CHAPTER 5 ELODIE
ELODIE
Having an imposingly giant man watch me bathe is nowhere near the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me, but it’s still unsettling.
His bright blue eyes never left my body.
If they weren’t locked with my own blue ones, they were scanning the bits of marred skin exposed as I shifted in the water to wash myself.
He didn’t hide the curiosity either, as his eyes raked over my plethora of wounds and marks.
How did you get them? What happened to you?
Who hurt you? All the nosiness sparkled in his eyes as he watched, but he didn’t ask again.
Not that I’d tell him if he did. It’s not something I’m in a hurry to relive, especially not to an ogling stranger.
Then the ogling stranger washed my hair.
I was so stunned by the idea of having clean hair I couldn’t move. My arms trembled too much to even reach for the bottles. Then he just… washed it. With those huge hands and bulky arms as hosts for an unimaginable amount of strength and power, he managed to remain gentle.
His thick fingers massaged into my scalp, the sensation raising goosebumps all over me, despite the hot water. I’ve never felt anything like it.
He’s different to the other two, I know that much from our minimal interaction.
There’s a tenderness that the others lack.
Perhaps that’s why he’s been fobbed with the task of babysitting me – to echo his words.
I can’t say I mind. He’s incredibly easy on the eyes.
Golden tanned skin underneath black and shaded tattoos.
His right arm is covered in numerous magical creatures: dragons, a hydra, a werewolf, and a phoenix.
A sleeve of various other animals like a lion’s head, tiger’s head, a bear’s head and a dragonfly and a dove on the other, all below a ship, the shell of which pokes out the short sleeve of his shirt.
His masculine features are endearing. He’s someone I would perhaps date if I had a regular life. If I knew how to date.
Once I’m ready to get out, he throws me a towel and brings his hands up to his face again. I’m not stupid. I know he’s peeping, but as long as I don’t have to meet those eyes while I’m stark naked and wet, I can get over it.
I’m feeling a little more human, looking a little more like it too, but it all still seems alien to me.
In a stranger’s house, bathing of my own free will (kind of) and not being hosed down by a servant, being spoken to with a soothing voice instead of hostility and degradation. Apparently, I’m being fed next.
Alfie explains he hasn’t got any girls’ clothes for me, they all expected me to come with luggage, as if I own a single thing for myself anymore.
Things got bad the past few weeks leading up to today.
Upon reflection, I suppose I could have fought a little less, knowing that any effort would have been futile.
My dad decided I needed to marry off, get out of his hair, and so it shall have been, regardless of my feelings towards it.
But I can’t help myself. I have this ineffable instinct to resist, to fight, when the darkness tells me what’s coming is bad.
Even though I’m the only one who ends up suffering for it in the end.
After one of our last fights, Dad burned everything I owned.
Everything. The nightdress I came to Caden’s house in was the only thing left, and I assume that will be burned as well.
It’s beyond repair by now, certainly not worth attempting to salvage.
I’d soiled it so much I don’t even think I’d want it back.
While Alfie goes through what I assume is Caden’s wardrobe, I stare at the toothbrush and toothpaste he placed on the marble counter in the bathroom.
I’m clutching the towel around my chest and just staring. When was the last time I brushed my teeth? When was the last time I tasted anything but copper or vomit or the foul remnants of both?
With a trembling hand, I pick up the toothbrush, put the toothpaste on it, and stick it in my mouth.
Mint. Glorious, burning, wonderful mint.
I feel the tears prickling my eyes as I brush and brush and brush. The flavour sloshing around every part of my mouth, stinging and almost painful, but it’s clean. I have a clean mouth.
Alfie pokes his head in through the door and throws me a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt with a graphic of some rock band on it. While I’m drowning myself in oversized clothes, he locates a hairband and hands it to me.
I stare at it, a boulder sinking into my stomach.
How many times had I wished for one of these the past week?
All the other times I was locked in the cell over the years?
The way strands would stick to my damp face, my neck, my shoulders and back.
It would itch, scratch and tickle over and over like insects until I was trying to rip it out of my scalp.
