Chapter 22
Nelle
Graysen held the door to his rooms open for me to enter.
I wanted to change out of my sweat-damp dress and refresh myself with a shower.
So, while he set about giving Sage a hunk of stinky chicken out on the balcony, I headed into my bedroom to snatch up my silky dressing gown before entering the bathroom.
I stayed in the shower longer than usual, briskly scrubbing my body and washing my hair, wishing dark memories could vanish down the drain as easily as the suds. But the strength I’d drawn from Graysen had settled warmly in my bones. I felt sharper. Steadier.
The water shut off with a flick of the mixer, leaving the last droplets to splatter upon the pebbled floor.
I poached a fluffy towel from the chrome shelf and dried myself quickly.
In the steam-clouded mirror, my distorted reflection stared back as I fiddled with Zrenyth’s rope.
Whatever magic it possessed ensured the fibers remained dry.
Which was the only good thing about it, because it was irritating enough having it looped about my throat.
Sighing, I squeezed the water from my hair, and with a spritz of detangler worked a comb through the damp strands.
Taming Graysen Crowther pressed to the forefront of my mind.
First, I needed to test this tamer aspect, push it, nudge it, tease it out to discover what I was dealing with. How, I wasn’t exactly sure.
Slipping on my dressing gown and tying the belt around my waist, I drifted out of the bathroom. As Graysen walked over to the kitchen, he stole a quick, assessing glance to make sure I was still okay before I disappeared into my bedroom.
It wasn’t until I’d shut the door and turned around, about to slip off my dressing robe and hang it up, that I realized something felt wrong about the room.
I studied the small space with the window cut away from the adamere stone.
A few sparrows darted across the blue sky with its cotton-white clouds.
Late afternoon sunlight slunk over the bedside table stacked with the romance novels Penn had carried up here and stretched along the single bed with its disheveled blankets.
I cocked my head, baffled. My bed wasn’t made.
My eyes flared wide. The dress I’d worn yesterday was still on the floor where I’d stepped out of it.
What the…?
Confused, I skittered out of my bedroom and pointed at the open doorway. “My bed isn’t made!”
Graysen was standing near the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. Above the rim of the glass, his gaze slid my way, and one thick brow arched.
Hurrying forward, I rushed deeper into the room, scanning my surroundings.
Penn and her team had brought up new furniture to replace the items I’d destroyed by tossing them over the edge of the balcony, but they hadn’t rearranged them nor put anything away.
There were baskets full of the things I’d thrown from the tower, Graysen’s clothes and belts, and a few of his precious board games—stacked neatly beside the bookshelves.
His bed remained rumpled from his sleep, and my breakfast dishes were in the kitchen sink.
I drew an awful breath, a hand clamped to my chest. What the hells was going on?
“No one’s tidied up,” I squeaked. My whole world exploded around me.
Graysen lowered his glass, swiping the beads of moisture from his bottom lip with his thumb. “It’s Saturday.”
Oh, I hadn’t really been paying attention to the days. But still, so what if it was Saturday?
I suppose my thoughts were apparent on my face because he answered as if reading my mind. “It’s the weekend. Most of the staff have the weekend off, and if they happen to be doing overtime or on rotation, then they’ll have time off during the work week.”
I mean, I knew that my family’s servants were entitled to a day of leave, but certainly not a full weekend, and they were there to serve us any time, any day of the week.
He spoke slowly, carefully. “Over the weekend, my family has to fend for ourselves.”
“What do you mean, fend for ourselves?”
“I mean…” he drawled, still talking to me as if I were a small child, “we have to clean up after ourselves, make our own beds and meals, and do the dishes.”
My heart started palpitating in my chest. I thought I was about to have a heart attack.
His eyes flared wide as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Holy fuck, please tell me you’ve made your own bed before?”
“Yes!” I shrieked. “Yes, I’m quite capable of making my own bed.
” Just not picking up after myself very often or making meals.
“I can’t cook.” I wrung my hands. “No one taught me. I only know how to open cans and bake cookies.” And Graysen no longer did sugary crap or processed food, so he wouldn’t have either of those things around.
I was going to starve to death. By Monday, I’d be dead.
Eyes sparkling, he clapped a broad hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh and failed. “Oh my fucking gods, the drama all over your face. You’re not going to starve to death.”
