The keeper of eden, p.17
The Keeper of Eden, page 17
“Do you need a minute to compose yourself?” he asked. She froze, letting the question hang in the air without an answer.
He doubted anyone had ever taken her feelings into consideration at the Academy. Not with the bruises and old scars that marred her visible skin. He started walking, and she fell into step beside him.
She gave him no trouble as he led her through the halls of cells. He shivered. He’d brought her this way because it was the quickest route to the suites, but he couldn’t help but swallow at the negative memories he had of these halls.
Wayden may have gotten the brunt of Amara’s sexual depravities, but Nathan had received his fair share of beatings in these cells simply because the guards were bored. In the beginning, it was because they had bet against him and had lost money when he proved them wrong. Later, it became a sick, twisted pleasure for them.
They met few fae on their way to the upper levels, and December looked out the windows as they climbed the circular staircase. Each window and floor gave them a different view of the forest below and overlooked the entire compound of the Citadel. The smoke he’d seen earlier had been a pile of material, hauled from the main arena and set alight.
The stairs ended, and they stepped into the hall, where Nathan and Wayden’s suites were by Ahren’s command.
There were only three up here. Two of them were apartments of their own, with a stove and kitchen area. The third was nothing more than a large room and an even larger bathroom.
December hadn’t said a word the entire walk. She looked up at him now when he reached out to open the door of the third suite.
“Here we are,” he said, stepping back so that he wouldn’t crowd the door.
December stepped in and spun in place, taking in the room, her eyes wide.
The bed sat in the middle of the wall, covered in a fluffy comforter. The setting sun streamed through the window overlooking the forest outside, with bookshelves on either side of it, from floor to ceiling. A few books lay haphazardly on the shelves. She reached out, trailing her fingers over their spines before she stepped to the bed and buried her hand in the comforter. She turned back to him.
“Is this…I can use the bed?” she whispered. His brow furrowed. Why would she ask that?
“Of course,” he answered, still puzzling through her reaction. “Until we’re told otherwise, you’ll stay here, but your time is your own.”
December looked down at herself before she slipped off the jacket Wayden had given her and held it out to him. He shook his head and tried not to stare at the finally healing bruises that turned her thighs purple. He would have to see about getting her some proper clothing.
“Keep it.”
She held it to her chest. “Thank you.”
She looked so small and scared standing in the middle of the room. He bit his tongue to force back the questions that he wanted to ask. Like why she was at the Academy, among others. But he didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already was, and he couldn’t say that he blamed her.
She stepped toward the books and had pulled one free, opened it and then sat down in the chair by the window to read it.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. She didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken.
He pushed open the door to his own quarters, sparsely filled with a few chairs, the clothing that Ahren had provided, stands for his weapons, a simple bed with a quilt thrown over it, and a few books.
He pulled a pair of pants and a button-up shirt he thought might fit December from the closet and returned to her room. She hadn’t moved from the chair, engrossed in the book.
He watched her read for a long moment. December seemed to forget he existed, completely engrossed in whichever book she had chosen. Though he was certain that she was aware of her surroundings. Trauma did that to someone.
He put the clothes on the bed and left her alone. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs and eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. His weapons dropped to the ground with a metallic thud, and he sank onto the mattress.
He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Chapter twenty-three
December
December stood next to the window, staring out at the dark forest that stretched away from the Citadel. The moon hung heavy in the sky, reflecting off the lake. Guards patrolled the walkways, and the courtyard below was quiet, filled with trucks without a task. It was large enough to hold a crowd of people, surrounded by stone walls. She wondered if it had once served as the arena where the Reapers and the others fought.
She’d heard that the Arena had fallen—Uriah had lamented about it to Limner the day the Reapers had come to the Academy. But this place looked nothing like she imagined it. It was less grand, and far bleaker than she’d thought it’d be.
The blanket around her shoulders was large and warm—not a bit like the rag the Academy threw in her cage, and she’d certainly never been able to watch the sun dip below the horizon from a window.
It’d been a few hours since Nathan had left her here. Enough time to finish the book and change into the clothing he’d brought. The shirt hung down to her knees, and the pants were big on her, but they were clean and warm, covering her body.
She’d already tried the door and the window multiple times, hoping they would offer a means of escape, but neither of them budged.
So, she’d spent the next several hours exploring what would be her new prison.
The bathroom had held her attention for far too long. The bathtub filled and drained while she sat on the edge and watched the steaming hot water run from the faucet. It wasn’t that she’d never taken a bath at the Academy before, just that the guards didn’t leave her alone to take one, and the water was already freezing cold when they hauled it in.
She clutched the blanket around herself when the door opened. Adrenaline flooded her muscles as she waited to see what fresh horror awaited her.
The green-eyed Reaper’s head appeared around the door, his gaze searching the room. When he found her, he nudged the door open the rest of the way and stepped in, with a tray balanced haphazardly on one arm and a pitcher clutched in the other hand, closing the door with his foot.
