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“How?”
Movement from the corner of my eye reveals that he’s circling around to my end. His breath strikes the nape of my neck as my wheelchair jolts forward. Moments later, we’re back in the room with my designated sick bed.
I eye the sheets as Mischa brings me up to the mattress. He pulls them down and a familiar scent irritates my nostrils. Lavender. When he starts to slide his hand beneath my waist, I stop him, gripping his forearm.
“I’m not tired,” I croak. It’s a more dignified way of saying what I can’t out loud:Don’t make me stay here again.
“Suit yourself.” He releases the wheelchair and heads for the door. “Have your run of the house, Little Rose.Walkthe grounds to your heart’s content. I have nothing to hide.”
The boast would sound more convincing if it weren’t for the harshness in his voice.
A man like himlivesto hide and obfuscate.
After all, what is a monster without his secrets?
