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Maybe my Dracula theory had merit.
Or the bitch just liked the color that represented her soul.
One thing was for sure, this room was where they sacrificed the virgins on the full moon.
At least I could breathe easy on that front.
“Finally.” My grandmother’s voice filled the large expanse, echoing mildly off the low ceiling. She inclined her head at my pug-nosed handler. “Thank you, Narana. That will be all.” Narana bowed and let go of my elbow before she retreated from the room.
What a good little pet for master.
Sheila turned her attention to me. “Much better.” She raised an appraising, well-manicured eyebrow. “A good cleansing can do so much for a person.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I said, “Yes. I’ve always wanted to be washed and primped like a prize cow before auction. I may not be a virgin, but from the way your maid was scrubbing at my vagina, it’s probably shining like gold right now.”
A snarl painted my grandmother’s red lips. “Your attitude could use some work,” she groused primly, her head high, nose in the air. “So could your crass words. Picked up from those Russian barbarians, no doubt. Not to worry, dear. Those are things easily beaten from a woman.”
“Touch me, and you’ll find out in surprising detail what happens to people who don’t respect my boundaries.” I shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “Shall I grab one of the candlesticks and give it a go? Miss Scarlett in the dining room with the candlestick sounds like a good narrative for me.”
Ah, there was the reaction I wanted. The ice beneath the prim façade. Sheila’s brown eyes narrowed, her face darkening like thunderclouds. I could see the faint lines of her Botoxed forehead twitching, yearning to get free and wrinkle the smooth expanse.
“I’d watch your tongue if I were you,” she hissed. “You have no idea what I am capable of.”
I smirked. “Maybe it’s you who should watch yourself,grandmother.” Her eye twitched. She didn’t like that name. Not one bit. “You have no idea whatIam capable of. Remember that.”
Silence.
Then she chuckled darkly and, with a grand gesture, took her seat at the end of the table. “I have no doubt,” she admitted. “Now sit. I was told you haven’t been taking advantage of my hospitality and eating the food supplied to you.”
This woman was bipolar.
Or psycho.
Maybe both.
Yep. She was both. There was no way a normal person could easily switch their mood like that. Certifiable, this one. Looney as a tune.
“I’m not in the habit of eating food that’s been drugged,” I bit out, recalling the first few meals that had me feeling woozy and sick for several hours. Drugs and my body never melded well.
The bitch smirked.
“And I’m not in the habit of abiding by anything other than docility in my property.” The smile she gave me was all stepford and plastic. Or it was all Botox. Couldn’t be sure. No matter. If her intention was to warn me, it didn’t work. It did, however, creep me out.
“It’s cute you think I’m your property,” I sneered. “I didn’t realize a bag of bones could own property.”
Sheila’s smile fell flat.
“You’re a pathetic little bitch.” Her hands tightened on the arms of her chair hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “Just like your mother.”
I took a threatening step toward her, eyes hard and teeth bared. “Don’t talk about my mother, you fucking—”
“I see we’re all getting along then,” a deep rumbling voice interrupted. It was tinged with an Irish accent that melted seamlessly with his Boston drawl. “Sit down, Avaleigh. Stop being dramatic.”
The ease of familiarity with which he commanded me left me uneasy. We’d never met, but here he was, acting as if he had known me my entire life.
Scoffing, I did as he said, but only so I wouldn’t hit a bitch like a Whack-a-Mole at the county fair. Sheila smirked triumphantly, as if she’d won something. The only thing she won was me not shoving a fork into her carotid and watching her bleed out on her ridiculously priced rug.
“And you are?” My gaze followed the man as he made his way to his seat across the table from me on my grandmother’s right side.
