Chapter 2 #2
Not daring to move or utter a word, I stay very still.
“When did he do this, Cora?” he demands.
I say nothing. There is no way I’m going to verbally confirm his suspicions.
He pushes my sleeve up farther. “Jesus, Little doll. There are bruises all over your arm. New and old.” His voice grits out between his teeth. He’s furious. On my behalf. I can’t remember when anyone has ever been on my side like this.
I lick my lips. “It’s just that he doesn’t know his own strength,” I murmur.
Orion growls. The sound startles me, reminding me that this man is a shifter.
He could turn into a lion at any moment and eat me alive.
I’ve never heard of any humans going missing since the lions moved to this mountain, but my knowledge of what happens in the town or up on the mountain is limited to what I overhear when I eavesdrop.
Orion’s voice is low and oddly calm when he speaks. “There’s no need to make excuses for that man. I have keen senses. He’s evil. And you’re never going near him again.”
I shudder. Orion is so determined. He’s freaking me out. “I should go.”
He cups the sides of my hips with his hands. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to be blunt, Cora. You’re mine.”
My entire body goes rigid as I stare at him.
He rubs my thighs with his thumbs. His touch is oddly soothing. I’m so deprived of kind human contact that it’s possible I’m desperate enough that I’m imagining things. My instinct is to lean forward and let him hold me. I’d give just about anything for a hug.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper, though a part of me knows exactly what he’s saying.
He brings his hands up to cup my face, gently angling my head back so he can look me in the eyes. “My lion recognizes you as his mate, Little doll. The urge to claim you is strong.”
I can’t breathe. I don’t know what his intentions are. Part of me doesn’t even care. Whatever he wants from me can’t be worse than my current life. But it’s not that simple. He doesn’t understand. Vincent will never allow me to leave him.
“Is Vincent your father, Little doll?”
I cringe. “No.” My answer is curt and forceful.
Orion’s brows are drawn together. “No? What is he to you?”
“He’s my stepfather. My mother married him when I was twelve. She died four years ago when I was sixteen.”
“Is that when he started abusing you?” he growls.
My lips part. I don’t know how to answer him.
“Don’t try to lie to me, Little doll. It’s obvious to all of us that your stepfather is a very bad man.”
Suddenly, emotions consume me. A tear escapes to run down my cheek. “If he finds out I was this close to you…” I mutter.
“Little doll, you’re going to be so much closer to me. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long time. Get used to it.”
I reach up with both hands to grab his forearms. Pain radiates from my wrist, making me whimper. The room starts spinning. I have vertigo. Shit. It happens to me sometimes when I’m stressed. It infuriates Vincent. He says I’m making it up.
I can’t stop it, though. Squeezing my eyes closed isn’t helping. I know it doesn’t. This isn’t my first vertigo rodeo. But now my panic is increasing because I’m sitting on the counter. If Orion lets go of me and I sway too far to one side, I might fall.
A low moan escapes me. Shit shit shit.
“Cora?” His voice is distant. Concerned. He lowers one hand from my face to my shoulder. “Talk to me, Little doll.”
I’m embarrassed, but keeping my weird ailment to myself won’t help at all. “Vertigo…” I murmur.
Suddenly, I’m in his arms, cradled against his chest. He’s carrying me from the kitchen. I don’t open my eyes because I’m trying to control the symptoms. Everything is still spinning.
When my back hits a soft surface, I whimper. Where am I now? I fear I’m on his bed. “Orion…” I whisper.
He’s still touching me, rolling me to my side and keeping a hand on my back as he says, “Don’t move, Little doll. Let me close the blinds and get you some water.”
I take deep breaths while he’s gone. I’m shocked by his reaction. He hasn’t once accused me of lying. I’m not used to being treated so kindly. It’s been a long time.
When a gentle hand lands on my back, I find myself feeling ten times calmer. How does he do that? The bed dips as he sits next to me. “How often does this happen, Little doll?”
I shrug. “Once a week, I guess?” It’s hard to say since I always hide the symptoms to avoid infuriating Vincent.
“That’s a lot, Cora. Have you seen a doctor?”
“I did when I was younger. Not in the last four years.”
He lets out one of those low growls again. “Not since your mother died.”
“Mmm.” I don’t bother with words.
“That fucker, Vincent, never took you to a doctor.”
I nod agreement, regretting the movement of my head.
“Take a drink, Little doll,” he encourages. Something brushes against my lips, and I part them to let the straw inside. Only it’s not a straw. More like a mouth piece.
I wrap my lips around it and suck.
“Good girl. Drink some more. You need fluids.”
I keep swallowing, confused by whatever sort of cup I’m drinking from but not enough to actually look or care to ask.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, stroking my back as though he’s proud of me for drinking water. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I blink my eyes open and look at him. “I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “For what?”
“Inconveniencing you.”
His head jerks back as his deep brown eyes widen. “Inconveniencing me? Little doll, you will never ever inconvenience me. From this moment forward, my job is going to be to protect you and keep you healthy. Don’t you ever apologize for something that’s not in your control.”
I stare at him. He’s serious.
I’m lying on my left side. I’m sure that’s on purpose. He’s so thoughtful that he carefully protected my right arm when he lowered me to the bed. Now, he lifts it, pushes up my sleeve, and gently turns it from side to side. “Your wrist is slightly swollen. Can you make a fist, Little doll?”
I shake my head and again regret the movement.
“Don’t wanna,” I whine, sounding petulant.
My response shocks me, and I wince as I jerk my injured arm from him and cover my face with it.
It’s instinctive. I don’t want him to slap me.
I would never ever speak to Vincent in that tone. He would backhand me for being so rude.
This entire situation I’m in is surreal. I don’t know why this man thinks I’m his—whatever that means. It must be a shifter thing. A part of me has secretly hoped it could be true even though it’s impossible to wrap my head around.
All hope for a better life drains from my body.
Any life would be an improvement over my current situation, but I’ve messed that up with my stupid vertigo, my odd behavior, and my whining.
Not to mention, I’m obviously not worth anyone’s consideration.
There’s a reason I’m covered in bruises, and Vincent twisted my wrist. I have a tendency to fuck things up.
Tears escape yet again. Sadness makes me draw my knees up higher. I don’t dare lift my arm from my face.