Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ariana
Something hummed beneath me. A low, constant vibration that echoed in my bones.
The air was cold, the scent clean and sharp.
It reminded me of luxury — expensive polish and jet fuel.
Like the smell of Victor’s private jet. But there was something clinical beneath it, too.
Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I struggled to open my eyes, but my lashes felt glued together, like they’d been dipped in syrup.
I fought to lift an arm, a leg, anything , but nothing responded.
My body lay slack, disconnected from my brain.
My mouth was cotton, thick and dry. My tongue felt like a foreign object pressed against the roof.
I managed a sound, something close to a whimper, but the answering silence told me I was alone.
That no one was coming to help me.
I somehow managed to flex my fingers, feeling something soft. It felt like a bed. Was it my bed? It didn’t smell like mine.
A sudden jolt sent my body jerking, reminding me of turbulence. Was I in an airplane?
How did I get here? And who was I with?
Heaviness tugged at me, dragging me back down into a molasses-thick sleep before I had a chance to figure it out.
The next time I surfaced, the air had changed. No longer sterile. It was damp and alive.
Pine. Earth. Sap. The comforting scent of nature.
The steady vibration beneath me had shifted. Now it was the rumble of tires on asphalt, rhythmic and grounding. The occasional bump jolted through my seat and into my bones. My cheek was pressed to something cold. A window, perhaps.
I tried to move again. My fingers twitched against smooth, textured leather.
With effort, I peeled my eyes open a sliver.
Just enough to catch the blur of trees outside, dark trunks streaking past in rapid succession.
A river churned to the right, frothing white as it crashed against rocks.
A gray-blue sky loomed above, heavy with clouds.
Snow-covered mountains stretched against the horizon. Or maybe just the shadow of them.
This wasn’t Miami.
Panic surged through me. I strained to lift my head, to orient myself, but it felt like I was swimming through wet cement. My head slumped forward, boneless, smacking softly against the glass with a muted thump.
I forced my eyes toward the driver’s seat. A silhouette behind the wheel. Still. Watchful. Familiar in a way I couldn’t place.
Then the world slipped sideways again, everything going black before I could make out a face.
When I woke the next time, everything was quieter. Still. Warm.
The scent struck me first — cedar wood and smoke. But also sweet and clean, like lavender and vanilla.
The bed beneath me was too soft. Too comforting. My fingers curled into something thick, like a plush comforter. But it didn’t have that impersonal sterility of a hotel. No. It felt lived in. Masculine. Raw.
Everything smelled like wilderness.
Not chemicals or bleach.
I tried to open my eyes again, more successful this time than I had been in the past.
But the world seemed to be moving, curling and stretching, like I was staring at one of those funhouse mirrors.
Still, I was able to make out what appeared to be wood beams stretched across the cathedral ceiling, the grain twisting and flowing like it was alive.
A silver light spilled in from a narrow opening in the curtains, dancing across the floor, soft and dreamlike.
I didn’t know where I was, but this wasn’t home.
I tried to search my memory for a hint, a clue as to where I could be, but my brain was foggy at best. The last thing I remembered was spending time in my garden.
The black bird.
A shadow cutting across the grass, like Hades coming up from the Underworld.
Then nothing.
A fresh wave of panic rushed over me, and my heart began to race. I pushed myself upright. At least I tried to. My muscles rebelled, my limbs moving too slowly, like the signals from my brain weren’t strong enough to reach their intended destination.
Then something shifted in the far corner.
A shadow.
Just like in my garden.
Tall. Still. Watching.
I froze, blinking, trying to bring my vision into focus. The world was still soft and warped, like I was underwater, the light curving and refracting strangely.
“Who’s there?” I croaked, my words barely audible.
Several silent moments passed, making me wonder if this was all just a dream, too.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
“Sleep.”
One word.
One syllable.
Yet there was something familiar about the deep timbre. I just couldn’t place how I knew it.
“What... What do you want from me?”
Another long silence passed before a quiet, dark chuckle echoed in the cavernous space.
“I don’t even know.”
His statement lodged somewhere deep in my chest. It wasn’t a threat.
Or a promise. Just the truth, unvarnished and raw.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone gave me the truth without asking for something in return.
Demanding something in return. It made me want to ask more.
But my tongue wouldn’t form the words fast enough.
I pushed myself up again, struggling against the weight in my limbs. I had to see him. Had to know who he was.
“Don’t,” he said, stepping forward.
The moonlight touched his features now, half-shadowed, but my eyes refused to focus.
“If you try to stand, you’ll fall. Just rest while the drugs work their way out of your system.”
“Drugs?” My voice was stronger this time. Accusing. Confused. “You drugged me?”
I staggered forward, dizzy with fury and fear. I needed answers. I needed control. I needed to fight.
But the floor was like trying to walk on water, everything tilted and uneven. Before I could stumble a few feet, my knees gave out, and the floor rushed up to meet me.
Then a pair of strong arms caught me. Steady. Unshakable.
Warmth radiated from him, burning through the fog in my mind. His scent hit me again — cedar, soap, with something darker underneath.
He eased me back onto the bed like I was made of porcelain.
I should’ve fought him. I wanted to. But my body was too weak. Too tired. Too slow.
He pulled the duvet over me with surprising care, pushing my hair behind my ear. The gesture was too comforting. Too gentle. It didn’t make sense.
“Just sleep.”
And I did.