I’d hoped after our stolen softness in the dark last night, that my relationship with the master of this mansion might’ve improved.
But it hadn’t.
When I’d woken this morning, Lucien was nowhere to be found and the cloudy, drizzly day did its best to convince me it had all been a strange kind of dream.
By the time Whisper had appeared to drag me to work, I wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t.
No sign that Lucien had slept beside me.
No note. No messages.
Even the apple that he’d snatched from my teeth and tossed across the room had been placed—with a single bite missing—on the kitchen bench.
I’d worked on my own for hours. Doing things for the sake of doing them all while hyper-focused on the smallest sound, waiting for Lucien to appear and continue our...whatever this was.
But he hadn’t appeared and I was sick of toiling.
My feet ached. My back smarted. My hands were chapped and shoulders twinged and all I wanted to do was take a nap.
I missed my lazy lifestyle.
I missed doing nothing whenever I wanted to do nothing.
I missed zoning out and letting life happen around me without having to participate.
Ever since I’d been dragged into Cinderkeep, I’d been forced to be an active participant, and it was getting rather troublesome.
“He hasn’t let me have a day off since I started working for him,” I complained to my manager, the panther, as I headed toward the kitchen. “I’ve been working for free all this time. I have a good mind to write up a contract with employment laws stating how badly he abuses me.”
Whisper snorted as he followed me into the kitchen.
“He won’t pay me, so...I’ll have to improvise.” Beelining for the cupboard holding all the delicious floral, fruity wine, I wrenched open the door and smiled at the mismatched earthen jars.
I pilfered the closest one. A cherry-blossom concoction that I’d tried last week and found to be pleasantly potent.
It would work well as a sleeping draught and hopefully, once I woke up, my constant headache would be gone.
Hugging the wine, I turned to face Whisper.
“See you around, tiny cat.”
My legs broke into a fast walk, eagerness to be alone making me rush.
If Lucien didn’t want to clear the air between us from yesterday, fine. I was stupid to expect anything different. But I wouldn’t let him manipulate me with emotions or work like an idiot.
It was either cold distance or thawing friendship.
Not both.
Whisper shadowed me as I left Lucien’s quarters and made my way down the labyrinth of corridors. Arriving at the octagon-shaped foyer, I hugged the wine jar, ridiculously excited at the thought of a heavenly afternoon doing nothing—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I squeaked and spun around.
The wine slipped from my arms.
It fell—
In a streak of black, Lucien darted forward and caught the cherry-blossom alcohol before it smashed to the marble floor.
Straightening, he glowered at me. “Stealing?”
I backed up a little. “I thought you were hiding from me.”
“And you thought you’d leave? Without my permission?”
“I’m tired.”
“So?”
“I’m not feeling very well.”
“And I am?”
I scowled. “This isn’t a competition.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” Backing up, he smirked coldly. “You work for me, and you can only go when I say you can go.”
The urge to stomp my feet or sit down in protest made my head throb. “I’ve been working for weeks in a row. I deserve a day off.”
“Deserve?” His eyes narrowed. “That’s a strong word.”
Heat flared in my chest.
Was he deliberately being nasty again after the moment we’d shared last night?
Because if he was...ugh.
I didn’t have the capacity to suffer whiplash from my feelings. My headache would happily turn into a migraine and all these little moments where he left me wondering and questioning would only compound until I suffered a blackout.
Crossing my arms, my voice came out as cold as his, “I’ve cleaned your crypt of a palace until my fingers are raw. I’ve done every ridiculous chore you’ve thrown at me. I’ve even dusted your bookshelves multiple times—which, by the way, did not need dusting.”
His mouth curved into a mocking smile. “And in return, I’ve kept you alive and safe in my company. A fair trade, don’t you think?”
“I’d prefer a few days away from your company,” I muttered.
He stepped toward me, the wine cradled carelessly in one hand, his tall height casting me in shadow. Whisper pressed against my leg with a low rumble as if sensing the crackling chemistry flying between me and his master. “Are you saying you don’t like being around me or are you suddenly bored of living?”
I lifted my chin. “How can I like you when you refuse to open up to me? We had a moment last night, but you—”
“Ah.” He nodded, his eyes sharp and cutting. “So you are sick of living.”
I gave up.
“I’m sick of working, that’s for sure.”
Turning on his heel, he ordered, “Follow me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Sunday.”
My pulse spiked. The way he said it. With icy finality and careful disinterest.
I didn’t need to ask what he meant.
It was one of those days.
“You know what?” I forced a smile. “I’ll take the housework—”
“That wasn’t a request.” He strode away, long legs eating up the corridor.
Whisper nudged me, urging me forward.
I groaned as my head pounded.
“Unpaid maid, part-time nurse, and blood-bank technician,” I muttered, following him reluctantly. “I definitely need a raise.”
* * * * *
“Draw another bag.”
“What?” I froze by the fridge after putting the usual two full bags on the moving shelf. Where it went or who came to collect it, I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. The thought of anyone touching Lucien’s blood made my stomach clench and chest feel tight.
In those many sleepless moments in my pavilion, I envisioned the men running his family’s company—men who were meant to protect and guide him—using his stolen blood on the very machines that Laura said refused to work without constant access to fresh Ashfall DNA and it made me angry. Very angry.
“You never do more than two,” I said warily.
“Today is an exception.” Lucien exhaled heavily from where he sat in the chair. “Do it.”
“No, I won’t do it. You’ve taken enough. Look at you, you need some sugar, a blanket, and a nap.”
The computer screens had turned off beside him the moment the harvesting had been completed. The barcoded stickers had been printed, and the draining tubes had been removed from his cuffs. No way would I repeat the process. How much blood could a person lose before they keeled over and died?
“Fuck, you’re disobedient.” His curse might’ve been cruel but his husky, tired voice made it sound almost pitiful.
“Are you only just realising this?” I headed toward him. “I consistently do the bare minimum of whatever you ask. It’s a talent.”
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Gritting his teeth, he grabbed another pre-prepared bag from the medical trolley, stabbed a new port line into it, then locked the other end onto the cuff on his left wrist.