Page 25 of Red Dreams

I nod, reluctant to break the spell he’s cast but aware of its fragility. As we step out, I commit every detail to memory—the slick tiles beneath my feet, the way Kaden's hair clings to his forehead, and the lingering warmth of his skin against mine. I’llhold on to it when the horrors start again, when I’m desperate for something good amid all this agony, because I’m certain Cassie’s not finished with us.

Kaden wraps a plush towel around my shoulders before securing another at his hips.

I pull the soft cotton around my body, seeking its comfort now that I’m not wrapped around Kaden, but the moment of respite shatters as my eyes land on the floor where Kaden’s pile of clothes should be. I scan the bathroom in a panic while the steam clears—like they might’ve just wandered off to another room by themselves—before landing on Kaden. His gaze has also sharpened, not on the area where his clothes should be, but beside the vanity where two silk robes are strategically placed—one red, one black.

“Kaden…”

His jaw clenches as he stares at the robes. “I know.”

Someone was here while we were lost in each other. This moment was stolen from me, just like so much else. Nausea rises in my throat at the thought of unseen eyes on my bare skin, of my vulnerability on display.

I flinch when Kaden's hand lands on my shoulder, hating myself for the reaction even as I lean into his touch, craving his steadiness.

“Layla,” he says, turning me to face him. “We’ll figure this out. I won’t let her hurt you.”

Her.His daughter. The reminder that Cassie has orchestrated this nightmare sends a fresh shudder coursing through me. I can't imagine the additional layer of horror Kaden must be feeling to have his own flesh and blood violating his privacy, his intimacy.

But he pushes it down, his focus solely on me as he rubs soothing circles on my back. “Our choice is to put them on or stay in the towels.”

“Don’t forget the third option,” I say, trying for a joke, though my voice shakes. “We can always stay naked. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

My joke falls flat.

With grim determination, Kaden moves closer to examine the robes. He lifts the smaller red one first, checking seams, pockets, anywhere something could be hidden for the purpose of hurting me.

Only when he's certain it’s safe does he help me into it, the silk cool and slippery against my skin. The exquisite fabric is no doubt expensive, but it feels like a mockery of comfort, my gilded cage closing in.

Kaden ties his robe with efficient motions, his eyes never leaving me as I fumble with my own belt, my fingers clumsy and trembling. He steps closer, gently brushing my hands aside to secure the knot himself. The simple act of care splinters something in me, and I sag against him, burying my face in his chest.

His arms come around me instantly, strong and solid.

“I've got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I want to believe him, but fear claws at my insides, diabolical whispers filling my head. Nowhere is safe. She's always watching, always one step ahead. How can we fight an enemy that knows our every move? An enemy whom Kadenloveswith every fiber of his being?

As if sensing my spiraling thoughts, Kaden cups my face, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

“One second at a time, Wraithling. That's all we can do. We survive this second, then the next. Together.”

Together.The word is a lifeline.

Clinging to Kaden's promise, I take a deep breath and nod. Hand in hand, we step out of the bathroom to face whatever fresh hell awaits me.

Only to stop short at the scene laid out in front of us.

9

LAYLA

The suite has been transformed. Where before it was a sort of luxury-chic torture chamber, it now resembles a perverse parody of a romantic date.

A table set for two sits in the center of the room, draped in a crisp white tablecloth and adorned with gleaming silver and delicate china. Crystal wineglasses catch the light from dozens of flickering candles scattered throughout the space.

A rolling cart sits beside the table, bearing covered dishes that waft tantalizing aromas that my stomach will tear through my skin to access.

But the romantic veneer is tainted, perverted. The candles are a deep, arterial red, their wax dripping like blood down the sides. The wine in the glasses is such a dark burgundy it's nearly black. And the china, upon closer inspection, is adorned not with the typical floral patterns but with writhing, tortured figures.

I gulp at the sight.

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