Chapter 24
Iawake just as the sun is starting to set.
The Blood Order, like most of the ungoverned district, seems to operate on nocturnal schedules, which has taken some getting used to.
Especially since I’ve done pretty much nothing else with my time here aside from sit in this room.
And after last night, I’m craving more fresh air and a change of scenery.
I sit up, my muscles protesting as an ache burns through my hips.
But I ignore it, pushing down the pain as I so often do.
I’m not exactly sure what has shifted in my mood, but I know that I cannot spend another day trapped within these walls.
Maybe it is the small taste of freedom I received last night at the bar, maybe it is the sobering, gruesome truth Aamon revealed to me at the mass grave that put my own mourning into perspective.
I look slowly over to the desk Sterling and I occupied last night, running my fingers through my hair as I try to brush away his phantom touch. Or maybe it was that.
I shake my head, pulling off my oversized T-shirt and slipping into the bathroom for a quick shower.
I could spend all day—or night, I suppose—in the warm stream of water, desperate for the relief it brings me.
My hips and back are sore from the way Sterling handled me—not that I didn’t enjoy every moment of it—and upon closer inspection, I’m peppered with bruises all over the sides of my hips.
The water turns cold far too fast and I find myself turning the water off before I’m truly ready to emerge.
When I return to the bedroom, ready to scavenge for another set of Sterling’s clothes, I'm surprised to find the contents of the dresser replaced with a decent amount of clothing options for me. No longer full of ripped jeans and plain shirts. I dig through lace tops, soft dresses, pants and shorts in my own size. I nearly squeal with delight when I find a selection of undergarments. Everything in the ungoverned district’s characteristic dark and moody color scheme.
I cling to a mesh undershirt, a fierce pain burning behind my eyes.
I think about how long it took me to smuggle in the one outfit I was able to put together to disguise myself before venturing into the Market Ebon.
How cherished it was to me, how hard it was to assemble such a thing under my father's radar, and the ever lingering Tamiel and house staff. How my father’s scrutinizing gaze always searched my appearance for the smallest hint of rebellion—any kind of fissure in the clean, holy facade I was expected to perpetuate.
And here I am, exiled from my father’s city after all. Forced to make a home amidst his enemies and somehow finding more acceptance than I ever did beside my own kind. I release a shuddering breath, shaking my head from my reverie and digging through the offerings.
Minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. I answer to find Sterling patiently waiting on the other side.
“I thought I’d make you some breakfast,” he offers.
His eyes snag on the dress I decided on—a short, flowy black cotton fabric with buttons all the way down the front.
It brushes the top of my thighs, and I know without even looking in the mirror its length barely covers my ass, but I don’t care.
I feel more me than I have in a long time.
I can't contain my giggle as I give him a little spin to show it off.
“Now, where did you find that?” he drawls, amusement in his tone. He takes my hand and gives me one more spin before pulling me close to him.
“The dresser was full of new clothes when I woke up today.”
He nods, looking down the hallway over to the door beside my own.
“Yes, that would explain the stack of my shit I found outside my door.” His brows furrow, but the irritation is gone when he looks back to me.
He smirks, and I melt against him. I don’t know how it’s happened so fast, but gods, I think I may be falling for this male.
And it terrifies me to think about what that means.
“Come on,” he whispers before bending down and gracing me with a feather soft kiss. “Let’s get some food in you.”
I lean over the island in the kitchen, devouring a stack of pancakes Sterling whipped up for me.
I'm surprised he knows how to cook, impressed as I bite into the fluffy sugary goodness. These are either perfect pancakes or I am far more famished than I realized. Now that I think about it, I can’t even remember the last time I ate real food.
The thought is sobering. I shove the last bite of pancake in my mouth before pushing the plate away.
It’s been too long since my last treatment from Tamiel, and I’m starting to see signs of my affliction coming through.
The lack of appetite, the feel of my power blooming just beneath my skin.
Hells, even my teeth have sharpened to near points.
I’m shocked no one has noticed them yet.
And I’d very much like to keep all of this hidden,seeing as how I have no idea if Andras and Aamon would react positively to finding out the daughter of the High Quarter Alpha is more similar to them than they likely realize.
