Chapter Six – Evelynn
CHAPTER SIX
EVELYNN
The feeling of satin sheets covering my body has me sighing as I snuggle further into the soft, comfortable bed.
Satin. Soft bed?!
The reality hits me like a thunderbolt. I jolt awake, my eyes springing open, my entire body going rigid as I look around, blinking.
A dark, stone-walled room with red and black furnishings.
“Relax, you are safe,” a deep voice says.
I slowly sit up and turn my gaze in the direction of the voice. A man sits in the big armchair opposite me, with strands of wavy dark brown hair hanging over his ice-white eyes.
“Where…?” I pause, swallowing, my throat burning dry. “Who are you?” I rasp.
The corner of his mouth tips up in a cocky smirk. “Marko. You don’t remember me? I’m wounded,” he pouts playfully.
“I, er…” I pause, looking down at the blade that rests beside him, then back to his eyes. “The window,” I whisper.
He nods, gesturing a mocking bow with his hand. “The one and only.”
I clasp my hand around my throat, swallowing, desperate for moisture.
“Beside you, on the nightstand,” he nods.
I turn and see a full jug of water and a glass. I reach for it, my hand shaking as I lift the jug.
“Here, allow me,” Marko’s voice says, suddenly beside my ear.
I gasp and jump, looking to see him right beside me. I look back over to the chair.
“How in the hell?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
He hands me the glass, and I take it with both hands.
“Easy, you’re still a little weak,” he says, completely bypassing my question. “Take slow sips.”
I sip the water, my eyes on his as he watches me drink intently, his gaze focused on my throat. He grits his jaw and looks away briefly, as if fighting something internally.
“Why am I here?” I ask.
He turns his attention back to me. “Because he wanted you in here,” he says with a smile.
“Who?”
The door is suddenly swung open, slamming so hard into the wall that I swear I hear it crack. Then he enters, shirtless. His body is covered in tattoos and markings I can’t understand.
Marko instantly stands as he looks upon us, fury flickering in his eyes.
“Me,” he growls.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as fear prickles across my skin. His gaze drops over me. I look down and realise I’m in a state of undress. The black sheet pools at my waist, exposing my chest.
I quickly place the glass down and snatch the sheet up to my neck, clinging to it like a lifeline.
“Takeout is in Court,” he says dismissively to Marko.
Marko nods and gives a slight bow of his head as he makes his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.
My gaze flickers back to him. I watch as he walks into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing around the room, steam rising from the doorway.
I sit there, unsure what to do. I’m in his bed. Should I leave? Maybe I should go back to my room.
I slowly and quietly pull the sheet back and slide out of bed. My legs wobble like a newborn foal. I reach a hand out, steadying myself on the bed, keeping my eyes on the door. This could be my chance. While he’s distracted, maybe, just maybe, I can creep my way out and make a run for it.
Moving slowly and steadily, I make my way around the bed, always looking back over my shoulder at the bathroom door, while also searching for a discarded shirt, something, anything to wear, so I don’t freeze my ass off out there.
The floor is clear. The room is immaculate.
Pfft, must be the only guy on the planet that has a room this tidy. Not that I have many, if any, to compare against.
In the corner by the door, an embroidered black jacket hangs on a mannequin. I trace my fingers over the black, gothic-style stitching. Nibbling on my lower lip, I remove the jacket, checking over my shoulder again.
I slide the jacket on. It barely covers my behind, but it’s better than nothing.
Exhaling a slow, shuddery breath, I turn the handle, wincing as it creaks lightly. Glancing behind me one last time, I open the door a crack, my heart thundering in my chest.
“Going somewhere?” his deep voice vibrates behind me.
I freeze, jumping when his hand reaches above me, pushing the door firmly shut.
I turn around, panic rising. What now? More torture? Death?
The palm of his hand remains pressed against the door above my head, his entire body blocking me in, caging me. His dark hair drips wet as he glares down at me with furious amber eyes.
All I can do is look back at him with regret and pleading desperation.
His eyes travel down, his jaw tenses.
I fumble in a hurried mess to get the jacket off. “Sorry, I… I would have returned it,” I lie.
Of course I wouldn’t have returned it. I’d have thrown it in the trash.
Or sold it. It’s far too beautiful to throw away.
As I shimmy out of it, I realise he’s standing there in nothing but a towel. So consumed by his furious gaze, I hadn’t noticed he was dripping wet before me; semi-naked and dripping.
My gaze roams over his torso, the marks and patterns in black covering most of his body, continuing down along the deep V below his waistline, disappearing under the towel.
Wowzers. The man is the epitome of evil beauty.
Everything about him draws you in; every part of him is desirable. But beneath that—beneath the muscled body, the sharp jawline, and lips that look like they could transport you to worlds unknown—is he evil?
He isn’t the devil. No. He’s the demon luring you in, a siren for the underworld. I can feel it. He isn’t the boy your parents warned you to stay away from. He’s the one they crossed the street to avoid, the one that would have them locking their doors and drawing their curtains at night.
He is the shadow, the nightmares that haunt your dreams. The monster under your bed.
Maybe it’s being this close to him, trapped by him, that lets me see it, feel it. Or maybe it’s the drugs they pumped me with that’s making me feel this way.
“It’s the drugs,” I blurt out, the thought escaping my mind. I quickly clamp my mouth shut.