I flung an arm and spat, “You’re no better. You couldn’t even cook pancakes. You burnt them.”
He leaned sideways and placed the empty glass on the granite kitchen counter. “Not being able to cook pancakes doesn’t mean I can’t cook.” He angled his chin toward the fridge. “There’s a ton of food there. You can cut up vegetables, right?”
I gave him a duh face. Of course, I could.
He snapped his fingers. “There you go—salad.”
I batted my eyelashes as I approached and presented him with my best puppy-dog face. “Can’t you cook for me?”
“That’s not going to work,” he said, waving a finger at my face as he strode past. “You’ll be fine, Pampered Princess. A little slicing and dicing to make a meal won’t kill you.”
My pout scrunched into a black scowl. Highly unlikely. I’d probably wound myself with a paring knife and bleed out all over his precious kitchen. With a huff, I turned on my heel, about to stride away. “I’m going to dress and then I get to ask my questions, okay?”
“Sure,” he answered, flopping down on the oversized couch to unzip his sparkly boots, removing them one at a time. He rose and walked over to his makeshift wardrobe, put the shoes neatly away, then squatted down to rub behind my wraith-wolf’s ears.
My mouth fell open in horror as bitter betrayal choked my chest.
What the hells?!
I scowled at Sage, who sat on his haunches soaking up Graysen’s attention, huffing in pleasure and slapping his tail against the floor. “Traitor,” I whisper-hissed as I shook a fist.
Sage gave a low, guilty whine. But did he move away? No. He pressed back into Graysen’s hands, stroking through his misty fur.
Incensed, I stomped toward my bedroom. But before moving through the open doorway, my pace faltered as a heated gaze, warm and languid as the sun, slid slowly across my jaw and drifted down my throat to skim across the swell of my breasts encased in silk.
It feathered lightly along my side to glide like molten gold down my legs.
The blatant caress had a delicious hot shiver spearing down my spine and made my toes curl into the carpet.
I shot Graysen a swift, shocked glance over my shoulder. He’d turned back to Sage, gently brushing his curled fingertips back and forth through the short tufts of fur beneath my wraith-wolf’s jaw. But he couldn’t hide the bite of white teeth as if to hide a smile.
Softly shutting the door behind me, I leaned my back against it and doused the pleasure from my skin.
Holy Skalki!
After hanging up my dressing gown, I rifled through the drawer full of dresses Ferne had lent me, wondering which one to choose. The simple t-shirt dress in pale yellow, with a large flower motif embroidered over the front, seemed a comfortable choice.
I shimmied into fresh underwear and slipped the dress over my head, poking my arms through the short sleeves and allowing it to fall.
Its skirt probably sat above Ferne’s knees, but on me it hit mid-calf.
The wide neckline meant one shoulder kept sliding out of place.
After readjusting it one too many times, I gave up and let it hang casually low, like a one-shouldered dress.
First up, I decided to tackle this cleaning and bed-making business.
Picking up the clothes I’d discarded on the floor, I strolled out of my bedroom.
Graysen kicked a tennis ball, and my wraith-wolf bounded after it, trying to get at it as it rolled beneath his ridiculous bed.
Sage’s large claws raked through the soft loops of carpet as he hunkered down low and yapped excitedly.
“Where’s the clothes hamper?” I asked.
Graysen had already fixed his bed and began folding a t-shirt from the basket Penn had brought up. He glanced up, pointing toward the row of tall cupboards that partially spanned the room. “In the linen cupboard.”
The hamper was a white wicker affair, and I tossed the clothes inside before heading back into my bedroom, feeling a little proud of what I’d accomplished so far.
Easy. This cleaning business wasn’t so hard after all.
Pulling off the pillows and blankets, I started straightening and re-tucking the cozy sheets of my little bed.
Graysen watched with wicked amusement. He leaned against the wall opposite my bedroom, absentmindedly tapping the wall with a finger, tap, tap, tap.
He was so godsdamned amused. It inflamed ire to heat my blood. But I could do this; I could prove him wrong. I could tidy up after myself and make my bed and own meals too, just as well as he could.
“There’s something you want to know… I get it.” His questions, no doubt, would be about Silas Boon and the Children of the Harbinger. “But for me, I’d like to ask more than one question at a time. And when I’m satisfied, you can ask me one in return.”
A wary note entered his gaze, but he nodded.