Chapter 27 Lily
Lily
The pillow beneath my head feels reassuringly familiar, but as I struggle to wake up, I can’t be sure I’m at home.
My perfume lingers in the air, but there’s a scent that reminds me of being back at the lodge.
I chase that thought, but it escapes my grasp.
My tongue feels fury and my head throbs.
Did I go out last night? I think so. I was with Kaitlyn.
And this feels like the worst kind of hangover.
My eyelids are almost too heavy to open, and the morning light stings.
As I struggle to turn on my side, I hope drunk-me last night gave a thought to hungover-me and left some water by my bed.
If it is my bed. My pulse ticks up. Now it’s my feet I’m worried about.
They’re snagging beneath the sheets. Or are they caught on something?
Oh, shit. Something bad happened, I just know it. My feet have been tied up.
As I release a guttural sob, the mattress dips. I’m not alone. I blink, but I can’t seem to focus on the shadow looming over me. There’s a sharp sting in my arm. Have I just been injected? No, this can’t be happening. I have to get away. I pant hard as I try to move. I want to be sick.
“Lily, it’s OK. Please, just keep still.”
No. I have to fight back, but he’s pinning me down. I’m being held prisoner. Fragments of memory assault me. Leatherette upholstered seats and dim light. I’m hemmed into a corner. Trapped. Scared. I can’t escape.
My senses are all scrambled, and my brain can’t process all the information. The alien smell in my bedroom is the scent of a man. My vision is too slow to clear. All I can see is a silhouette against the low morning sun creeping through the cracks in the blinds.
“You’re safe,” he says.
A sob catches in my throat and I stop struggling. The voice isn’t the one that chased me through my nightmares. The next sob explodes from my lungs. “Shade?”
“I’m here, Slayer,” he says, his voice cracking. “No one hurt you. And no one’s going to hurt you. Do you understand?”
When I nod, he loosens the grip on my arms, but he doesn’t let go. “I need you to stay calm. There’s no need to panic. You have an IV in your arm, but it’s just saline. You’re going to be fine. Just take a moment.”
Staying on my back, I twist my head to the side. There’s a metal stand with an IV bag, and I follow the tube to my arm. There’s a trickle of blood where the cannula has pulled almost free of the tape that’s keeping it in my arm.
“It’s bleeding because you dislodged it. I’ll take it out,” Shade says, climbing off the bed. “Don’t worry, the doc showed me what to do.”
As Shade clamps the IV, I take a good look at him for the first time.
My normally impeccably dressed stalker is wearing a crumpled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and dress pants.
His jaw is covered in stubble, and his hair sticks up at angles as if he’s just rolled out of bed.
Then I notice the armchair he’d dragged in from the living room.
Shade’s suit jacket is draped over the back, and one of my throws is puddled on the floor. He’s been here all night, watching me.
“What happened to me?”
“You went out with Kaitlyn. Do you remember that part?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say as if it’s a stupid question. I’m properly awake now. “We wanted you to think we’d gone to an Irish bar, but we’d headed for a nightclub. It was called… Syndella, I think. It was a dive.” My brow furrows. My memories are fading to black. Why is it so hard to remember?
“You had a beer.”
I wince, and not only because Shade has just taken out the IV.
He’s giving me pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but it’s a struggle to fit them together.
“We were in a booth. Kaitlyn came back from the bar with two guys. And then…” I have nothing.
Did I do something bad? I stare at where Shade applies pressure to the injection site with a dressing.
I can’t look him in the eye. “Are you mad?”
Shade fixes the dressing, then leans over me. He tilts my chin to bring my gaze back to him. “Not with you. Never with you,” he says. He offers a weak smile. “Except maybe the part about accepting a drink that hasn’t been handed to you by bar staff.”
“Did I?” My brow furrows. It hurts to think, but a picture forms of four beer bottles being set down on the table.
“I know what you’d said, but I remember now.
I picked my bottle so it couldn’t have been spiked,” I say.
And then realization hits. Tears prick my eyes and my mouth is desert dry. “Is that what happened?”
Shade strokes my cheek. “There was rohypnol in the beer. It’s why you can’t remember. The creep who gave it to you paid some random guy to keep Kaitlyn on the dance floor. She worked out something was wrong and, to use her words, she sent up the bat signal.”
I try to return his smile, but my chin wobbles. “And you came?”
“You were trapped in the booth with him, but he didn’t get the chance to do anything. I brought you home and a doctor checked you over.”
“I don’t remember coming home,” I tell him, trying not to freak out. I absorb Shade’s calmness. “What about Kaitlyn? Is she OK?”
“Simon took her home.”
My eyes bounce between his. “Heatrush Simon? Was he there?”
“He helped find you.”
I rub my temples as if I can kick start my brain into remembering.
“Your memory of last night isn’t going to come back, Lily,” Shade warns. “And you’re going to be confused for a few more hours. The doc will be back at midday to check on you again.”
“I’m sorry.”
He kisses my forehead. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
“But last night. I knew you’d be waiting for me, and I knew you couldn’t track me.”
“You were punishing me, Slayer. You told me not to invade your privacy, and then I did it anyway. I might not like what you did, but I get it.”
“Do you hate me?”
He tilts his head, and his gaze holds mine captive. “Do I look like I fucking hate you, Lily?”
My pulse rises. There’s desire and obsession in his green eyes, and something more profound. Or am I reading too much into his stare? Can I trust my befuddled brain to figure out what he’s trying to tell me?
Shade sits back. “It’s OK. Now isn’t the time for big conversations. Do you think you can sit up? You need to drink some water.”
As I try to pull myself up, my feet get tangled again. “What’s wrong? Why can’t I move?”
Shade lifts the covers and now my poor head spins. I’m fully clothed and my strappy sandals are snagged in the sheets.
“Kaitlyn didn’t come back with us,” he explains. “And given that you wouldn’t remember me bringing you home, I didn’t want you thinking I’d taken advantage of you. And to remove all doubt, I didn’t take any of your clothing off.”
“You’ve seen me naked, Shade,” I remind him.
“Only ever when it was your choice. You weren’t able to make choices last night.”
I roll my feet from side to side. “Well, I can make choices now. Can you take them off for me please?”
There’s a deep grumble from Shade’s chest, but he does as I ask. I slide up the bed and as I sip my water, he rubs where the straps of my sandals left marks on my feet. Despite my aching head, it feels really nice. We both stay silent, and when he glances up at me, he catches me biting my lip.
“Whatever those thoughts are, stop right there,” he warns. “Your body’s still working the drugs out of your system. I’m here to look after you. Nothing else.”
“That’s OK,” I’m forced to agree. “I feel gross. I could do with a shower.”
“If you’re steady enough on your feet, you can have a shower, but I have to watch.” His face is the picture of innocence. “I’m not leaving you alone, Slayer. Get used to it.”
It sounds distinctly like a threat, but I’m going to have to set that aside for this big conversation he says we need to have. I reach out a hand to him instead.
“Do you think you can help me up?”