Theodore doesn’t have to utter a single word, but I feel him. His touch seeps into my bones, making my heart race. His scent makes my mouth water, the temptation almost too great, and I catch myself before turning around and embarrassing myself.
There’s something about his presence that overtakes my senses—pulls me closer—and when his warm, large hand grips my arm and tugs me back a step, reality smacks into me with the force of a freight train.
This is all real. This. Is. Not. A. Dream.
I’m awake.
There’s a dead body...
“Oh, God.” A sob slips past my trembling lips as my legs threaten to give out. I’m shaking, teeth chattering as I try to explain—say anything to Theodore who’s holding me close to his chest—but can’t. The sounds leaving me are full of fear and sorrow, and I’m fighting against my fight or flight that demands I do something.
Anything.
To save myself.
“Breathe in, Gabriella.” The deep baritone of his voice breaks through my mental fog, but doesn’t break the invisible binds tightening around my neck as I recall the time I spent this morning watching a snake while a corpse lay at my feet. “Come on, beautiful. I need you to breathe and—”
“Snake.” Somehow I manage to utter the one word past my harsh breaths and the loud curse that comes from Tero. Not that Theodore moves us any further or asks his assistant what happened. Instead, he places his large palm across the center of my chest while pulling me closer.
“Breathe.” One word, and I feel the way his broad chest expands against my back, holding the air trapped inside his lungs until I follow, and only then he releases. He keeps me like this, pushing me to follow the cadence of his warm breaths, and I do without hesitation as if commanded to do so. “Good girl. Just like that...” his lips are at the crown of my head and I shiver when he leaves a tiny kiss there “...you’re doing so well.”
In the distance, I hear the sirens. They’re coming closer and closer until doors slam closed and heavy footfalls follow. There’s shouting. I can make out the click of guns and instructions are being followed, and yet, I don’t move from his embrace and continue to match my breathing to his.
I’m trapped by fear, and he’s my lifeline.
I need him to anchor me because I’m close to crumbling.
“Police!” a male voice calls into my home, his hard raps against the door making me whimper.
“Come in.” Theodore doesn’t stop his calming ministrations. Instead, I feel him turn his head in the officer’s direction. “My assistant is in the back and will fill you in. No one here is armed.”
“Is she okay? Does she require medical attention?” Theodore answers him with a shake of his head, but the man seems to need more and from me. I sense him come closer. I feel his hand hover on my shoulder, and my panic rises once again. “Miss, are you harmed? Can you tell us what happened this morning?”
“Dead.” Another sob. The small amount of relief in my chest once again tightens and I cough, scratching at my neck. “He’s dead. He’s dead and a snake—” Something in me snaps at that moment, the tethered string of consciousness withering into nothing, and when I meet the man’s eyes for the first time, everything goes black.
15
Gabriella
M
usic plays in the background, the cacophony of instruments creating a melodic cadence that most inside the room sway to. In pairs, they twirl in a circular fashion while spectators talk quietly amongst themselves dressed in their best garments—sizing up their counterparts.
Some with greed.
Some with lust.
Some with a calculative stare while I watch from my seat at the center of it all.
The choreography follows the light tone playing from a small band of musicians entertaining the crowd, keeping those within the circle twirling and counting steps, switching partners between well-practiced hand maneuvers before tapering to a more sophisticated waltz.
Each couple falls in line and their forms, the sophisticated posture in the stance, become poised and full of finesse. Each step is refined, their pivots regal while onlookers give a small applause that lasts no longer than three heartbeats before silence ensues and all eyes remain on the crowd of dancers.
They do their best to ignore my presence atop a small, elevated platform where two intricate black chairs occupy most of its space. One throne is empty. One has me perched atop while dressed in an extravagant gown a deep shade of red reminiscent of the color of blood with a golden lace overlay. It’s strapless, the bodice tight from my chest to my knees where it then flares out a bit. The silk feels soft against my skin while the lace is light and eye catching, provocative, and nothing like the dresses the women in attendance are wearing.
I’m modern to their Victorian modesty.
As my eyes traverse the room, my head is held high and shoulders are pulled slightly back. I make out many faces, all strangers, and yet, I don’t feel out of place. If anything, this amuses me, and I find myself making a game out of catching the eye of someone daring enough to look my way.
“Not very nice of you, pretty girl,” a husky voice says from behind my chair, his finger caressing the skin from my right shoulder across to the left. Goose bumps rise and a small illicit shiver rushes through my every limb. “You want me to paint the walls red?”
“Well, you’re no fun tonight.” There’s a pout on my lips, which causes the man I’ve yet to see to chuckle. I’m being coquettish. I’m so comfortable with him, more than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life, and it’s so outside my normal behavior. “I thought indulging me was the highlight of your life?”
“It is.” Sharp fingernails leave a small trail of goose bumps, dipping ever so slightly beneath the thin material of my dress over the ridges of my spine. “But you must go back now.”
“Back where? You’re not—”
Screams rend the air and four male bodies fall on their knees, each one simultaneously cupping their necks. Blood pours from a thin line, their clothes quickly drenched in the crimson shade while those around them laugh.
So much laughter. So much morbid glee at the sight, and what’s worse, I’m not affected. Not like I should be.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his breath fanning my cheek.
“Ready for what?”
