Chapter 52
Vera
Renton seems to be confident enough in the death of Ikar that he’s not worried about a rescue attempt, and leaves only one guard at my door now.
Unfortunately, I believe the same. I still battle emotional swings, ranging from sorrow that Ikar is likely dead to heady determination to make my way out of here.
I focus on escaping so that I don’t cry.
Or scream. It doesn’t help that I dreamed of Ikar again last night, and this time instead of tender hugs and letting me listen to his heartbeat, he spent the entire time attempting to convince me that he was coming to get me, using our glowing mate bond to prove it was all real.
It was the worst sort of nightmare—the type that waved all my broken dreams in front of my face like a feast placed just out of reach before a starving beggar.
Painful enough that when Tatania shook me from sleep and told me to wait for a signal, I was relieved to be awake.
Before I could ask what type of signal, she was whisked away by a guard and hasn’t returned.
I’m left by myself for one hour after the next, waiting for a signal I hope I’ll recognize.
I end up sitting against the wall on my bed, wrapped in furs to keep warm while Rupi pecks birdseed gently from my palm.
I ruminate about the dreams of Ikar. I’m dangerously drawn to thoughts I shouldn’t even consider.
Could he have survived? I go round and round, trying to pick out any further details I may have forgotten or missed, but all that sticks out is how pale his face was, how much blood poured from him, how slow his pulse was beneath my fingertips.
Is it possible I healed him enough before I blacked out?
Maybe, but likely not. Tatania certainly doesn’t think so.
If I did, if he lives, wouldn’t he have come for me by now?
Immediately I scoff, and the fur near my face blows out and back with my breath, tickling my skin.
He wouldn’t come for me. I cringe at the way I ran from him, the hurt I caused, the mountain of trouble I’ve dragged him through these last weeks.
I jump up from the bed with the furs wrapped around my shoulders, pacing.
I force the thoughts away and, instead, attempt to prepare myself for what’s to come.
What will the signal be? Will I recognize it?
What will I have to do to get away? The thoughts have me sweating, but they distract me from the dreams. I can’t go back to those.
After a morning filled with anxious pacing and my focus solely on escape, I’m in no mood for Renton when he shoulders through the door around noon with a single tray of food.
I stand, unmoving, while he throws out a large bear fur on the gloamy floor as if he’s preparing for a lengthy, too-intimate lunch before the crackling fire.
He wastes no time sprawling out as if he hasn’t a care in the world, lying on his side and supporting himself with one strong arm, the strength of which strains the fabric of his shirt until I fear it may tear.
He pats the fur. “Join me.”
It’s a command. I almost refuse, but then the reminder that Tatania and I will attempt to escape this very day urges me to maintain the facade of peace. Play the game to get what you want.
I pull my furs tighter and lower myself to the floor, opposite where he lays, sitting on my knees.
I refuse to make it the romantic meal I can tell he intends, so I snatch food in bits and pieces like a greedy squirrel.
He merely grins and watches me as he chews casually, in no hurry to finish.
He eyes the last berry on the tray before he lifts it with two fingers, and I find it waiting before my lips.
My eyes meet his as I press my lips shut. Not happening.
“It’s apparent you love berries, so either you’re full… or you refuse to take it because it’s from me.” Chill gloam slithers around my neck. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”
I’m swinging between confusion and defiance. How dare he ask it so innocently while I have gloam around my throat. It tightens when I refuse to respond. The berry waits tantalizingly against my lips. Will I truly choose to die over a berry? It’s getting difficult to breathe now.
I finally open my mouth, and as soon as the berry hits my tongue, I snap my teeth shut, hoping to get his finger.
But he’s fast. Faster than should be possible.
He chuckles as his eyes sparkle with what I must be mistaking for adoration.
The man is as twisty as the gloam tendrils that linger about him.
The gloam noose evaporates, but I refuse to pull my clothing up to warm the skin of my neck and show him how much it affected me.
Renton doesn’t try to feed me again, but he stays a torturously long time chatting about annoyingly normal things while I sit silent and nervous that Tatania will unexpectedly bust in the door with her escape plan and it will go up in flames because he’s still here.
I’m relieved when he finally pulls the door shut behind him, but I’m more eager than ever to escape.
I have no choice but to wait, antsy and pacing my room to manage my nerves for several more hours. Where are you, Tatania?