Page 17 of Claimed By the Sinful Dragon
My fingers brushed against a door and I paused. Clean. It had no dust or grime on it. I turned a quizzical eye on it, wondering what was so special about this room that the door had been kept in such good condition, and, presumably, in regular use. I glanced up and down the corridor, but I was alone. Not that itmattered, because he’d dragged me here against my will to clean. I was cleaning. I had a cloth and bucket and everything.
I eased the door open and slipped inside, half expecting to find a vast pile of gold and jewels, or whatever it was dragons hoarded that allowed them to afford vast mansions like this.
What I found was… I screwed my face up in confusion. It looked like, well, like an ordinary bedroom. Rook’s room, maybe? But no, it seemed too plain, too modest for him in here. The bed was small, better fitted to a woman than a man—especially one his size—and the sheets and even the rugs seemed simple. Embroidered curtains were the only flare in the room, and they draped over the windows, letting only a dappling of light slip through. A sense of stagnation hung in the air. Setting my bucket down, I crossed to the window. If nothing else, I could open it and let some fresh air in.
“Leave that.”
I jumped half out of my skin and spun around with a yelp to find Rook shadowing the doorway.
“I was just cleaning,” I said quickly, hoisting my bucket up to show him.
“Don’t.”
I canted my head. “Um, isn’t that why you brought me here?”
“Not this room.”
“Whose is it?” I asked, looking around like some formerly unseen clue might jump out at me.
“Was,” he said quietly.
I turned a questioning look his way.
“Whosewasit,” he said in that same muted tone. “It belonged to your predecessor.”
A shiver ran through me, but I couldn’t keep from asking, “What happened to her?”
“She got sick.”
“So you killed her?” I gaped at him, horrified.
“Get out,” he snarled. “Now. Never come in here again.”
“No, wait. I’m…sorry?” It came out as a question. I wasn’t really sure what I was apologizing for.
“Alina was my loyal companion for over thirty years.” He exhaled heavily and sank onto the edge of the bed, the fingers of one hand splaying over the bedspread. “When she got sick, there was nothing I could do to help her.”
“That’s why the place is so neglected.” The pieces all fell into place in a moment of blinding clarity.
“I would hardly expect a dying woman to work. Whatever you may think of me, I am not completely without redeeming qualities.”
“You loved her.”
He shook his head and a look of helpless vulnerability fell over his face. “In a way, I suppose. She was servant in name only; my closest friend for many years.”
“You’re…grieving.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. I hadn’t imagined him capable of grief, and especially not for a slave. Or servant, or whatever fancy term he wanted to dress his prisoners up with.Friend. Andhere I was thinking he didn’t have any, on account of being a complete asshole. Maybe it just took twenty years for people to warm up to him.
“Why do you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Take people. Like me. Like her. Shifters.”
He shrugged. “I need staff, and your pack owes me a debt.”
