reflected my hollow expression back to me. Wide eyes. Open mouth. Flushed, hollow cheeks.
In silence, he left.
And I closed my eyes, determined to wake up.
Addenda
Black hair.
Frail skin.
Haunting black eyes.
“I will make you a wager, Eleanor,” he told me, his name every bit as beautiful as his youthful appearance. Raphael. “I will tell you what Dublin bartered for you—in fact, I will give it to you. As long as you help me discover something that he might value more…”
I should have run. I tried to. Red walls enveloped me, forming an elegant dining room, crowded by watchful figures with hooded eyes. I took a step and the scenery expanded around me, stretching forever. No matter where I turned, black eyes held me captive, boring deep to scrape my soul.
His hand captured mine, as quickly as a striking cobra. “I already have my suspicions.”
He was so cold—shockingly, abnormally so. It felt as if death itself had taken hold of me.
“All you would be required to do is help me prove it to be true or false. Then I shall uphold my end of our bargain. Simple enough?”
A frigid thumb traced the back of my hand. As if drawn by an invisible force, my gaze drifted to his throat, where a serpent pendant hung. Its red eyes kept me in place as Raphael placed his hand over my stomach, imparting his chill into the flesh underneath.
“A simple suspicion,” he repeated in a burst of breath so cold that I half expected frost to crystallize right there on my skin.
Then he lowered his head and bared his fangs…
I startled awake to a familiar scene—an empty room. Warm daylight streamed in through the massive window, unabated by the curtain someone had partially drawn over the view. My panic subsided as the fragments of my nightmare faded.
But I wasn’t at Gray Manor. Noisy machines still monitored my body through various wires and devices—still in the hospital room, then. At least the IV was gone, as was the mysterious bag of blood.
I could recall those details, though my brain seemed determined to avoid remembering anything else. Thinking took a back seat to the desperate ache unfurling in my belly anyway. I sniffed and realized why. The bedside tray had been drawn up close to the bed and on it was a steaming plate of eggs, along with a Styrofoam cup. My selective memory gave me an inkling as to what might be inside it.
Something red that tasted like copper.
Not exactly the most charming of breakfast invitations. My “doctor” was exerting his presence into my life with little effort.
At least he wasn’t here. I had no one to prove anything to. No one to judge. Just my own terrified thoughts playing a morbid commentary as I eyed the straw and pictured the liquid within.
This is insane, Eleanor.
You’re hungry, Eleanor.
You’re starving, Eleanor.
This is insane.
