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“Close your jacket and get out,” Markus says.
A frosty gush of air bites my cheeks as he leaves the car, so I quickly tug my hood up and close the zipper before jumping out too.
The snow crunches under my feet, and my new reality hits me hard as I see Markus retrieve my suitcase from the trunk.
God, I’m staying here at this desolate house, and I have no idea for how long.
With a hand on my back, he leads me up the porch and into a small hall without knocking. My nerves ramp up further as I expect Grigory to appear any moment. The two inner doors are shut, though, and they remain so as Markus takes off his coat and jacket and helps me do the same.
Meanwhile, my eyes dart around the small space. Unlike the frosty forest and the eerie atmosphere outside, the small hall is warm and homey with bare wooden surfaces and gentle light. A deep red rug covers most of the floor, lending a welcoming feeling to the space, and a wooden chest of drawers with intricate carvings provides a bit of ornamentation.
But what has my eyes lingering the longest is the black woolen coat I’ve seen Grigory wear all winter.
He’s here. Grigory is really here.
A jolt of nervous excitement clashes with the anxiety twisting in my belly, and nausea rises in my throat as I feel the coming confrontation draw close.
“Go use the bathroom.” Markus pushes one of the doors open to reveal a bathroom. “Take a couple of minutes to calm your nerves. There’s no hurry. Wait in the hall when you’re ready, and I’ll come get you.”
I give him an acquiescent nod and slip into the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief as Markus shuts the door behind him.
I take in the space as I push down my pants and sink onto the toilet. Judging from the outside of the house and its location, I’d guess the bathroom would be cold and cramped, maybe even chemical. But this bathroom is as luxurious as in a five-star hotel. Heat seeps into my feet through the beige tile floor, and the space is large enough to fit both a shower stall, a large tub, and a long counter with an equally long mirror lit with bright spotlights.
I flush the toilet and step up to the long row of mirrors. The image that meets me as I start washing my hands is not a pretty one. I look pale and weary. A nervous wreck with nothing to hide behind. No makeup, pretty clothes, or smart hairdo. Markus told me to put on warm clothes—jeans and a sweater—and leave my face bare, hair down. I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, and now I curse him inwardly.
Turning my back to the disheartening reflection, I let my eyes glide over the space anew.
The fluffy bath mat looks terribly inviting down there on the warm floor.
Markus told me to take some time, so maybe I should lie down for a minute to settle my nerves.
On unsteady legs, I sink onto the mat and curl up. Everything inside me quivers, and the warm floor is a welcome relief. I stay there, trying to calm my breathing, for several minutes, and when I return to the small hall, I do feel a bit more settled.
— CHAPTER 38 —
MARKUS
I’ve been in Grigory’s house once before, and I also remember him talking about the plans for the remodeling when he bought it, so I know what to expect as I step into the living room. But even so, the effect of the place is no less stunning than the first time.
The house looks modest from the outside. And it is. Besides this huge room, it holds a small hall, a bathroom, an adjacent kitchen, and a cozy bedroom upstairs. This room alone takes up almost three-fourths of the house, though, and looks like something that belongs in a grand ten-bedroom house. Before he bought the place, this space held three rooms—two downstairs and one upstairs. But Grigory had walls and floor removed to make one grand room with a vaulted ceiling. And grand it is.
Tall bookcases line the wall in front of me, broken up in two places to make room for a fireplace and a TV. To my left, a grand piano with an open lid dominates the space, and to my right, a long L-shaped leather couch stretches along the wall beneath the windows. I have no idea why Grigory would want such a huge couch. He never has guests out here and I don’t think he ever uses it himself. He prefers the leather chair, which he’s sitting in right now.
“Why the huge couch?” I ask, needing a small reprieve from all my dreary thoughts before launching into the subject of why we’re here.
Grigory doesn’t bat an eye at my strange question. He simply shrugs. “I needed something to fill out the space. A couch made the most sense.”
“You could have just kept the rooms as they were and you wouldn’t have had the space to fill out.”
“Then I wouldn’t have this open room—or the space to use this.” He lifts something from his lap. Coiled leather. His single tail.
I’m not surprised. Really, it’s what I expected. Yet, my stomach twists at the sight. “Are you gonna use it on her?” I ask with a grave expression.
“I am,” he confirms and lifts a tumbler from a side table to take a sip of what is surely expensive scotch.
“I don’t think she’ll be able to handle much pain right now. She’s pale as a sheet—could barely hold down the food I made her eat.”
“She’ll take it,” Grigory says like there’s no doubt about it. When I watch the whip with skepticism, he adds in a reassuring tone, “I’ll make sure of it.”
