Chapter 10
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule ten: Play dead.
Immortality low-key sucks.
Earlier, when Leon announced we were attending a dinner party, I thought tonight would be a reprieve from his chauvinistic monologuing. My relief lasted right up until I saw the guests. They’re the same men he spoke with after court yesterday.
As usual, I’ve been ordered not to speak. And because clearly, his pride needed the extra validation, he’s also ordered me to keep my head bowed.
It’s totally fine. In fact, I’m making very effective use of my downtime.
For the fifth time tonight, I hold my breath for as long as possible, trying to make myself pass out.
Anything to avoid listening to the support group for insecure masculinity.
After repeated efforts, I concede that blacking out may be a mortal affliction.
Tragic.
Leon’s fingers tighten over the back of my neck. He likes resting his hand there. I’m not sure if he’s doing it to reassure himself that I won’t escape him, or if it’s just another way he can show the world that he’s dominating me.
Right now, I’m leaning toward option B. I think in his twisted mind, if he makes me as small as possible, people will give him the creepy devoted looks instead.
It isn’t working.
I’d count my blessings and focus on the fact that at least he hasn’t tried to touch me, but I have a feeling his patience is already running out. My skin has been crawling all day, and every time I turn around, I find him looking at me with a leering, hungry look.
I have a feeling I’m on a very short clock.
The meal is long over, and the men are lounging back, drinking what I assume is hard liquor. I can’t tell for sure, though, since I’m only allowed to drink water.
Two of the men start talking about trading their teenage daughters so that they can swap their wives for a younger, more pliable model.
Bile rises in my throat, and I tune them out. Otherwise, I’m going to attack someone, and that won’t work for my new and improved(?) plan.
Sure, the plan is more of a Hail Mary, but if I succeed, I think it could solve everything.
Rosie said that Irena, the Destroyer she’s bound to, is locked deep within the Council’s castle.
Leon and Sin going head-to-head sounds like a recipe for apocalyptic destruction.
But if I can find a way to free Irena, her added power might be enough of a threat to convince Need to step down, permanently.
No war. No casualties. It’s perfect.
Except, of course, for a few tiny details. Most notably, my odds of finding Irena are completely nonexistent with Leon breathing down my neck. He’s been parading me around like a pretty little trinket and doesn’t leave my side during the day.
It’s like having my very own diseased tick.
Of course, I could just search the castle at night. And honestly, you’d think being equipped with a superspy’s memories would help me with something as simple as escaping my room
Unfortunately, I’ve realized that Cassandra’s voice is more like an aggressive muscle memory. She can talk me through using a hairpin to pick the lock on my bedroom door, but since she never used magic, she can’t show me how to break whatever ward or spell is keeping it sealed.
It’s probably immature to resent my past self.
I make a mental note to be a better person – after I’m no longer surrounded by ‘nice guys’ whose egos are the only things that have experienced personal growth.
Sleep might help, too. I spent hours last night trying to find a way to sneak out. I even tried Leon’s door today while he showered, ready to risk slipping into his room tonight if it meant I could break out.
No luck.
Leon’s hand worms over my thigh, tugging my leg closer to him.
Terror and dread wash over me.
I need to find a way to free Irena, fast.
Thump.
My eyes fly open, but the room is pitch-black.
It’s nowhere near morning.
Disoriented, I scan the shadows, wondering what woke me.
Another thump, louder this time, is all it takes for adrenaline to flood my veins. It’s the door connecting Leon’s room to mine. It’s hitting the wardrobe.
Leon is trying to sneak into my room.
My pulse thunders in my ears, but I don’t move a muscle. If he knows I’m awake, he might order me to let him in.
I watch, horrified as the door thumps against the wardrobe once again, only this time it’s accompanied by the sound of the wardrobe screeching against the floor, just for a second.
He’s trying to force it open. But at the loud noise, the door finally shuts again, and I hear his footsteps as he retreats to his own bed.
I don’t sleep another wink that night.