Page 35 of A Bloom in Winter

“I didn’t feel anything,” Callum said into the cold, still air. “Not a thing. I did not feel . . . anything . . .”

Except he was lying.

He had felt too much. Which was why he’d had to come here.

To the prison.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Back at Camp Ghreylke, Mahrci sat at the foot of the bed she’d been sleeping on top of for the last couple of days, her bare legs dangling off the end, her socked feet turned in as they always had. In her cupped hands, her cell phone was like a grenade with the pin still in, the kind of thing that wouldn’t explode as long as she didn’t turn it on.

Apex was right. Her father was going to show up here if she didn’t do something.

What the hell had she been thinking, coming up to his property here? Then again, he had so many estates, apartments, and buildings, it was nearly impossible to keep track of what he owned, and he didn’t come to Connelly even in the good months. As usual, the acquisition and the transformation of the property had been what had interested him.

Not the enjoyment. Never . . . the enjoyment.

The arrival of her unanticipated roommates was a reminder that, however far she could go, there was no escaping her reality. Not with Whestmorel as her father.

Not with the male he wanted her to get mated to.

Not with what she had done.

Taking a deep breath, Mahrci hovered her thumb over the button on the side of the iPhone. Then she pushed the thing in harder than she had to, and set the cell aside on the flannel duvet.

Looking around, she had no emotional reaction to the space. She had picked this room only because it was the first one she had come to as she’d bottomed out on the underground level. Like all the other daytime suites her sire had insisted on building, as well as the house above, everything was done in interior-decorator-Adirondack, the colors evergreen, crimson, and gold, the woodwork left natural, the furniture made of polished logs and branches with the bark still on them. Yes, technology controlled the temperature, the Wi-Fi, and the lighting, but every effort had been made to hide the screens and even the ductwork.

No expense had been spared, even though he didn’t care about the property.

And in this respect, she was just like his real estate portfolio. His art collection. His cars.

Well, she didn’t have a monogram branded on her butt like a head of cattle. And considering everything, that was kind of a surprise.

Putting her hand out to the side, she palmed the phone, and turned the goddamn thing over. As the cell connected with the Wi-Fi, calls, voicemails, and texts came in, the banners running like water—

Until things were cut off by a phone call coming through.

Closing her eyes, she swiped her finger across the screen and put the unit up to her ear—

“No voicemail this time? Is this really you, Mahricelle?”

The long vowels, clipped consonants, and high altitude attitude went through her nervous system like a charge of electricity, and she straightened her spine and set her shoulders back.

I can do this, she told herself.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Hello, Father—”

“I am sending a car at nightfall. I expect you to get in it and come back to Caldwell promptly. I will deal with you when you—”

Her heart thundered. “No.”

In the pause that followed, she imagined him at his desk in his study in Caldwell, a dark red, monogrammed robe tucked around his trim body, his black hair styled in a side part with nothing out of place, his elegant hand removing the reading glasses that sat at the end of his straight nose.

“I beg your pardon,” came the icy response.

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m not coming back—”

“Yes, you are. And you are going to apologize to Remis, and beg him to forgive you. Then you are getting mated in a month.”

---