Clumps of hair falling to the ground in my fits of rage.
And now it’s just… here. For my wet, clean, sweet-smelling hair that this man has just washed.
“You gonna take it?” Alfie says, wiggling the band in front of me.
I clear my throat and shove away the rising tears, taking it with a shaky hand. I still stare at it once I’m holding it. My hand starts trembling even more, the hairband vibrating vigorously between my fingers.
Alfie sighs and takes it back off me. “Turn around.”
I look up to meet those blue eyes which just scream impatience and annoyance. I turn around.
His large hands come up to the top of my scalp and I flinch. My shoulders fly up to my ears. I curl up, clenching, waiting for the yank, the whiplash of my neck being dragged back. But it doesn’t come.
His hands rake through my wet hair and get caught on several knots. “You’ll get your strength back soon. With proper nutrition and recovery. You should be able to do your own fucking hair.”
His patience seems to be fraying already. A small huff of frustration blows into the back of my head. “We’ll have to rewash this a few times. I’ll get some treatment that should help with the matted bits.”
All the hair is pulled off my face and neck, a cool air kissing the heated skin there. I stand through a few twists and then a bunch at the bottom of my scalp as he winds my hair into a bun and locks it there with the band.
His hands land on my shoulders and spin me round to him. “Better?”
I nod slowly. This whole situation is completely foreign. No one’s ever done my hair for me. No one.
“Let’s get you some food. I’ve got to feed the dogs now, anyway.” Alfie takes my hand and leads me away.
The warmth of his rough skin shoots through me.
Bodily contact – how long has it been? So much of it so soon after meeting this man.
There’s a security that comes with him. Whether it’s involuntary or not, he’s taking his job to care for me seriously.
He could be anything but nice to me. He could be cruel, rough, aggressive.
But he’s not. He’s leading me away like my own personal guard, beelining for wherever it is we need to go, the protective air about him floating back to me as he leads me down dark halls with high, ribbed vaulted ceilings.
My legs still feel shaky and weak and Alfie does me the courtesy of going at a slow pace.
He gives me a vague tour as we pass. This place has a gazillion doors.
He points out Fiz’s bedroom along the hall, his bedroom, an office.
The walls are painted black, sconces are placed sporadically along the top, emanating a dim glow.
Then downstairs: a gym, the main car garage with a huge BMW in it and space for two others, another smaller garage with a motorbike in it.
This one looks more like a workspace, with a small utility room off to the side.
It’s got minimal décor, no paintings, no ornaments anywhere.
Very glum, very miserable. I guess that sums up the owner.
When we backtrack, he points out a room he calls “the den,” which just looks like a lounge.
Bathrooms, spare rooms. More offices. Every room he opens to me is large and spacious, each with the bare necessities for whatever individual purpose the room serves.
He points to a couple of doors that are “out of bounds” to me, which only makes me want to open them. He openly tells me one of them is an armoury, with a not-so-subtle accusatory dialogue of: “It’s locked at all times, we have an inventory and it’s checked regularly.” Hint taken.
There’s no garden at the back of the house, my first glimpse of outdoors through passing windows is just trees. Alfie explains we’re in the middle of a forest. Fantastic. So, when I am ready to escape, I may have to steal one of their cars.
Don’t trust him, the darkness says as we walk down another dark hallway towards a lit-up room.
My arm pulls taut instantly, resisting him.
He turns back. “What is it?”
I wait for more guidance, a tip on my next move, but there’s just silence.
When I don’t answer, he tugs me back towards him and I’m powerless but to stumble forward.
“It’s fine,” he says gently, “it’s just me and you.
You’ve got Maggie milling about somewhere, she’s the keeper of the house, and you might see a maid or two, but no one who will be a threat, okay? It’s just me and you.”
That’s what’s worrying me. He’s being too nice. No one is ever this nice without wanting something in return. Usually something salacious and scarring.
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, clearly losing the last bit of patience with me, but he doesn’t voice it.
He closes the small distance between us, hand still covering mine as he comes to hover over me.
My neck automatically tips up to keep my eyes on his so I can study him. He feels trustworthy, he feels safe.