Page 12 of Lost Girl

“Help,please!”

“Will you stop that?” a voice resounds from the stairwell, freezing me on the spot. “God, it’s worse than her never-ending questions.”

Tinksley.

I know it without a doubt.

Sure enough, a series of still moments later and she hops off the last step with the Captain right on her tail. A silver platter sits in her palm, the rising sun’s reflection glinting off it’s perfectly shiny surface.

One look at me and her head rears back. “What in the actual fuck happened down here? Why are you naked?” she questions in disgust, setting the platter at my feet.

The scent of fresh eggs and ham waft from its confines, wringing my stomach tighter.

“Armand,” I answer, turning away from the food, arms coming as far around myself as my restraints will allow.

Not that I need to cover up. Hook’s kept himself looming within the threshold of the stairwell.

“Of course he did.” She rolls her eyes, snapping her head toward him. “Can you grab something for her to put on?”

A simple nod and he’s off, leaving me withher.I don’t know how to feel about that other than uneasy. She seems to ping pong between emotions in no time flat.

“Did you at least get to come?” Her query comes with a snicker, tropical irises alight with curiosity.

A part of me is scandalized she’s asked me this, but then again, I’m sitting here on the dirty floor, practically naked from head to toe. What else is to be expected?

Unless they keep all captives in this state.

I shake my head, knees curling up to my chest. “He didn’t fuck me.”

“Ah, I see. Copped a feel while he fed off you, huh?”

I nod, though what happened is so fuzzy, I don’t elaborate any further. If Armand hasn’t shared with her what took place, then, clearly, she doesn’t need to know.

“That’s pretty standard around here,” she continues. “The Puppets live for that shit.”

“The Puppets?”

“Mhmm. Mortals, just like you. Traded their freedom and lifesource for riches and hedonism. Most of them enjoy a rough fucking during feedings.”

None of what she says makes a dribble of sense to me. I’m pondering it through, trying to piece together what she’s just divulged when Hook re-emerges with my nightie and my shoes. “Violet had them.” He sets the shoes down and tosses the powder blue garment at me, as if I can just put it on. “Says Armand asked her to clean up when he finished.”

“Surely that’s not what he meant.” Tinksley turns back toward me. “In any case, count your blessings, Wendylocks. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Why?”

They share a brief look before she drops to her haunches at my feet, shoving the platter aside. “Because Armand’s body count is higher than everyone under this roof put together. He doesn’t feed as often as he should, meaning when he does, he sucks you dry. You must have a magical cunt to still be breathing after the fact.”

“He didn’t. Fuck me,” I grit, jerking forward in my bindings.

What part of that didn’t she understand the first time?

Tinksley scoffs a laugh and pats the top of my head, rising to full height. “Easy there, girl. No need to get worked up. Take it as a compliment.”

“You’re implying I spread my legs for him like a common whore. How is that a compliment?”

“Aren’tyou a whore, though?” She crosses her arms.

My head nearly snaps off my neck. “Excuse me?”

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