Page 11 of Dormeo
She’s in my bed and just knowing that she’s there stirs something deep inside me, that I don’t dare think too hard about. The temptation to use my powers is already overwhelming. Instead of feeling invigorated, like I would if I’d let myself visit her dreams, I’m left feeling unsatisfied.
Locking the door behind me, I press my fingers hard into my eyes and frown.
Rose is going to be a problem. Hopefully, she won’t be here for long.
5
ROSE
Fragments of memory filter through the heavy clouds in my mind.
The garden at home, sunshine warming my face as I sit primly on a stone bench, attempting to focus on my book while my younger sister Clara practices shooting with father's bow and arrow.
"You'll never find a husband if you keep acting like a wild creature," I scold half-heartedly, trying not to smile as she deliberately misses the target again, sending our mother's prized roses scattering.
"That's rather the point, dear sister." Clara grins, her newly cropped hair falling in her eyes. She'd taken father's hunting knife to her beautiful, long tresses last week, leaving them jagged and boyish. The local hairdresser attempted to shape what was left into something resembling a proper hairdo, but there was only so much he could do. "I'd rather die than end up married to one of Father's ancient, lecherous friends."
"Clara!" I gasp, but can't help giggling. She's always been the brave one, willing to risk father's wrath to maintain her freedom. And she’s not wrong. They are all old and sleazy.
"Don't pretend you haven't noticed how they look at you," she says, notching another arrow. "Like a hungry wolf eyeing a lamb. And father encourages it! Maybe you should butcher your hair before it’s too late. You know the power you have over men." The arrow flies wide, taking out another rosebush. "Oops."
I shudder, remembering another old man's watery eyes travelling over me at dinner last week. "At least pretend to have terrible aim. Father will be furious if he realizes you're destroying mother's garden on purpose."
"Speaking of the devil..." Clara mutters, quickly hiding the bow behind her back as heavy footsteps approach.
"Rose!" Father's voice booms across the garden. "What are you doing out here? Lord Barlow has come to call."
Clara’s face pales as our father marches toward us. I scramble to think of any excuse not to obey him, but nothing I come up with will be acceptable. I could be dying, and he’d still expect me to sit there and make polite conversation. His fingers dig into my arm as he yanks me to my feet, my open book falling, forgotten, to the ground. "And you," he snarls at Clara. "Get inside and make yourself presentable. Though I doubt anyone would have you now, looking like a stable boy."
"Good," Clara spits, but father is already dragging me away.
"Please," I whisper, trying to dig my heels in. "Father, he's older than you are..."
"He's wealthy and titled," Father snaps. "And he's willing to overlook your sister's reputation. Don't be ungrateful."
The door to the sitting room looms ahead. Through the gap, I can see Lord Barlow's stooped form rising from his chair, liver spots dotting his papery skin as he reaches for me with greedy eyes and clammy hands...
I bolt upright in the massive four-poster bed, heart pounding, bile rising in my throat. Relief floods me when I realise I’m not at home, and my revulsion fades. Even hell is preferable to becoming that man's wife.
Thankfully, Barlow passed before our union could be agreed. This must be Father’s plan B.
"I'm alright," I whisper to myself, though my hands still shake. "Just a memory."
But it's more than that. It's a glimpse of the fate that still awaits me when I return home.
Blinking hard, I sit up. This constant drowsy feeling is something I’m unable to shake, and it’s disconcerting. It takes me a second to remember why I’m so groggy. Drugging someone is a new low, even for him.
The stark reality of my situation comes crashing down on me when I see the dark, slate ceiling above me and breathe in my captor’s musky, masculine scent from the silk sheets around me.
I’m not in my own bed. I’m in his.
Tentatively, I rise. My legs are shaky, and my body feels weak. Whatever they gave me has sapped my energy.Leaving me defenceless,my fearful brain whispers, but I shove that thought away.
So far, I’m unharmed, and that’s even after spending my first night at the gates of hell in a demon’s bed. If he wanted to, he could have taken advantage of me, and yet he didn’t. Maybe my father’s name and status is enough to keep me safe for now, but how long will that last.
Clara’s right. There’s something about me that seems to bring trouble my way. As much as I dislike home, maybe it really isbetter the devil you know.
“Hello?” I call, opening the bedroom door and padding into the large, open living space. A warm fire roars, set deep into onewall, a bit unnecessary I would have thought, given our current location.
