Chapter 10
Kaylee
I spent the next few days hiding in the kitchen, scrubbing everything in sight because there was more than a few days’ worth of grime down here.
In the entire mansion, in fact, but I didn’t much fancy venturing out there.
I could almost feel Rook’s presence lurking in the other rooms, and the farther I was from him, the better.
If my dreams each night were anything to go on, then I most definitely could not be trusted.
When I wasn’t cleaning, I practiced cooking.
Dozens of different meals, most of which would only have been fit to feed to the animals, if there had been any round here.
The kitchen was ridiculously well stocked for two people, though I had no idea how he kept it stocked—I never saw anyone dropping supplies.
On balance, I decided not to ask. It seemed like the least of my problems right now.
I only saw Rook at mealtimes, when he insisted I ate with him, which I did mostly in silence whilst steadfastly avoiding making eye contact—or any other sort of contact.
Especially of the skin-on-skin variety. Since there’d been no more death threats, I assumed my practice in the kitchen had paid off and my attempts resembled more actual meals and less assassination attempts.
Another decade or so and I might actually be a passable chef.
And who said getting abducted by brooding assholes was bad for your career prospects?
A decade.
Abruptly, the kitchen was too hot. Too claustrophobic.
Stifling. I reached over to turn the heat off under whatever it was I’d just burned on the hob—hey, mastering cooking was going to take more than a week—and grabbed a cloth and bucket.
Camouflage: if Lord Asshole saw me, he’d assume I was cleaning.
Someone was going to have to, sooner or later, but this place was vast and I’d rather put it off as long as possible.
Just cleaning the kitchens had taken me the better part of the week.
I hurried out of the kitchen and kept walking, wandering through the winding hallways and up one of the staircases.
The air was surprisingly fresh, and although there were no windows that opened directly onto the hallway, it was well lit.
Well enough lit that I could see the dusty footprints on the wooden flooring, and the dust webs tucked up against the high ceilings.
My predecessor really had dropped the ball.
Not that I could blame her—Rook’s cranky ass hardly inspired loyalty.
And the constant threat of death wasn’t exactly great for long-term motivation.
Maybe he’d followed through on one of his threats. Maybe he’d eaten her.
…And I immediately made a mental note not to voice that theory around him in case he decided I might taste better than my meals.
I trailed my fingers along the grimy walls as I went, wondering exactly how long it was going to take me to get this place clean. Maybe by the time I got from one end to the other, the start would need doing again. Maybe that was why everywhere looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months.
My fingers brushed against a door and I paused.
Clean. It had no dust or grime on it. I turned a quizzical eye on it, wondering what was so special about this room that the door had been kept in such good condition, and, presumably, in regular use.
I glanced up and down the corridor, but I was alone.
Not that it mattered, because he’d dragged me here against my will to clean.
I was cleaning. I had a cloth and bucket and everything.
I eased the door open and slipped inside, half expecting to find a vast pile of gold and jewels, or whatever it was dragons hoarded that allowed them to afford vast mansions like this.
What I found was… I screwed my face up in confusion.
It looked like, well, like an ordinary bedroom.
Rook’s room, maybe? But no, it seemed too plain, too modest for him in here.
The bed was small, better fitted to a woman than a man—especially one his size—and the sheets and even the rugs seemed simple.
Embroidered curtains were the only flare in the room, and they draped over the windows, letting only a dappling of light slip through.
A sense of stagnation hung in the air. Setting my bucket down, I crossed to the window.
If nothing else, I could open it and let some fresh air in.
“Leave that.”
I jumped half out of my skin and spun around with a yelp to find Rook shadowing the doorway.
“I was just cleaning,” I said quickly, hoisting my bucket up to show him.
“Don’t.”
I canted my head. “Um, isn’t that why you brought me here?”
“Not this room.”
“Whose is it?” I asked, looking around like some formerly unseen clue might jump out at me.
“Was,” he said quietly.
I turned a questioning look his way.
“Whose was it,” he said in that same muted tone. “It belonged to your predecessor.”
A shiver ran through me, but I couldn’t keep from asking, “What happened to her?”
“She got sick.”
“So you killed her?” I gaped at him, horrified.
“Get out,” he snarled. “Now. Never come in here again.”
“No, wait. I’m…sorry?” It came out as a question. I wasn’t really sure what I was apologizing for.
“Alina was my loyal companion for over thirty years.” He exhaled heavily and sank onto the edge of the bed, the fingers of one hand splaying over the bedspread. “When she got sick, there was nothing I could do to help her.”
“That’s why the place is so neglected.” The pieces all fell into place in a moment of blinding clarity.
“I would hardly expect a dying woman to work. Whatever you may think of me, I am not completely without redeeming qualities.”
“You loved her.”
He shook his head and a look of helpless vulnerability fell over his face. “In a way, I suppose. She was servant in name only; my closest friend for many years.”
“You’re…grieving.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. I hadn’t imagined him capable of grief, and especially not for a slave.
Or servant, or whatever fancy term he wanted to dress his prisoners up with.
Friend. And here I was thinking he didn’t have any, on account of being a complete asshole.
Maybe it just took twenty years for people to warm up to him.
“Why do you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Take people. Like me. Like her. Shifters.”
He shrugged. “I need staff, and your pack owes me a debt.”
“But why not take in a human? They still exist out there, right? Beyond the pack’s borders. Give them a choice, and, not to get radical, wages? There must be hundreds wanting a job like this. Food. Shelter.”
“But not you?” He arched a brow.
“I’m not a human.” I might not be able to connect with my wolf, I might not even have one, but I wasn’t human. My mom was a shifter. I was, at the very least, half shifter.
“No. And if you were, you’d have run away screaming the moment you saw my dragon. Their kind has a mortal terror of mine, with good cause. Or you’d have got bored in a few years, and wanted to leave. And then I’d have had to kill you.”
“Well,” I said, crossing my arms, “that’s a shitty severance package.”
He grunted in my general direction in what might have been amusement. Probably wasn’t, though.
“I mean, you do realize the severance part isn’t meant to be literal, right?”
“Do you wish to find out?” he rumbled, getting to his feet.
“Very much not.”
“Perhaps you would like to continue with your work, then? Though I suspect it may be a little more productive if there was actually some water in your bucket.”
Busted. I picked up my bucket and cloth and shot him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll do that.”
I hurried from the room, feeling his eyes boring into my back the entire way.