Sterling smiles at my empty plate, leaning against the opposite side of the island as he dives into his own stack.
“I thought vampires didn’t eat real food,” I prod, surprised to see him pop a bite of the fluffy goodness into his mouth.
He shrugs, swallowing and taking a sip of coffee. “We don’t need to. But every now and then we get a craving for what we had before being touched by the Arcane. I guess that mortal nature dies hard.”
I nod, digesting the information. “So this is what you had . . . before? Pancakes and coffee?” I grin, nodding towards the new bite poised on his fork.
His eyes meet mine and he smirks back at me, but there’s no more amusement in his features. “Something like that.”
I swallow hard, sensing the turning of his demeanor. I want to press him further, but it doesn’t seem like he’s particularly up for sharing what he means. A murmur of voices breaks out down the hallway past the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation.
I stand up straight, turning around to face whoever's approaching, running my hands over my dress to smooth out the fabric. I let out a small sigh of relief when Quinn emerges, but my heart drops as Aamon follows shortly behind. The former is dressed in his usual, white T-shirt and distressed denim jeans. And the latter, well, of course he’s shirtless.
Again. I huff out an annoyed breath even as my eyes track the exposed ink on his chest as he moves towards the kitchen.
I don’t know how to describe my current standing with either male.
Quinn has barely talked to me since my first night here.
And yet, it feels so oddly intimate between us.
To know what he did to me . . . what I let him do.
Perhaps that level of intimacy has afforded us a buffer, a mutual understanding that while things haven’t progressed, he’s still here, still perceiving me even if he’s not acting on it.
Sterling did mention that Aamon ordered them to keep their distance .
. . but that didn’t stop him last night.
“Morning,” Quinn chirps, and it feels directed at me, but he forces eye contact with Sterling and Sterling alone before moving to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug.
To my horror, he grabs a bag of what appears to be blood from the fridge and adds a heavy pour of that to the coffee.
I swallow hard, pushing down the nausea threatening to overtake me.
He offers it to Aamon, who just shakes his head and grabs his own cup of coffee, keeping a wide berth from me.
Aamon is much more forthcoming with his feelings on my presence here.
But he’s somehow still just as confusing, if not more so.
I know he hates me. If it were up to him, I have no doubt I’d be out on my ass and fending for my life on the edge of the WildLands.
Or maybe at the mercy of the other members of the ungoverned district. Like that wraith that found me . . .
My blood goes cold as I force myself to shove down the thoughts. He’s gone. I killed him. And while the thought doesn't bring me much comfort, it does help settle me in the moment to know that he won’t be able to find me when Aamon inevitably ends up tiring from this game and tosses me aside.
But even more distressing than his cruelty is his kindness. The clothes in my room had to be from him. When he visited me last night, he seemed sincere, even worried. And then there’s the leather cut he offered me upon leaving.
“Oh,” I gasp, spinning on my heels and running back to my room.
Last I saw it, it was lying on my desk. I meant to give it back to Aamon before we left the bar, but he disappeared by the time Sterling was leading us home.
I snag it off the desk, trotting back to the kitchen where all three males are waiting for me with various looks of confusion and intrigue on their faces.
“Here,” I say, stepping forward to hand it to him, but deciding at the last minute not to get too close and tossing it through the air. He catches it without hesitation, but his face falters the moment his hand grabs the leather.
His eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring as if to take in a deep breath through his nose. His head cocks to the side in that predatory way, his gaze burrowing into me before he slowly turns his attention on Sterling.
The latter has his face buried in his coffee mug, pretending to take a deep sip in an effort to hide the smirk growing on his lips.
“Tell me you didn’t.” Aamon’s voice is low, smooth. Terrifyingly so. I take a hesitant step backwards, my gaze darting between Aamon and Sterling.
Quinn sets down his coffee, sliding in between me and the other two males. “Okay, everyone take a deep breath, and—”
“Oh, I think Aamon already did.” Sterling gestures towards the male, coffee still in hand and a smirk still twisting across his face.