I still wouldn’t acknowledge what he’d said. The words branding themselves deep inside of me, burrowing into places where they didn’t belong. Fin came and went, all three of them busy with their tasks. Probably getting the keep ready for Alfred. Even as my thoughts turned to him, I scowled.
He would come for me when he woke. That was a cheery thought. Beyond those words of wisdom, they hadn’t spoken about him at all. While there wasn’t some digital clock ticking down somewhere, I could feel one. It seemed to flicker in my soul, an awareness that each passing second drew us closer to when the mysterious Alfred would awake.
I couldn’t tell if they were excited by the prospect or worried. The amount of time they were spending on fixing the keep up suggested a little bit of both. The interior began to look more homey and less like a tomb. So I supposed that was an improvement. There was a set of windows in Rogue’s bedroom—the room we’d been using—and Maddox promised he would get those opened today. That way, I didn’t have to leave the bedroom to see the sunrise.
That wasn’t the only reason I left the bedroom, but I didn’t bother to correct him. Guilt wormed its way through me, like a cat scratching its way to the surface. Fin and Maddox had been amazing, and even if he wasn’t exactly warm, Rogue had been a generous enough companion.
He certainly held nothing back in bed, even if he was far more reserved during waking hours.
Fuck, I was getting attached. It was bad enough they were attached. I couldn’t get attached. Succubi didn’t settle down, it never worked out. The need to feed coupled with how others responded to us…it was a recipe for disaster. Possessiveness. Fights. There were already rumbles between the three of them, and the enigmatic Alfred hadn’t arrived.
What then?
Head resting against the chair, I stared at the fire. Music played on the record player—something bluesy and jazzy. It was nice. At least that suggested a more modern sensibility than some of the hand-inked tomes stored in the library. They had a lot of books. I’d looked for something to read that second day we’d been in here.
I gave up when most of them turned out to be written in Latin or Greek. Though Maddox swore that one was Aramaic.
Whatever. They weren’t languages I knew.
Fin offered to read one of the Gaelic ones to me. Selfishly, I’d let him, and we were about halfway through the tale of the Fae who lost his way. Rogue rolled his eyes at the first few words of the book, but neither he nor Maddox left when Fin read to me.
I wanted to know what happened. That was another reason I put off leaving.
How much time was enough?
It had been a few days, and I hadn’t been hungry in any fashion. They fed my body, my soul, and my mind. Too comfortable.
Sitting forward, I glared at the kitten slippers on my feet. I could still feel Maddox inside of me like was he buried to the hilt. Not that I had any trouble imagining Fin or Rogue in the same spot. I knew all of them, my body really knew them.
And I was getting warmer the longer I sat there, my body softening and growing damp.
Fuck, they weren’t even present and I wanted them.
This was a problem.
Enough with the library and musing about their bodies. They were busy, and I needed something else to do. Sitting idle wasn’t how I normally went through my days. Once upon a time, I’d actually had a job. I worked in a shop, I got to see people come and go. It hadn’t been glamorous, but I enjoyed helping tourists find the perfect crystal and teasing real witches when they had to make nice with them.
It had been a good space to feed, too. There was always someone lusting after something in the Rising Phoenix. Always some young buck wanting the ingredients for a sex spell to enhance his performance or a silly twat on the hunt for a ‘make him love me’ potion. The first was possible to a point, the second was ridiculous. Bending someone’s will to make them love you? Well, it could be done. If you didn’t mind the homicidal rage it would trigger, the obsessive behavior, and the fact that the object of the spell would likely turn on you and murder you in your sleep to keep you with them forever.
Sure, no problem.
Nothing said love like a knife in the intestines.
Just saying…
Dragging the robe on, I headed for the doors. A walk to the garden maybe. It would let me get outside, and I could get some fresh air. I’d go to the interior one because if I found the front doors, I’d probably be tempted to keep running.
A pause rocked through me as I reached the gallery leading to the garden doors. Why not just go? It was what I wanted, right? It was what I’d been wanting since I woke up in the prison. I wanted out.
So why stay here? Maybe the shackles were sex and blood, but they were still shackles.
I glanced back toward the hall and the way I’d come. The scent of dust and disuse in the gallery was missing. There were more wall hangings up and wood piled into the large hearths ready to be lit. There was also a long table and chairs set up along the front of the room, and the shutters on the windows had been removed, though they were all frosted panes in different colors. The light coming in was muted, and yet still lovely.
Shaking my head at the inane thoughts, I gripped the door and yanked. It gave a hollow sound and a wrenching creak of noise when I pulled it open. Both comforted me, because until the moment it gave, I half-expected to find it as impossible to open as the cell door in the prison.
The rush of cool air brushed against my face. The sun was on the back half of the garden, not the front. The tangle of dark vines still had snow all over them, and the ground was thick with it. I hesitated. If I walked out there in my slippers, they’d get soaked.
That would be shame.
Making a face, I tugged them off and nudged them to the side. Bracing myself with a breath, I stepped out into the snow. It was cold, but not frigid. Maybe spring was coming soon to wherever the fuck we were. Still, I tied the robe a little tighter. The snow crunched under my feet as I tugged the door closed, not all the way, but to a crack.
Picking my way carefully passed the thorns and ducking below some, I found some patches of rock free of the snow and sitting right in the sun. Perfect.
Climbing up to sit on one, I turned my face upward. There was a distinct difference between the light coming through a window and feeling its actual caress on my skin.
It wasn’t warm, and yet, it warmed me at the same time. My breath fogged in the air, but I closed my eyes, savoring the kiss of the sun and the fresh wash of frozen air. I sat there long enough that I should have been shivering, but I wasn’t. More, I’d sat there long enough one of my keepers should have come looking.
But they left me alone.
Pleasure bloomed at the show of trust.
Or maybe they hadn’t noticed my absence. Either way, it was nice to just have this time…
A bird called. Then another. Cracking an eyelid open, I shaded them as I squinted to scan the skies. A flock—yes, I know they’re called a murder—of crows wound its way over the roof to fly through the garden. Weird. I hadn’t seen them since my last trip outside. Not even when I looked out the windows the library.
Some alighted on vines, others soared back up to the rooftop. But they were all there.
And all of them were looking at me.
Hello Paranoia, your name just became Fiona.
Ignoring them, I closed my eyes again. I wasn’t worried about birds.