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Her eyes widen when I insert the needle into the vial. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a tetanus shot,” I explain, “for the bites.”
She says nothing as I push the sleeve of the robe up and lock my fingers around her arm. She flinches when I insert the needle into her skin and empty the syringe, but she’s a brave girl. She doesn’t complain.
With my charge taken care of, I’m a lot happier, certainly less miserable than last night. The only thing left is for her to get some rest.
Stroking her soft hair that’s still damp after her shower, I say, “Close your eyes. Sleep. You must be tired.”
She doesn’t argue. Her long lashes flutter over her eyes, and her face muscles go slack as she eases down onto the mattress. With an unusually docile acceptance, she allows me to pet her hair.
Someday, she’ll long for me to touch her like this. There will come a day she won’t have to simply tolerate my touch.
When I’m done with her, she’s going to need it like a drug.
Chapter 9
Zoe
It’s dusk when I wake up. The room is basked in a soft, rose-gold glow. I feel a lot better than this morning. My belly is full, my aches are gone, I’m warm, and I’m fully rested. Then a ball of trepidation tightens my stomach, spoiling my good physical state.
In an hour, it will be dark. Sinful things happen in the dark. Prey is hunted and monsters thrive, but vows must be honored, no matter if dreams are destroyed.
I swing my legs over the bed and look around. Thankfully, I’m alone in the room. Not knowing how much I’ll be granted in the future, I make the most of the privacy by going to the bathroom to use the facilities, but when I open the door, I’m met with shimmering candlelight and the sensual smell of roses. The tub is filled with steaming water, rose petals drifting on top. Candles burn on the vanity, floor, and edge of the bath. Petals are scattered around them. The scene is so pretty I forget to be angry and even to be anxious for a moment, but then I remember who’s set it all up, and my shoulders snap tight with tension again.
I glance back at the room, expecting him to be standing there, gauging my reaction, but I’m still alone. The fragrance and the warm water are too enticing to waste. I lock the door and let the robe slip from my shoulders. Tying my hair in a bun on top of my head, I climb into the tub and lower myself into the water.
It’s heaven. The warmth seeps into my skin, melting the tightness in my muscles. A flute with bubbly, golden liquid stands within my hand’s reach on the windowsill. It’s a beautiful glass with intricate engraving. I bring it to my lips and take a sip. The champagne is dry and yeasty. I’ve had a couple of glasses in my lifetime, at year-end work parties on both occasions, and instantly loved the taste. It’s a luxury I could never afford on my grocery budget.
It takes a bit of playing with the settings before I figure out how to make the bubbles work. A stream of water massages my lower back and another my feet. I lay back—there’s even a bath pillow for my head—and admire the view of the canal and the bridge below. Lights are twinkling on the bridge, and the streetlamps illuminating the cobblestone street look antique, like something straight from a fairytale. Except, this isn’t a fairytale, and I shouldn’t forget it.
As reality wiggles back into my consciousness, wiping away the beauty of the moment, I down the champagne in one go. I no longer want to sip it for enjoyment. I only want to use it to dull my senses.
I do have a little buzz when I get out a long while later and dry myself. My thoughts run ahead to what will follow, but they’re interrupted by what I find when I walk back into the room. The bed has been freshly made with clean linen. A pink dress is arranged at the foot end. It’s the most beautiful creation I’ve seen. Unable to help myself, I step closer.
It’s a long, off-shoulder evening dress. The cut is simple. What makes it extraordinary is the diamante tulle. It’s shimmery, delicate, and so faintly pink the color is a mere blush. I love it. It’s completely me. The thought makes me go rigid. Of course, Maxime knows. He probably went through my books and sketches when he went back to see Bruce and wipe away the evidence of my existence.
Pink silk underwear and thigh-high stockings with a lace trimming are set out next to the dress. A velvet box catches my eyes. My curiosity piqued, I reach for the box and flip back the lid. A pair of solitaire diamonds sits on a black velvet cushion, their light brighter than sunrays or a rainbow. They’re enormous, at least a couple carats. I’ve never owned a diamond, but I know a lot about them from the clippings I collected of my dream ring, the one the man who loved me was going to offer me.
