Page 22 of Dragon Flames
I frantically grope my neck, sagging when I feel nothing but skin.
The shock collar is gone.
Stunned, I do my best not to hyperventilate and pass out.
No one has done anything nice for me in so long that I’m not sure what to feel, the barrage of emotions leaving me nauseated.
I ultimately settle on being angry, hating to feel indebted to anyone.
Shaking my head, I dig through the piles, not caring that I was mixing up the stacks or bothering to pick up some of the clothing that hit the floor. When I spot a large, fuzzy sweater, I snatch it up, my beast immediately laying claim.
The scent of soap and a darker undertone of cinders and ash cling to the fabric, making my mouth water. Without a second’s hesitation, I strip, tugging and twisting until I finally manage to pull free of the dress holding me captive.
Not liking the scratchy bit of lace they gave me as a lame excuse for underwear, I toss that to the ground with a sigh of relief and pull the sweater over my head. The bottom hem lands just above my knees. I glance down at my bare legs, feeling vulnerable without a barrier between me and the outside world.
Seconds could make the difference between being raped and fighting back.
I dive back into the pile of clothes a second time, then pump my fist in triumph when I find a pair of boxers. I go back one more time, grinning like a loon when I locate a pair of wool socks.
Once I’m dressed, my confidence returns.
I leave the laundry room, pausing outside the door for a second, then decide to go explore. In case I ever have to escape, I need to memorize the layout of this place.
An hour later, I’m standing in the middle of a massive foyer. Hands on my hips, I glare at the front door like it’s a personal challenge.
I can leave.
Just walk out the door.
Yet, I can’t force my feet to move, fear keeping me rooted to the spot.
Though it pisses me off, my anger does nothing to help budge me.
Yeah, it’s stupid to leave with nothing but the clothes on my back, not to mention that Gresky is no doubt waiting on the doorstep to capture me, but that’s not why I can’t make myself leave.
It’s my own fear holding me hostage.
While the mansion is gorgeous, it’s nothing more than another prison, one of my own making. After another five minutes, I give up with a sigh of defeat and decide to explore the different wings of the mansion. The place is massive, the four wings a circle with a couple of central rooms in the middle. Each wing has a distinct stamp of ownership. I’ve snooped through both Preston’s and Darius’s rooms, and I was chased out of the kitchen by the cook, which leaves Elias’s domain yet to be explored.
Despite my best efforts to keep my distance from the men claiming to be my mates, I can’t help but be fascinated with each new nugget of information I learn. Darius is private and reclusive, obviously the alpha, his room neat as a pin. Preston is the youngest and the least jaded, and his room looks like a teenager lives in it. Now, I’m curious to discover how Elias fits into the group dynamics.
The final wing is like walking back in time. Antiques that should be preserved behind glass are just sitting out. I’m afraid to breathe too deeply lest I disturb anything. I peer into Elias’s bedroom—the place is cluttered with a smattering of books on every surface and even more antiques.
I back away and head toward one last room that seems to take up most of the space. When I open the door, I stand frozen and gape in wonder at the hidden oasis.
A giant library soars three stories high. The bookcases are done in a dark wood, the rest of the room decorated in brown and gold. It’s like a treasure trove, and I step into the room in a daze, running my fingers over the spines, savoring the musty paper smell. Tears prick my eyes as I only now realize how much I missed the luxury of simply being able to read.
The few books I managed to smuggle into my cell over the years have long since fallen apart. Having so much information at my fingertips feels surreal. My beast practically salivates at the treasures before us, and I give in to the impulse and start raiding the shelves.
I only meant to choose two or three books that I could pirate back to my room, but once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I jerk and almost jump out of my skin at the sharp question, the book tumbling from my grip and hitting the ground with a resounding thud.
I whirl and glare up at Elias, quickly stooping to pick up the abused book, running my hands over the bindings to make sure it wasn’t hurt. “What the hell?! Look what you made me do!”
Only when I’m satisfied that the pages aren’t folded or crumpled and the bindings remain intact, do I carefully set the book on top of my small hoard. I turn to face him, cross my arms, and park myself in front of my small stash. I lift my chin, silently daring him to try and take them from me.
