Chapter 8 Astra
EIGHT
Astra
It’s strange, but I feel suddenly better. The ache is gone from my bones, and I no longer feel tired.
How is it possible?
I’ve been wondering this over the last twenty or so minutes while I’ve been sitting in this room in a house he brought me to.
I take in my surroundings for the third time.
The room isn’t very big. It’s like a small lounge area with two couches and a few plush chairs.
A clean black glass ashtray sits in the middle of the coffee table in front of me.
That’s the only decoration on the dark wood table, and honestly, it’s not enough to keep my attention.
Paintings dot the forest green walls, but I don’t really care to study them.
There’s a small bar set up in the corner.
It’s very sleek-looking with its pristinely polished dark wood.
It has an air of a piece that’s been around for centuries, and is well taken care of.
Before moving in with my father, having a room such as this would have seemed foreign to me. Something only seen on TV or in movies.
The room isn’t enough to distract me from the sudden change in how I’m feeling.
What if it was a little bug I picked up, and it turned out not to be that bad? Or is there something else going on here?
I’m not sure, but the way I seemed to have gone from nearly dying to slightly exhausted in a blink is really bothering me. It doesn’t feel… natural.
“How long am I going to be here?” I ask the guy watching me in the corner.
I don’t know his name, and I don’t think I care to.
I’m just glad Sandra had been able to get away from him.
I wonder if she’s going back to my father to tell him what happened.
I also wonder if he’ll do anything about it if she does.
Maybe he’ll just leave me here to deal with the consequences of messing up.
It’s all I can do to resist the urge to reach into my pocket to feel the vial I have tucked away there.
I didn’t just mess up, I messed up. I slept with the person I was supposed to poison… to kill. I still can’t believe I agreed to do such a thing. I hadn’t valued his life at all. I’d been so stuck on the thing my father had promised me that I didn’t stop to think about what I’d actually be doing.
Truth is, I’m still stuck on it, and why I was so quick to let the opportunity slip through my grasp like sand.
“However long it takes,” he replies with a shrug that says how little he cares about my comfort.
“Is he going to kill me?” I boldly ask.
The man smirks at me, but no answer leaves his lips.
The door opens. I hate the way my breath catches when he walks in. The man should not be that deadly and beautiful at the same time. I scold myself for the lustful thoughts attempting to overtake my brain.
Mr. Falco pauses at the threshold and stares at me.
Just stares. Then he runs a hand through his hair, and I hate myself for remembering how it fell in his eyes that night when he hovered over me.
My fingers twitch now as they did then, desperate to reach out and touch it.
To push it back behind his ear. To feel how soft it is.
But there’s no point in having such thoughts.
And if the way he’s looking at me now with those dark eyes is any indication, I don’t think he’s remembering our night together the same way I am.
He moves to stand behind the chair opposite me.
My eyes drop to where his hand is fisting the top of the chair.
His knuckles are bloodless white. I nearly laugh because the man only appears to be calm and cool.
I wish I knew what was going on in his head.
What is it about being around me that makes him like this? Should I be scared?
Yes, I think I definitely should be scared. This man could kill me. He’s probably going to kill me. I’ve seen too much, and he doesn’t have the first clue about me. He doesn’t know if I’m good at keeping things to myself or if I’m going to run to the cops the moment he releases me.
He doesn’t know I trust the police in this city as much as I trust my father.
Which is to say none. So, no, I won’t be going to the cops.
Besides, the guy I saw him with in the alley might have made a fuss like a dying cat, but I don’t think he was actually dying.
You can’t bleed out from getting your ear sliced off, can you?
I choose not to think about what more might have happened if I hadn’t stumbled down the alley.
I grimace as I remember it. Truth is, it had been awful to witness. If I could just forget the whole thing, I’d be happy to.
“Who are you?” he asks. His voice is low and deadly. It causes a shiver to run down my spine, and I’m very proud of myself for not dropping my gaze from his.
“Astra Wallen. And you are?”
The guy by the door snorts but tries to cover it up with a cough.
Mr. Falco looks at me, shock flickers over his face long enough for me to read it. I’m really trying to get his first name and not let him know how much I do know about him. Though, if I’m being honest, it’s next to nothing.
“Donovan Falco,” he says, and now he sounds annoyed.