She tried to remember what he’d said his name was back at the Academy when he’d had her pinned between himself and the vehicle.
The Director always said that fae had keen senses of smell, but she never believed it until then. She’d known the exact moment that he'd figured out what she was. His eyes had gone wide for barely an instant when he smelled her.
Wayden. That’s what his name was.
He didn’t say a word while he set his burdens down on the table and then dragged it into the middle of the room. December didn’t move, frozen against the wall.
Wayden lifted the cover from the tray, and the smell of delicious food made her stomach grumble in protest at the reminder that it’d been too long since her last meal. She pulled the blanket tighter, hoping it would quell the sound.
He had changed clothing, and the rolled-up sleeves of his loose-fitting shirt revealed scars that marred the skin of his forearms, and she could see the lean muscle flexing with each movement.
Wayden looked up, a smirk playing across his lips. “I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, so I brought a few things.”
December didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all and instead stared at him. No one had ever asked her what she’d liked to eat. The Academy gave her an edible substance and expected her to eat it, even if it made her sick.
Wayden moved silently in the dimly lit room, laying everything out. Every movement was purposeful with no wasted energy, and it reminded her of everything she’d ever heard about them. The Reaper’s story had always been a lingering threat to keep her in line.
“If you don’t behave, we’ll put you out for the Reapers,” Kingray would say.
To see one of them doing something as mundane as uncovering food made him seem more real somehow. Like an actual person more than an idea.
“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to put as much force into the words as she could muster.
Wayden pulled the second chair closer to the small table and sat down, the wood creaking beneath his weight.
“I want you to come eat while this is hot,” he said with a half-shrug.
She couldn’t help that she stared at the assortment of meat, vegetables, and rolls he’d brought with him.
It was almost cruel. She scowled at him.
“It’s hard to eat anything offered by one’s kidnapper,” she grumbled, though she’d eaten food from him before.
That was survival. This…this was something entirely different. Her stomach snarled its hunger, and gods, the smell made her mouth water. She refused to give in and step away from the wall, though. It was safe, even if there was no true safety in the room. People like him—like the Director—offered nothing without a price. She could go days without eating if she must, which meant that she could resist whatever game he was trying to play.
She knew she must look like a cornered cat, hissing at a dog.
He tilted his head and watched her.
“Forgive me if I mistook the bruises for quality care at the hands of the Director, Little Lamb. Would you like me to return you home?” He leaned back in the chair, crossing one ankle over the knee of the other leg. “There is no shame in eating food that has been offered. No matter who it comes from. Promise that I won’t tell a soul.”
The brow he raised in challenge made her huff.
“You held a knife to my throat and tied me up. I’m nothing more than collateral to you,” she said, repeating his words back to him. His lips pressed together. “Isn’t that the only reason why you took me from the Academy?”
She shifted beneath his intense green stare, but she refused to back down.
“I didn’t take you from the Academy as collateral.”
“You—What?”
She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, terrified that the Reaper had figured out what her blood could do. He would have every right to murder her where she stood.
He picked up a roll and peeled it apart and she watched as steam curled from within.
“You should come eat, while it’s warm, Little Lamb.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to let him know just how close to giving in to that suggestion she was.
He rose from the chair and took a step closer.
“Stay away from me.”
He tugged the blanket from her shoulders, but her fingers locked around the fabric, using it like a shield between them. She flinched when he raised his hand, but he simply held a roll between them. One she hadn’t seen him grab.
“How about a truce, just for now?” he suggested, wiggling the bread in front of her face.
She glared at him defiantly even though she wanted to grab the roll out of his hand and eat it whole. To keep her hands from doing just that, she clenched them tighter around the blanket. The room became too hot with him this close to her, baiting her.
The silence stretched between them, and he watched her with the same intensity, but this time she couldn’t get away from it.
This could go so many ways, and she didn’t know what his intentions were.
With Kingray at least, she knew that whatever he had planned involved her fear and pain, but she couldn’t get a good read on the Reaper. Either of them. The one time she’d gotten loose from them and ran into the woods, Nathan had caught her, and considering the circumstances, he’d been surprisingly gentle.
“Fine,” she snapped. The blanket slipped from her fingers, and she grabbed the roll out of his hand. He watched her chew, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied smirk.
“I knew you’d warm up to me.”
Gods, he was cocky. She pushed her hands against his chest, and to her surprise, he took a step back. She plopped down into the chair and downed the glass of water he’d poured. He sat across from her, turning the tray so that it was closer to her.
The thought crossed her mind that he could have poisoned or drugged the food, but she was too hungry to care as she shoved it into her mouth. She tried a bit of everything, enjoying the roasted chicken the most.
Wayden said nothing, simply watched and waited as she ate her fill.
