Page 73 of Snitches and Serpents

He shrugs. “Technically, Paul is the one who slipped it into your drink. But yeah, I’m the one who told him to do it.”

My head spins. Paul. He didn’t come over to apologize. He came to drug me on Tristan’s orders.

Rage burns through me like wildfire.

Apparently, everyone in the White Serpents is a complete and utter bastard.

“You drugged me!” I scream as I shoot up from the bed. “You?—”

“Sit down,” Tristan orders, cutting me off.

“I will not be sitting down!” Anger courses through my every vein as I storm across the floor towards him. “You roofied me and then?—”

The rest of my sentence never makes it out of my mouth because my knees buckle and I suck in a gasp instead.

Tristan is already out of the chair and halfway to me when I start to fall.

He wraps his arms around my waist before I can hit the ground, and pulls me back up again.

“I told you to sit down,” he says, shooting me a disapproving look. “It will be another few hours before you’re fully recovered.”

My cheek is pressed against his bare chest as he holds me tightly. I try to push myself away, but he simply walks me back to the bed and sits me down on it again.

Then he points towards a plate on the nightstand. “Eat.”

I glance towards the sandwich and the pile of fruit salad on the plate before giving Tristan a sharp look. “It’s probably poisoned.”

He laughs. It’s a kind of surprised laugh that actually seems to startle him too. Recovering, he flashes me a devilish grin instead.

“Good,” he says. “You’re learning.”

Then he picks up the sandwich and takes a bite of it. After swallowing that, he grabs the spoon and scoops up some pieces of fruit. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, I watch him through narrowed eyes as he then walks back to the chair by the other wall.

When he doesn’t drop dead after eating, I reluctantly reach for the plate.

While I eat the rest of the food, he drags over the chair so that it’s closer to the bed instead. It scrapes loudly against the floor. Once it’s in position, he drops down on it.

I set the now empty plate back on the nightstand while I roll my eyes at the way Tristan is sitting. It’s that typical cocky male way with his legs spread while he lounges back in the chair as if he owns the place. And because he’s also shirtless, he looks like a true prince of sin on his throne.

After running my tongue over my lip, I brush my hands down the pale blue dress that I’m still wearing. Then I raise my gaze and lock it on Tristan.

“I have questions,” I declare.

The corner of his mouth tilts up as he meets my gaze. “I’m sure you do.”

“What time is it? Actually, what day is it?”

“It’s Saturday. Almost noon.”

Which means that the party was last night. So I have only been asleep, or unconscious, for about twelve hours or so.

I lick my lips. “Where am I?”

“In my house. My basement, to be specific.”

“Why?”

“Because I drugged you and brought you here.”

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