14. 14 - Zella
Awareness slowly crawls into my consciousness.
I feel full of cotton wool and candy floss, like the sweet fluff Ethan brought me once, before he took it away in case I rotted my teeth.
That’s what’s inside my head.
Drowsily, I roll my face from side to side, attempting to shake it off. Maybe I’m getting sick. It doesn’t happen often, but the last time, I thought I was on fire.
I don’t feel that way now though. In fact, I almost feel cold. The cool brush of air against my skin makes me shiver.
I pause. I shouldn’t feel air.
And the bed – it’s too hard. Solid and cool against my back.
I force my eyes open, blinking lazily before my sight sharpens into terrifyingly clear focus.
Because this isn’t my bedroom.
Clarity returns like a slap to the face. In a rush, I remember. My windows. The chain, cold metal against my ankle. And… the break in.
Ryder and Enzo.
I swallow, but there’s a desert in my throat, and I cough.
A hand slides around the back of my neck, lifting me up as the kiss of cool water touches my lips and I drink it down desperately before it’s taken away too soon.
“More,” I rasp. Blearily, I turn my aching head and flinch.
Enzo leans over me, his mouth the barest inch away from my face. Those black eyes bore into me as a shocked sound erupts from my still-dry throat.
Trying to calm my racing heart, I nod at him. “Hello.”
When he doesn’t respond, I tilt my head to look around. Disappointment hits me hard in the chest at the steel walls, the bright lighting above me making me squint and driving the lingering ache in my head. Wherever I am, there are no windows here either.
Oh, Zella. You might’ve messed up here.
“Too bright,” I choke. The lights dim instantly, and I let out a breath as I continue my assessment.
I’m lying on some sort of hard table. It feels cool against my fingertips, and I twitch them experimentally, surprised when they move without restriction. Fingers encircle my wrist, and I glance up at Enzo with a swallow.
This is his space. I can feel it in the way he watches me, intense but relaxed. Not like in the apartment, where every movement set him on edge.
Here, he feels comfortable. His presence fills the room, almost visible in its overwhelming feel.
And I… do not feel particularly comfortable.
“I thought you weren’t going to chop me up,” I mutter, and dark brows pull down into a frown. He stares like he’s waiting for something. “What?”
He blinks, something like confusion swirling in his gaze. “Aren’t you wondering where you are?”
I look around the room again. My heart starts to flutter when I spot the manacles under the wall, and his fingers tense on my wrist.
“What a fast pulse you suddenly have, little prey,” he whispers. “Are you scared?”
Surprisingly, I’m not. At least, nowhere near as much as I probably should be. Instead, I sigh, and my shoulders slump.
I so wanted to see the outside. Instead, it seems like I might have landed somewhere worse. But it’s not the white walls of the apartment, and even though my heart is thrumming like a little bird, it’s enough.
“You haven’t hurt me yet,” I say softly, and his grip on my wrist jerks as he drops it like it’s burnt him.
“I could hurt you,” he murmurs. “So easily.”
Closing my eyes, I try not to panic. Ryder must be here somewhere. He seemed a little more… normal. Less serial-killer, more charming rogue. “Why would you want to hurt me? I haven’t done anything to you.”
My breath catches as I open my eyes and find his face directly above mine. His breath brushes my lips. “Yet.”
When he backs away, I turn my head to watch him. “This feels a little like a stalemate.”
“It’s not.” I watch him select something from the various items on the table. My heartbeat stutters when he turns around and moves towards me.
How can someone so angelic look so demonic?
My imagination is clearly running away from me, but I can almost see the brush of white and black feathers against his shoulders, see the battle for light and dark and how it would play out under my hand as I draw him.
I would give anything to draw him.
My eyes skitter down his body. The black shirt he wears hides most of the art decorating his skin, but the sleeves are pushed up past his elbows, and I can see the intricate work, layer upon layer of shapes, words, art .
Not a single one has any color. The possibility makes my heart hurt.
“Can I color in your tattoos?” The words burst out of my chest, and he stops in surprise.
“Absolutely fucking not. Do I look like a damn coloring book to you?”
I nod honestly. “A little, yeah.”
