Chapter 8 #2
“Are you— Good gods, are you new or something?” Cecilia pushed herself off the floor.
Standing with her hands on her hips and bare feet spread, she began ticking off questions on her fingers.
“Let’s start with the standard kidnapee rundown, huh?
Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Are you going to kill me or otherwise hurt me?
You know, all the questions one might ask when they’ve been drugged and locked away in a concrete cell. ”
Non-plussed, he answered, “You’re not in a cell. You’re locked in my bedroom.”
Cecilia’s lips parted. After a handful of seconds, she deadpanned, “You understand that’s worse, right? I need to know you understand that.”
He really didn’t see how that could be possible. As someone who’d spent much of his life in Thaddeus II’s dungeon below Solbourne Tower, he’d seen exactly what a true jail cell was. Sure, his bedroom had certain similarities, but he’d tried his best to provide some comforts for her.
“There’s a rug,” he pointed out, in case she’d missed it. “And lights. And a bed.”
“Your bed.” Cecilia eyed the piece of furniture like it would suddenly rise up and bite her.
Not understanding what the issue was but sensing that pursuing the topic further would only cause more problems, Sloane executed a tactical pivot. “You’re in my home. You’re here because it’s safe. I don’t plan on killing you or hurting you. I want to protect you.”
Drawing on all of Cesare’s ramblings about gifts and food and how to make friends, Sloane carefully approached the center of the room. He placed the box on the floor, the colorful label facing her, and then retreated back to the door.
“You must be hungry,” he said, tucking his hands behind his straight back.
Cecilia gawked at the box. Pushing strands of dark hair out of her eyes, she wheezed, “Cereal?”
Behind the shield of his visor, Sloane nervously licked his lips. “It’s food.”
“What kind of drugs did you give me?”
Confused by the abrupt change in topic, he answered, “A mild sedative.”
Cecilia rubbed her eyes. “And how much did you give me?”
“Enough.” But clearly the dosage was miscalculated.
“It should be completely metabolized by now. There are no documented side effects for arrants besides grogginess, mild headache, and potential nausea.” Feeling oddly defensive, he added, “It was necessary for your safety and an expedient exfiltration.”
“So I’m not hallucinating this,” she grimly noted. “You really brought me a box of Fruit Crunchums.”
“It’s what you like.”
“So you’ve definitely been watching me.” Cecilia let out a laugh, but it didn’t sound particularly happy. Pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, she breathed, “I mean, I knew it, but this is— And the toothbrush—”
Sloane had no idea what to do when she quickly turned and walked into a corner, where she crouched low and covered her face.
In a muffled voice, she said, “Glory save me, I’ve been kidnapped by my stalker.
It finally happened. It really, actually happened.
Cece, you finally got what was always coming to you.
Fuck. Gods, fuck you, honestly. I don’t deserve this. ”
Concerned, he warned her, “You should never turn your back on a predator, Cecilia.”
“Well, what’re you gonna do?” The demand came from behind her hands. “You’ve already got me. And you could kill me with your pinky toe if you wanted to, whether I was facing you or not. So who even cares?”
Sloane glanced down at his boots. “I don’t want to kill you with my pinky toe.”
“No, of course not, because you brought me Fruit Crunchums! You clearly want me to live!”
“I do.” You're my consort. Your health, your safety — it means everything to me.
Twisting her neck, Cecilia peered at him through her spread fingers. “Why? Why do any of this? You don’t even know me!”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he’d spent every spare moment over the past year studying her, but even with his limited social skills, he understood that probably wasn’t wise. Instead, he insisted, “It’s my job.”
Dropping her hands, she gave him an incredulous look. “To stalk and kidnap women?”
“To keep you safe.” He reluctantly moved away from the wall to nudge the box with the toe of his boot. “Eat.”
Her gaze darted between him and the box of vile-looking food product. Speaking slowly, she asked, “You really want me to eat?”
“Yes. You need food to live.” There was a brief pause as some strange, foreign entity battled for control over his tongue. “And… you like it. You should have things you like.”
She swallowed. Eyeing him speculatively, she said, “I’ll eat — under two conditions.”
Sloane’s back straightened. “Name them.”
“Tell me your name.”
A spasm of discomfort wracked his insides. Mouth dry, he informed her, “That’s only one.”
“Tell me first and then I’ll give you the second one.”
Ruthless, he thought, impressed despite his unease. Even after a year of observing her, he’d never witnessed this shrewd side of his doe. But then again, he’d never seen her brain a man with a lamp, either.
He liked it.
Figuring he was in for a penny in regards to breaking every protocol he lived by already, he answered, “…Sloane. Sloane Fortuner.”
“Sloane,” she muttered, sending a shockwave of desire through his very bones. Those big brown eyes, liquid black in the shadows, stared up at him when she demanded, “Sloane, get me a bowl, spoon, and milk.”