My eyes meet his.
“The drugs made you steal my jacket and try to escape?” he asks, his face inscrutable.
I give a slow, small nod in agreement, still anxiously nibbling on my bottom lip. I taste blood.
He takes in a slow, calculated breath, closing his eyes. He steps back, his body rigid.
“Back to bed,” he orders, looking away, like he needs to look anywhere but at me.
It’s then that I remember that I’m standing in just my underwear, no bra. Of course, he’ll look away. I suppose that should be some relief, that he isn’t about to rape me or anything.
I quickly and haphazardly shrug the jacket back over the mannequin before rushing back to the bed, where I all but jump in, pulling the satin sheets up to my neck.
Sitting there, rigid and unmoving, I watch him, waiting to see what he’ll do next.
He turns, not looking my way, and returns to the bathroom, pushing the door to.
I visibly deflate, my muscles relaxing as I sag back, leaning against the headboard.
What am I supposed to do now? Sleep? What if he wants me moved? He could decide to lock me away, back in that room with the chair.
Why is he so calm? I’ve just been caught trying to escape, and he’s just wandered back into the bathroom like it’s nothing.
The anticipation, the gnawing worry of the unknown, consumes my every thought. I’ve come to the conclusion that this is just part of the torture; letting me worry, letting me try to guess what they have planned for me.
The thoughts would eventually drive me insane, and the paranoia would eventually consume me.
So lost in thought, I don’t see him exit the bathroom until he is climbing into the bed beside me.
I blanch and lean away, looking at him in surprise.
He lies on his back, stretching out, hooking his hands behind his head, his bare chest on display as the sheet pools lower down his body.
Is he naked?
He lets out a slow sigh and closes his eyes. Meanwhile, I’m now sitting bolt upright, staring down at him, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Go to sleep,” he orders.
I blink at him, my mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish. “I, er, I…” I stutter.
His eyes open, and the piercing amber of his gaze immediately swallows me.
“You do not want to see me when I’m tired. Go to sleep and let me slumber,” he orders.
“Slumber?” I query.
“Yes. Sleep,” he states firmly.
“Isn’t it morning?” I ask, looking toward the windows, then realising there are none.
“I’ve been working all night. Now I need sleep. You need rest. Lay the fuck down and go to sleep,” he growls with irritation.
At that tone, I lie down on my back, clutching the sheet tightly to my chest, staring up at the pitch-black ceiling. My heart beats rapidly in my chest. I’m lying in bed with my captor. Fear of what might happen swirls through my thoughts.
He lets out an exasperated growl. “What will it take to calm you down?”
Turning my head, I shift my gaze to him. “Huh?”
He rolls his eyes in annoyance before turning and getting out of bed.
I look and catch him completely naked. “Oh god!” I screech, pulling the sheet up to cover my eyes.
“Drink this,” his deep voice radiates right beside me, making me jump.
I pull the sheet down and find him standing directly beside my bedside, my eyes landing on his very large dick.
“Holy fucking penis!” I gasp, yanking the cover back over my eyes.
“Yes, it is my penis. Have you not seen one before?” he asks casually, like he’s asking if I’ve seen the latest movie.
“Well, duh,” I mumble, lying, still hiding beneath the satin sheet.
“Your heart rate has quickened and become more erratic, which would suggest you have not.”
I yank the sheet down. “I have seen a penis. I just don’t normally have them shoved in my face at eye level,” I huff, glaring at him and his penis before pulling the sheet back over my head.
With one swift tug, the sheet is yanked clean from me.
I gasp. “What are you doing?!” I screech, curling in on myself to try and protect my modesty.
He stands there with the sheet now covering his dick, still holding out a metal cup of something.
“You didn’t like my penis being on display. I covered it. Now drink this,” he demands, pushing the cup closer to me.
I sit up, one hand trying to cover myself.
“And now I’m half naked,” I argue.
His eyes slowly travel over my body. “I can see that. Drink this,” he adds, giving the metal mug a little shake.
I take it from him and sniff, immediately recoiling from the hideous smell.
“What is this?” I ask, holding back the urge to retch.
“An elixir to help you sleep.”
I sniff it again. “Why would I drink anything you give me when you strapped me to a chair and drugged me?” I press.
“Because you are here. In my room. In my bed. And while you’re here, you are mine and will obey my requests,” he says in a foreboding tone.
I swallow, catching the hint of threat from him; a slight glimpse of the monster that lies dormant within him surfacing.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I press the cold metal cup to my bottom lip and open my mouth, knocking it back in one big gulp. I shudder at the horrific taste.
“Tastes like feet,” I grimace, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth as I fight the urge to regurgitate it immediately.
He takes the cup from my hand and places it down before he removes the sheet from around his waist and, with a swift flick of his wrist, has it delicately draped over me.
A yawn escapes me, and my lids start to feel heavy.
“It’s already working,” I mumble around another yawn.
I feel the bed dip to the side as he lies back down. Unable to keep my body up, I lie down beside him, feeling my body relax and melt into the mattress.
I curl up on my side facing him, my hand under the pillow. I stare at him, blinking slowly as I try to fight it a little bit longer.
“Don’t hurt me,” I mutter, a final plea.
He turns his attention to me as it becomes harder and harder to keep my eyes open.
“Never,” he answers, as my eyes flutter closed.