My hands grip the sides of the metal table when he lifts his knee, pressing it between mine as he climbs up on top of me. His legs settle on either side of mine as he leans down, and I close my eyes against the sensation of another person being so close to me.
The air that escapes my lips is somewhere between a sigh and a shudder. When I open them again, he’s watching me, running something between his fingers.
“You’re not normal,” he says quietly. It doesn’t feel like an insult.
I tilt my head. “I spent twenty-three years locked in an apartment. What’s your excuse?”
We watch each other in silence, the atmosphere ratcheting up until the tension feels heavy on my tongue at our standoff.
And all the while, he plays with the tool in his hand. It looks heavy.
“Got any plans for that?” I ask him boldly, and he looks down almost as if he’d forgotten all about it.
“I can’t decide.” His face looks tortured in the dim lighting, his weight pressing me down into the table. “If I want to kill you.”
I hold my breath, watching him and letting it out when his eyes move to mine. “Is there another option?” I whisper.
Please let there be another option.
He raises the tool and I flinch, but he lays it down, so it presses flat against my chest. The long handle nestles between my breasts, and I suddenly become aware of my own body as the white material pulls tightly across them, pulled taut by the weight.
Swallowing, I whisper. “It’s heavy.”
My hands raise as if to move it, but Enzo grips them, pushing them over my head as he follows, his weight pressing down against my chest, my hips, his legs tangling with mine as the tool pushes into me.
He’s everywhere, wrapped around me, and I can’t stop the groan that falls from my lips as I tilt my head back. Maybe I shouldn’t feel like this, shouldn’t like the weight of him on top of me, but I do.
Maybe I’m broken.
But I want more.
He stares down into my face. The mask is flickering, confusion and something darker hiding behind it. “There is another option.”
His hands slide up to my neck, curling around it and pressing gently as he leans down, his mouth touching mine. I open for him, my lips trembling as they part. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything, doesn’t touch me like I suddenly, desperately want him to.
“You respond to touch like a flower to the light,” he murmurs against me. “Who are you?”
I swallow around the light grip on my neck. “Zella.”
But he shakes his head firmly. “No, you’re not.”
“I…,” My eyebrows draw together. “That’s my name.”
But he only smirks, his lip tilting upwards in a way that turns him from handsome to devastating. “Little prey suits you better.”
Before I can respond, his lips press against mine, warm and firm as his hands weave into my hair. My whimper is lost to him, and he growls against my mouth as he presses every inch of him against me like a brand.
Tears fill my eyes as he holds me for him, kissing and sucking my lips until I feel swollen and heavy, my eyes lazy as he lifts his face from mine.
“The options,” he says roughly, and I swear I can see a spark of light in his eyes, a single, solitary star against the soulless dark night.
But there’s a crash, and his weight disappears from on top of me as I cry out in shock.
Scrambling upright and fighting off the lingering dizziness, I stare down at where Enzo is sprawled across the floor. There’s a sound, and I realize he’s laughing up at the man who stands over him with fists clenched.
“The fuck are you doing, Enzo?” The man roars, and I flinch back at the unfamiliar shout.
Enzo is still laughing, but the man looks really angry, and I throw myself off the table, staggering slightly before I push in front of him. “Leave him alone!”
Enzo’s laugh cuts off abruptly behind me as I stare down the very large man.
I swallow as he stares right back at me, his own eyes widening.
God. Is everyone on the outside this attractive?
There’s a choked sound from the side of me, and Ryder laughs as he slides into view, wiggling his hand at me in a wave. “Not everyone, princess. We’re just lucky fuckers.”
He sounds amused, and the blood rushes to my face as I realize I said that out loud.
Crossing my arms, I frown at the handsome, tall man. “Stop shouting at him. He wasn’t doing anything.”
He just stares at me. Dark hair with the faintest thread of gray curls around a strong, olive face, light blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head, my eyes sliding to the tool that clattered to the floor when I jumped up. I quickly look back to him in case he spots it too. “Nope.”
Enzo sucks in a breath behind me, and Ryder lets out a breathless laugh. “See, Mav? All fine.”
Mav – who I’m guessing is the man staring at me like he’s never seen a girl before – turns to glare at him before his eyes return to mine. He scans my face with a frown.
“Have we met?” he says abruptly. Startled, I shake my head.
“Ah… no. That would be unlikely.”