It was unnerving how still he sat. If it weren’t for the occasional blink or his eating of something off the tray, she could mistake him for a statue. Was that his gift as a fae? He had no distinguishing traits, outside of the pointed ears and sharper teeth, though she wouldn’t recognize them if he had them. It wasn’t like the Director went around and taught her about faekind.
No, he was too busy experimenting on her and any fae he could get his hands on.
She cleared her throat, slowing down as the uncomfortable and unfamiliar pain in her stomach started.
Once she couldn’t eat another bite, even if she wanted to, she leaned back in the chair.
“If you didn’t take me as collateral, then why did you take me at all?” she asked. It’d been nagging at her since he said it.
He took a long drink from his own glass before he answered, “I was told to take something valuable from the Director, but I couldn’t leave you with him. Especially not after I saw what he’d done to you.”
The bruises on her throat seemed to tingle in response, and she tugged at the shirt collar to cover it.
It didn’t make sense. The Reapers were supposed to be ruthless and unfeeling, but that almost sounded like he cared. She stared at him, reminding herself that he and his brother had single-handedly killed hundreds of soldiers before their time in the Arena, where they ruthlessly killed any opponent they faced. No matter how civil he acted now.
“Pretty words…for a cold-blooded killer,” she said.
His smirk slipped.
“Is that what you think I am, Little Lamb?” he said, enunciating the nickname as he leaned forward. She forced her breath to remain steady and met his gaze.
“It’s what I know. You don’t scare me,” she said, pressing her lips together so he wouldn’t see them tremble. He set his glass down.
“Is that so?” he asked, leaning closer until his breath fanned across her ear and back of her neck. “Then why is your heart racing?”
She shrank away from him as he reached toward her, expecting a strike. They usually did.
He clicked his tongue, but he only grabbed the tray, leaving the glass and pitcher behind.
“Remember, there’s always three sides to every story, Little Lamb,” he said. “Yours, mine, and the truth.”
He stepped back, and she kept her gaze on the table, unable to meet his gaze.
The only sound beside her ragged breathing was the soft shuffle of feet and then the door clicking shut. She looked up. He’d gone, so why was her heart trying to claw its way from her chest?
December stood up from the still-warm water and wrapped a towel around herself. The interaction with Wayden had left her even more frazzled than she already was, and she’d paced the room until she thought she would wear a hole in the floor. After an hour of that, she took a bath and let the warm water soothe her muscles. Even if she’d been on high alert for anyone waltzing through the door. She pulled on the clothing Nathan had left.
Using the towel to dry her hair, she stepped back into the main room. Her eyes drew toward the glass that Wayden had left and the stack of books on the bookshelf.
She’d been trying to make sense of this place since she got here, but she only had more questions. Like the Reapers. She knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t—trust them, but something about how Wayden got defensive when she called him a killer didn’t line up with the cold persona she’d expected.
With a sigh, she turned from the window and climbed into the oversized bed. As the soft mattress welcomed her into its embrace, a noise that was part surprise, part pleasure spilled from her lips. She’d never slept in an actual bed before. What little sleep she got was on a flimsy mattress shoved into the corner of her cage.
The blanket cocooned her in warmth, and despite her surroundings, she sank into the comfort it provided. Tucked beneath the covers, she thumbed through the book when a knock came on the door. She froze, pulled the blanket up, and clutched it beneath her chin.
Wayden must have come back to terrorize her some more.
Another knock sounded, this one heavier and more demanding. She crept from the bed and reached for the knob, still clutching the book in her hand with one finger as a bookmark. To her surprise, it turned, and the door hinges creaked as she pulled it open.
The fae from earlier stood in the hall, just past her door—the one that the Reapers call ‘Sir’. The vampire. She’d recognized the faint red lines on his skin. The Director had once acquired one to experiment on, wondering what a fae who subsisted on blood would do with it. The second to have her blood injected into their body.
Her throat went dry. Vampires drank blood…
Even if she screamed, she doubted anyone would come to her aid. If they even heard her up here.
Her eyes darted up and down the corridor, and the vampire chuckled.
“I’m well-fed, I assure you. It would take very special blood to tempt me. I simply wanted to see how you were settling in and welcome you to the Citadel. My name is Ahren.”
December couldn’t think of anything to else to say to that, other than, “Oh.”
Ahren looked over her shoulder into the room. “I trust the accommodations are satisfactory?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, still at a loss. They were more than enough, but anything was better than a cage.
Ahren said nothing, and the silence stretched as he scrutinized her. Her curiosity and mouth had always gotten the best of her.
“If I may ask, what do you plan to do with me?”
Ahren’s eyes narrowed. “I haven’t decided. I did not expect the Reaper to bring me back a living creature, but now that you’re here, I’m not sure what to do with you besides continuing what I sought to do. But for now, you will be under the care of the Reapers.”
