Page 62 of Locked in Wonderland

Not yet, anyway.

“Did you expect me to rejoice at what you told me?” I demanded. “Did you think playing cat and mouse with me would somehow make me feel special?”

“I thought you were intelligent enough to realize how much worse things could have been.”

“How?”

“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.” His expression hardened. “Everyone in Wonderland has their kinks. It’s one reason they like it here, where anything goes. My kinks are milder than most.”

I tipped my head back to hold his gaze, refusing to let him see that being pinned against the wall bothered me. “I’m assuming this is one of them?”

“If you’re asking whether I enjoy being the one in charge, then yes.”

“What else?”

“Mirrors.”

“Well, duh.”

“Handcuffs. Blindfolds.”

“Hunting your prey in the dark,” I suggested.

His lips twitched. “Guilty.”

“Did you drug me?”

“No.”

I searched his face for signs of deception. Either he was an exceptional liar, or he was telling the truth. Seeing my scrutiny—and presumably working out the reason for it—he sighed. “How would I do that? Did I force the tea down your throat?”

“No.” It sounded stupid when he put it like that. He released my neck, though the look he gave me suggested he’d grab it again if I tried to walk away. I stayed where I was, rubbing at the lingering soreness beneath my jaw.

“I did the best I could,” he said. “That’s what the tattoo was about.”

I frowned. “The tattoo?”

“I marked you as mine. It was supposed to be a hands-off message.” His expression darkened. “But I’ll be having words with Percy and Lola the next time I see them.”

“What did they do?”

“They were supposed to put the tattoo on your neck, where people could see it easily, not hide it away. And they weren’t supposed to dress you the way they did or change your eye color.”

“Were they supposed to give me an enema?”

“Yes.”

He’d dumped an astonishing amount of information on me in a brief space of time, my head spinning. Determined not to dwell on the enema, I latched onto the tattoo instead. “Someone told me it was supposed to be a flamingo.”

“I assume by someone you mean Dodo?”

I nodded.

“He shouldn’t have been telling you anything.” Nico let out a short laugh, though there was very little humor in it. “Then again, neither should I. And yes, it was supposed to be a flamingo.”

“So why a crow?”

Nico’s frown suggested that was a spectacularly stupid question. “What’s my surname?”