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“Blade-wielding guy with the blood eyes would have let me get a concussion than catch my deadweight ass, and Mr.Bully would have praised God himself for my early, unfortunate demise,” I summarize.
The musk scent mixed with hints of sage, cinnamon, and coffee beans assaults my nostrils.
“You like coffee?”
“Do you speak out of context randomly to distract yourself from feeling like you’re dying?” That’s something Warren would ask.
“Yes,” I admit. “Now, why do you act just like Warren because he’s the only one who can spin that narrative around to throw me under the bus for my negligence in the health department?”
“I didn’t throw you under the bus.”
“Not yet,” I voice. “You want to.”
“Your eyes are closed. How would you know what I want or don’t want?”
“Tone of voice. The slight uptick that strains between annoyed and flabbergasted with my behavior. Could also lace concern for my well-being, but that’s pushing it. No one gives a hoot about a stranger, but maybe today’s my lucky day.”
“It’s not,” he grumbles, but at least he hasn’t abandoned me yet. “You’ve been trained to use your other senses in the absence of sight?”
His curiosity intrigues me, but I play along.
“In a world where you can be privileged to see one day and blind the next thanks to a flying piece of shrapnel, it would be imperative for you to know how to survive with the lack of one or more senses.” I made it sound like we’re soldiers in an active war, but maybe we are.
The only difference is our war is hidden from daylight.
“Wear a blindfold and suck whatever is offered to you, and I’ll give you one more hour of rest.”
“Deal.”
“Did you even think before answering?” He can’t hide his surprise.I wonder what he looks like again.I’m struggling to put a face to him despite remembering he was on the stairs.
I hear him tsk before my body is lifted like a weightless doll. Placed rather softly onto the lavish bed, the squeak of the mattress, matched with the hot breath that tickles the side of my neck, leaves me in a state of realization.
This could be dangerous. In fact, remove the “could” and replace it with “is”.
Sitting within the territory of this ruthless bunch of royals. Alert but weak and closing my eyes like a dumb puppet, having its strings pulled to the tune of a complete stranger.
What makes me think he’ll tug the wrong string and slice my arm off?
Too messy. Men like to start with the fingers. Prolonged blood loss is good for information gathering…
“What game are you playing, Defiant Canary?”
“Defiant Canary?” That’s a very specific name to give a woman you know nothing about. “I thought I was being cooperative?”
“That’s the problem,” he mutters. I hear his hand movements, fiddling with something. It’s not like he’s touching me, so I can only assume he’s doing something else.
Preparing to unbuckle his pants and shove whatever he wishes into my mouth to shut me up like a good chosen maiden.
The only surviving female who could one day be their Queen…
“Is it because you’re in our sacred space, unaware of every escape route in this vast mansion, that makes you humble yourself? Or maybe it’s being unaware of where all the cameras are?” He’s speaking more to himself, yet every word makes me more nervous about what’s to come. “I never liked canaries.”
That’s not good.
“Wh-Why?” I don’t want to let my nerves leak into my voice, but it does with ease.
“Loud and passionate. Joyous and pretty to look at. Sing unique songs to attract their male counterpart, who will end up singing better than her. There’s a lot to not like, Verena.”