Donovan. Yeah, that fits.
“Why are you smiling?” Donovan asks suddenly, a small growl in his tone, like I’ve frustrated him. “Is this a game to you? Who sent you? Why are you stalking me?”
I blink at him, sure he’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind. Me? Stalking him?
Well, I’m sure my father would love that.
“Excuse me?!” I jump to my feet. He might be deadly, but I refuse to sit there and let him treat me like I’m some kind of crazy woman. “No, I’m not stalking you. Why would I? I don’t even know who you are!”
His skeptical gaze slides to the guy by the door. The guy there shrugs. Then Mr. Falco—Donovan, though it feels strange to be on a first-name basis with him—turns his attention back to me.
“Who are you, Astra Wallen?” His eyes flash with something when he says my name. I get a rocking feeling in my gut and nearly plop back down on the couch.
“I’m Greely Aubert’s daughter.” I have no idea why I tell him that. I bite my lip before I can say more. Like… say… how I’m supposed to kill him.
Those dark eyes narrow at me.
“As far as I’m aware, he only has two children, and neither of them looks like you.” His gaze rakes over me. I’m not sure if the shiver threatening to overtake my body is from lust or repulsion.
“Right, he has two boys with his wife,” I say, looking down. “But my mother wasn’t his wife.”
He grunts, which helps me none. Even as I look back at his face, there’s nothing there to tell me what’s going on in his head.
“Strange, I haven’t seen you before the masquerade,” he finally says.
I’m regretting the choice I made to wear this cute sweater.
The neck became stretched out when he manhandled me, leaving me feeling a little more exposed than I want to be.
On top of that, it feels like it’s keeping my body heat trapped, which doesn’t help when I’m feeling a spike of warmth suddenly.
With angry hands, I shove the sleeves up to my elbows, hoping it will cool me down a bit.
“Well, I haven’t been here.” I throw my arms up and roll my eyes. That’s all I’m giving him. He doesn’t need my life story, and he doesn’t deserve it with the way he’s treating me. I cross my arms over my chest, ready to deny him anything else he might want to know.
His steps are predatory as he stalks closer to me. I have the urge to back up, but the couch is behind me, which means that I’m stuck.
“What is this?” he growls. Like, truly growls. It’s hot and terrifying. I’m frozen as he snatches my arm and yanks it out, forcing me to uncross them. He turns it over until the freaky lines are exposed. He’s looking at them strangely. “How did you get this?”
“Donovan—” There’s a nervous warning in the other man’s tone.
“Fuck off, Torrin,” Donovan barks, cutting him off.
The other guy—Torrin—is comes over. Now he’s studying my arm too, but without touching me. His brows pinch together.
“Why the fuck did you curse me?” Donovan growls.
What? Curse? He can’t be serious?!
“I didn’t curse you,” I snap, but there’s something odd prickling my skin.
Donovan slips his suit jacket off, letting it fall to the floor without a care. His eyes are locked on mine as he unbuttons the cuff of his light gray shirt. It’s only when he starts rolling up his sleeve that I break contact to look down.
There’s a prickle overtaking my body, causing goosebumps to break out all over when I see the same lines running under his skin that happen to match mine.
“Well, shit,” the other guy says, but I can’t take my eyes off of the near-identical tattoos on his skin.
Donovan begins to work the buttons on his shirt.
My breath catches, even though it feels so inappropriate.
I’m watching his flawless skin become revealed to me inch by inch.
I’m too busy looking at the sculpted muscles of his chest to realize the purpose of his undressing is because he’s trying to show me something.
It isn’t until he reaches up and hooks a finger in the neck of my sweater and pulls it down that I snap out of it.
I wrench back, stumble, and go down onto the couch.
But he doesn’t give up. He pulls my sweater down again.
But then I become frozen as his shirt shifts and I see that there are more lines over his chest. More specifically, the left side of his chest. Right over his heart.
It looks like a symbol of some kind, but I’m not sure what it means. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like it.
“This is interesting,” Torrin says. I kind of forgot about him for a second there. “I think I need to call Fabien.”
My heart is racing. I don’t know who he’s talking about, but I’m certain I don’t want anyone else involved in whatever this is. But it’s not like I have any choice in the matter. I’m a freaking mouse in a room full of lions.
I flinch when the door clicks closed.