Page 7 of House of Pawns
If someone really is watching me from the shadows, one: who is it, and two: what do they want? Luke could be mistaken; maybe it was someone from the House. Watching to see how I react to what Jasmine did, or how I’m coming along in my plots of revenge.
But if it isn’t, who could it be? Whoever has been attacking the House? Maybe. But I’m not sure what they want with me.
I’ll have to discuss this with Rath.
The gates to the Conrath Estate open to let me through. I pull into the garage and check the time as it closes behind me.
Eight o’clock.
The second I walk through the door, I’m flooded with the scent of breakfast. Bacon, eggs, bread, grits—which I’m learning to recognize the smell of.
I walk around the corner, into the kitchen. Katina flinchesso hard the second she sees me that she drops the platter of biscuits she was holding. It clatters to the ground and shatters.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I rush forward to help her pick up the mess. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Katina carefully keeps her distance from me and as usual, won’t look at me. But her hands shake violently, more so than usual.
“Are you alright?” When I say it, I gently grab her wrist in an attempt to get her to look at me.
A small little yelp works its way out of her throat and she jerks her entire arm away from me. But still, she won’t meet my eyes. “Sorry, Miss Ryan. I just…” But she doesn’t finish the sentence. She hurriedly sweeps the rest of the mess into a pile with her hands and turns to go look for a broom and dustpan.
I let out a little defeated sigh. I’ll never gain the staffs’ trust. They’re all terrified of me. Why do they even stay if they’re always so fearful? Rath must be paying them all an astronomical salary.
I’m covered in dirt and it’s getting everywhere. Angelica and Beth will have such a mess to clean up after me. I take my boots off and leave them in the garage and dart up to my room for a shower and fresh change of clothes.
Avoidance is apparently my coping mechanism today. There are so many things that need addressing—so many questions to ask and so many answers to search for.
But I just need a second.
The hot, scalding water works its way down my body. Thick suds build in my hair as I scrub and scrub, sure I’ll never wash the cocoon of the dead from me.
When I finish, I stand naked in front of the mirror.
Bruises, dark and harsh, stand out in perfect handprints onmy upper arms where Ian grabbed me. Another perfect shape of his hand wraps around my wrist. I pretend they don’t hurt. I pretend they aren’t there.
I change into fresh jeans and an oversized sweater.
I stare at myself while I brush through my long, brunette hair.
Be the royal that you are.
So when I’m finished, I walk across my room. But before I get halfway across, I notice something on my bed.
It’s glossy paper, the photo kind. It’s been cut oddly, and it takes me half a second to realize it’s been cut into a puzzle piece. Centered in the middle of it are both my and Ian’s faces.
My brows furrow as I try to make sense of what this is. There’s something timid, held back in the way Ian and I are looking at each other. Like we hadn’t consumed each other, like he hadn’t died yet and I hadn’t tried to die for him. We both look more innocent.
Who put this here?
A small noise out in the hall calls my attention. I set the puzzle picture on the nightstand. I open the door, and I meet Ian’s gaze.
He stands at the beginning of the hall, at the landing where the stairs meet the second floor. I’ve caught him on his way to my bedroom, and he freezes in place.
His eyes no longer glow. They’re once again the familiar hazel-brown. His expression is serious, contemplative. He just looks like my Ian again.
I see his wrist has healed where Rath staked him.
Ian takes two steps toward me. They’re slow and cautious. I realize that he’s testing himself. To see if he’s in control.
