Page 65 of Chain Me
That the inside of my thighs ached and I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or just the shame of rejection.
I wanted to be angry. Or bitter, or hateful. I wanted to storm about the room and declare just how unaffected I was by Dublin Helos and his switchblade rage. I wanted to do anything but crawl onto the mattress and huddle beneath silken sheets as moisture spilled down my cheeks once more.
Vicci D’arte
Morning came with the intensity of a punch—literally. Ruthlessly aimed, it slammed against my abdomen and the pain jolted me from a fitful sleep. Gasping, I rolled onto my side, clutching my stomach. Every breath hurt. It was as though my lungs were in a vise grip. An invisible fist squeezed only to release. Again. Each vicious cramping wave left me writhing over the sheets.
“What’s wrong?” The door flew open and Dublin rushed in. Pale dawn light painted him in shades of gold, making him seem more angel than Devil. He wore a fresh gray suit, his hair slicked back, his overall appearance perfection.
Gritting my teeth, I sat upright and placed my feet on the floor, my back to him. “Nothing,” I said even as another wave of pain stole my breath away. My eyelids fluttered as I inhaled through my nose, gripping the sheets so tightly that my nails pierced the fabric. Eventually, the tension subsided, and I attempted to disguise my rigid posture with a shrug. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t move—and his concern irritated me far more than it should have.Nowhe wanted to care after accusing me of being a suicidal traitor. Yesterday’s Eleanor might have forgiven him, swayed by the display.
Not me.
“I’m fine,” I hissed, biting the words out. “And I’d rather be alone now, if you please. How else will I contact my sister via telepathic Morse code and give our location away?”
He moved—a series of slow, heavy footsteps that paused near the threshold. “I’ll be gone for the day,” he told me, his tone devoid of warmth once more. “When I return tonight, be ready. There is clothing in the wardrobe—”
“Fine,” I snapped, deliberately avoiding asking him where he planned on taking me.
“And…”
I could almost taste his hesitation, cracking his callous façade.
“If you need me, ask for me.”
“I won’t.” I eyed my fingers lazily, inspecting the nails. They were trembling and I balled them into fists to hide it—though the act was in vain.
He was already gone, marching down the hall and then the staircase.
Alone, I crawled onto the center of the mattress, tense in anticipation of another bout of pain. I’d never felt anything like it before. Was this a new phase of the cancer I’d deliberately avoided thinking about until now?
Fear goaded my pulse into a frantic thrum. I tossed and turned, wavering on calling for Dublin after all. My lips parted. Closed. Parted again…
If I did call for him, it wouldn’t be out of weakness. Just in case I truly was dying, he deserved to be told what an ass he was to his face. That was all.
When footsteps approached my room, I sat upright, wondering if my thoughts alone had conjured him. But no. A smiling woman wearing a plain gray dress approached the foot of my bed, holding a tray. On it was a simple breakfast and a nondescript black cup containing a suspicious-looking liquid.
Once she left, I ate quickly, tasting nothing. The food helped. After a few minutes passed devoid of any cramping, I paced before venturing from my room to examine the manor proper.
Something told me that Dublin hadn’t bought this property on a whim. There was too much of his personal style embedded within everything from the subtle silver accents to the almost cathedral-like architecture. I suspected he had owned the place for a while, a fact that intrigued me more than I wanted to admit. It was easy to forget just how old he was. And how wealthy. How powerful.
The man possessed a string of unknown credentials—being a doctor included. I’d witnessed firsthand his procurement of an orphanage, and he seemed to own countless buildings and enterprises. A collector, in a sense. If I wanted to be morbid, his interest in me made perfect sense—a man so wealthy and bored that he collected properties and money like candy. What else was Gray Manor but a token to add to his list?
And what was I other than a fun diversion?
Stop, Ellie.I rubbed my arms, shivering. A chill lingered over the lower level as if no one had thought to heat it. Considering that a vampire owned the place, who would?
Seeking warmth, I returned to my room, and there I lingered, no better than a bird in a cage.
* * *
In my quest to prove as a fitting antagonist to Dublin, I did my best to appear onlysomewhatpresentable before he came for me. The resulting look required one of Yulia’s dresses—mysteriously found within the room’s only wardrobe. Floor-length and composed of black lace, it sported a modest though no less elegant neckline. After a halfhearted bit of styling with my wet fingers, my curls no longer stuck out in all directions, so that was a plus—and about where my efforts extended.
If he expected more, that was his problem.
As night fell, I finally descended to the foyer. Only to find Dublin already there waiting. One look at him reinforced just how futile my pathetic attempts had been.
