Page 80 of Their Blood Queen

She awards me with a bubbling laugh as she carries a bucket and begins filling up the claw-foot tub. I know that there is a magic tonic that would fill it in the blink of an eye, but I quietly help by grabbing another bucket.

She doesn’t try to stop me. Beatrix and I have fallen into an understanding of one another. I feel better when I can do something. I hate just sitting around.

In no time at all, the tub is filled with steaming water that looks positively sinful. My skin itches for me to remove my clothing and plunge into it.

I realize, though, that I have yet to examine my blood contract marks.

And after encountering Cain himself, I’m apprehensive of what sort of nightmares that might spur to life in my mind. His blood is infused in my skin, which explains my strange dreams.

I’ve avoided them for the past few nights, but it feels akin to putting a lid atop a boiling kettle.

I might just explode if I bottle everything up for much longer.

Which, honestly, was another reason I had in mind for a bath. I need a moment of solitude to… take care of things.

“Thank you, Beatrix,” I say in lieu of a dismissal. When I give her a low nod, she drops the towel and the fluffy robe onto a stool.

“At least let me unbind your corset, dear,” she says with a stern look.

I sigh, then turn my back to her.

She slowly undoes the threads, then leaves my corset open at my back. She lingers there for a while, then clears her throat. “Please ring for me if you need me for anything further, my lady.”

I nod but don’t turn around.

Because I’m embarrassed. I can’t imagine what my marks must look like, or how someone like Beatrix might judge me for accepting this courtship.

“We always have a choice, Scarlett.”

Those had been Cain’s words that still rattle around in my mind. Why he had chosen to dance with me and pull me into his realm of nightmares on the Rinhold ballroom floor is lost on me.

He was probably trying to frighten me and make sure I understood the gravity of my situation.

Pick on someone your own size, Cain, I think as I peel away my clothes.

I stand up against a long mirror and run my finger over the mark just above my navel.

I hadn’t imagined it.

Twisting, I try to see my remaining marks that run up my spine. Unable to see from that particular angle, I grab a hand mirror and peer at the reflection.

The sight makes my eyes go wide.

Slashes run all the way up my spine, but they aren’t straight lines. They look like sets of jagged claw marks.

Like a hand had raked down my back multiple times.

Frowning, I put down the hand mirror and collect some oils, then dump them into the tub. The scent of peaches marinates the room, making me relax.

Finally, I grab the sides of the tub and climb in. The sides are high, allowing the volume to be substantial enough to submerge me.

“Oh, yes,” I breathe as I pinch my nose, then dunk my entire head underwater.

My world grows smaller as the roar of the water rushes over my ears. I stay there for a moment and look up through the water at the ceiling. My view is broken as I try to make out the designs on the ornate tiles.

Then things begin to change.

Smoky black tendrils snake over the swirling designs, and I squint to see if I’m imagining things.

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