“Maverick,” Ryder says slowly. “Did you miss the part about her being locked in an apartment for twenty years?”
Maverick frowns again. His arms are like trunks, and I gulp as he folds them, a disapproving look entering his eyes as he scans us before he sighs.
“Zella, I assume?”
I stare at the hand he holds out, before reaching out to grasp it and dropping down to the floor. He looks a bit confused as I bob back up, and I bite my lip. Maybe I did it wrong.
“Did… did you just curtsey?” Ryder asks in a slightly strangled tone. When I glance at him, his shoulders are shaking.
“Um.” Clearing my throat, I take a step back, and a hand curls around my ankle. Enzo stares up at me as I wave a hand. “Just ignore that I did that.”
Clearly, I shouldn’t rely on Jane Austen to provide accurate descriptions of current social behaviors.
But Maverick steps forward, and my lips part in surprise when he leans down into a flawless bow. My stomach does a little flip in excitement.
Even Darcy couldn’t have done that any better.
Maverick watches me closely as he straightens, and I give him a little wave before I tuck my hair back behind my ear. The braid around my waist is unraveling, and I can feel Enzo’s hands playing with it where he’s still sat on the floor.
“Anyway.” I smile at him. “Zella. That would be me.”
Enzo tugs on a loose piece of hair, and I try to discreetly step on his hand without Maverick seeing. He feels like the one in charge, and I casually try to straighten my dress as I give him my best smile. He looks a bit shell shocked.
Shaking it off, he offers me a nod before his eyes slide down to Enzo. “Get up. We need to talk about what we’re going to do with her.”
As he turns, I dart forward. “Wait! What do you mean?”
What does he mean, do with me? I’m not a vase. Or a chair.
Maverick’s eyes drop to where I’m clutching his arm, and I let it go with a gulp. “Sorry. Do you have touch issues too?”
Oh, dear. It looks like a little vein has popped up on his forehead. “No.”
“Oh. That’s good.” I give him another smile, and he takes a step back. “Thank you for having me. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
I get a side eye and a grunted sound before he turns away from me and heads up a flight of stairs in the corner.
“Enzo. Ryder.” His voice echoes behind him, deep and rumbling and just a little masterful. I try not to shiver. Maybe the Darcy bow got to me, just a little. “Dinner is in an hour.”
I think Ryder groans, but dinner sounds really good. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.
Bouncing on my feet, I clear my throat loudly in a very casual, I-know-you’re-not-about-to-have-a-yummy-meal-and-not-invite-me way, and a sigh sinks into the air.
“You too, Zella.”
“Looking forward to it!” I call cheerfully, and spin to where Ryder and Enzo are both staring at me.
“He seems nice,” I say happily. Now that the awkward introductions are out of the way and it seems that Enzo is probably not going to kill me, I feel much better.
Enzo’s hand is still wrapped around my ankle, and I yelp when he tugs it sharply. He drags me down until I’m sitting in his lap, my legs swung out to the side and his hand around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, holding me firmly in place.
“You have no sense of self-preservation,” he snaps in my face. “Why did you stand in front of me?”
“Hey.” Grumbling, I push his hand away. Or try to, at least. It’s like trying to move a boulder. “I didn’t know who he was, and he was shouting at you.”
Enzo leans in and makes a growling sound in his throat. “You do not put yourself in between a fight. Ever.”
My shoulders square mutinously. “But you didn’t do anything wrong! And there wasn’t a fight. I just… wanted to clear up any confusion.”
“Why?” he demands. “Why would you do that?”
I shrug, trying to look away, but he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me.”
He looks furious, his eyes black as night again. The little hint of stars I thought I saw has disappeared, swallowed by darkness.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” I admit in a whisper.
Although right now I’m starting to regret it. Enzo is giving me a funny look that’s making my stomach flip, and Ryder clears his throat.
“All right, then. So, that was Maverick, the last of our merry trio. I’m sure you’ll get to know us better at dinner, Zella.”
Wiggling, I nudge Enzo’s fingers away from my face and scramble to my feet, grimacing at my tangled nest of hair as I trip over it. I can’t go to dinner looking like this.
“Could someone show me where I’m sleeping?” I ask. “And did you bring my pillowcase?”