Page 25 of Blood and Thorns
He swallowed. “I thought you’d fuck her and then kill her like all the others.”
I wasn’t surprised by his words, but I was disgusted all the same. Rumours were fickle things, and this one I let grow because it would only benefit me for people to believe it. Morris clearly considered it to be true and still hadn’t argued when his only daughter agreed to be put on a silver fucking platter.
I had to clench my fists to stop myself from killing him right then and there.
“If I kill her, you’d have to take her place,” I said simply.
Morris picked at his bottom lip, the skin cracked and bleeding. Bottles of opened beer littered the place, and the stench of rotten food and general uncleanliness was strong.
“Then why are you here?” he asked, his indignation clear from the sharpness in his tone. The kind of edge that came from too much alcohol and too little self-awareness. “If she’s still alive, you don’t need me anymore. You’vealready taken everything. There’s nothing left for you to destroy.”
Morris sounded like a perpetual victim, despite putting himself in this position in the first place. Honestly, I’d have thought he’d have run far away like the coward he was, not hung around until his next fuckup came knocking down his door.
It was almost impressive, the way he managed to twist his own guilt into something pitiful.
I stepped closer, letting the silence press against him before I asked, “Do you even feel guilty?”
“Guilty for what? Arabella made her own bed.” Morris tipped his head back, a weak attempt at bravado, though his eyes couldn’t hold mine for more than a second. “It’s the least she can do after everything she’s done.”
The words hit like a force, not because they were unexpected, but because he meant them. Every syllable was laced with that same smug self-pity he wore like rusted armour.
“And what exactly has she done?”
He scoffed. “Does it matter? She’s yours now.”
I’d expected deflection, and yet my chest still tightened with a raw, burning fury that settled behind my ribs like fire. “Where’s her room?” I asked before I reacted and killed him.
I wasn’t here for any other reason than I couldn’t sleep. Finding out a little more about my new toy was a somewhat productive use of my time.
Morris frowned, gesturing to the stairs. I paused at the threshold of her bedroom, taking in the sweet, feminine smell and colourful decor. I couldn’t actually stand up straight, having to duck my head even at the tallest section. It was clearly a loft conversion, and not a good one at that. There were gaps in the ceiling, and the floor hadn’t beencompletely boarded properly. Her bed was pressed right to the back, the roof so sloped she’d have had to crawl across.
Arabella clearly liked pastels, all the clothes in her clothing rack similar to the pretty blue dress she’d worn earlier. Nothing like the women in my world. Grabbing a few of her clothes, I threw them on the bed. I eyed her charger, deciding she wasn’t allowed a phone and making a mental note to ensure she hadn’t snuck another one in.
I paused at the makeshift bookshelves, hundreds of paperbacks lovingly read and displayed as if they were trophies. The spines blurred together, so grabbing the one fromher nightstand, I added it to the pile before turning toward the last piece of furniture in the room, her desk. It was well worn, held up awkwardly by a wedged box.
On top were more books, but these were different. There were no words on the front, and I decided they must be journals, or maybe even notebooks. Not that I knew the distinction.
Flicking one open, I stared at the pen marks, brow furrowed as I flipped through the pages until I found one she’d started but hadn’t finished. Pulling off my backpack, I shoved everything inside, zipping it tight before throwing it over my shoulder.
Chapter 14
Arabella
My stomach woke me, the angry sound a deep rumble that almost vibrated the silent air. Groaning, I sat up, my cheek stinging from where I’d fallen asleep against the carpet. I’d kept to the corner of the room, my back aching from the horrible angle. I eyed the bed, a beautiful king with soft sheets and even softer pillows. Yet I decided to sleep on the floor.
I wasn’t any less safe in the bed than I was here, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to sleep there. Here I was tucked away, hidden from the door at first glance.
Not that it would take much effort to find me. I debated whether to sleep in the tub, but the bathroom had no lock, and the bath would’ve been cold and just as uncomfortable. But at least I had my own private bathroom.
A prisoner with her own toilet, how lucky was I?
Rubbing at my cheek, my eyes burned from where I’d fallen asleep crying. Not my best moment, I’d admit. But now that was out of my system, and I could get myself together and not wallow in self-pity.
Standing, my stomach decided to play the entire orchestra,strings, percussions, brass and all. I actually couldn’t remember the last time I ate.
A nice older lady with a warm smile had brought me tea hours ago, but that sat untouched on the bedside table. She hadn’t said anything more than a polite hello before leaving, as if Sebastian locking crying women in his guest bedroom was a regular occurrence. I wouldn’t be surprised.
The size of the room was bigger than my entire flat, decorated just as tastefully as the other rooms I’d been marched through. The drawers were empty, as were the cupboards in the ensuite. There were no toiletries. No shampoo or body wash. Not even a bar of soap for me to clean up with.
