Page 18 of Enemies By Fate

Could I have been wrong about him? About all the Bloodstone brothers?

That hardly seems likely, given what an asshole Malachi is. But the lapping of his tongue between my legs replays over and over as the shower head massages me, bringing me to another climax in the waterfall shower of my new enclosure. Slumping against the glass walls, I sigh, spent and conflicted, tremblingslightly. I want to stay in the steam forever, but it reminds me of his dragon’s breath.

I need to get out of this estate, out of Oak Valley, but there are worse places to be. I am near the Bloodstone Alphas, the ones who will give me the answers I’ve been craving since the dreams started.

But those answers will all lead to the same result: the Apex Alphas are murderers, and I am trapped with them.

Moreover, I’d freely given myself to one of them.

What have I gotten myself into? Why didn’t I stop him? He hadn’t forced me.

The coconut soaps and vanilla shampoo wash away the grime of the underground cells, but I can’t stop thinking about the prisoners down there. Who are they, and why was that one so interested in me?

It could have been just as simple as what Malachi suggested. I had been the first woman they’d seen in a long time. But I know in my heart there’s more to it than that. He had seen something in me, that one prisoner in particular, who Asher kept calling off.

And what about Asher Bloodstone? He appears to be the gentlest of the three with his dimpled smile. Could he be my ally?

Coming to Oak Valley had only led to more questions than answers, and I am in real trouble now. No one will ever find me here without the Bloodstone’s permission, not when the town is magically guarded and protected. No one is ever allowed in an Apex Alpha’s town without their explicit invitation.

When Circe finally sounds the alarm to Sadie, and they start looking for me, they will never be able to locate me here.

I’ll get the answers I need and find a way out somehow, before Circe or Sadie get dragged into this. But I have to work quickly. The Alphas are already impatient with my evasiveness.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I grimace at the sack dress crumbled on the floor. The thought of putting it back on afterfeeling so fresh and clean makes my stomach turn. I can’t do it. I just can’t bring myself to wear it again.

I pad out toward the bedroom wrapped in the towel, where I freeze. On the bed, three different outfits lay sprawled over the duvet. None had been there when I entered the bathroom, and my heart hammers at the sight of them. Before I can connect where they’d come from, a voice speaks from behind me.

“I knocked, but no one answered. Malachi said you needed clean clothes.”

Squealing, I whip around, my hand on my chest, but immediately relax to see Warrick lingering in the doorway between the sitting room and bedroom. I don’t know why I’m happier to see him than Malachi, but I am.

“Oh… thank you,” I mumble.

He studies me for a moment. “I’ll have some food sent up.”

Abruptly, he turns to give me privacy and I stop him. “Who is in the cells downstairs?”

Warrick’s shoulders stiffen, and he half turns back to look at me. “Prisoners.”

Smiling thinly, I adjust the terrycloth towel around my naked body and notice his eyes trail over the swell of my cleavage before returning to my face. “Yes. But why are they prisoners?”

“For various infractions,” he answers vaguely. “Why do you care?”

I press my lips together, unsure if I should answer him honestly or not. “How long have they been down there? A lot of them look like they haven’t seen sunlight in a while.”

“They haven’t,” he growls. “Why so many questions about the captives?”

I sashay closer to him, my pulse drumming as wildly as it had the first time I’d laid eyes on him. This effect the brothers are having on me bothers me, but what if I can use it to my advantage?

Warrick steps back warily, and I stop moving. He hasn’t forgotten what I can do, and I have to tread carefully. I part my lips to explain my interest, but Warrick has already heard enough from me.

“You should get dressed,” he says, spinning away. “I’ll see about your food.”

Disappointed, I watch him leave, my heart sinking as I retreat to the bed to take in the garments laid out for me.

Three separate outfits to suit three different personality types, as if they are trying to gauge the kind of woman whom they’re dealing with.

I opt for the pleated skirt and casual t-shirt, a combination of two outfits. To my surprise, they fit perfectly, as if someone had measured me without me knowing. The fact is daunting, but also mildly flattering.

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