Page 12 of Bound to the Guard

“This is my personal suite,” Damien says, confirming what I already know. “But if you’d be more comfortable in a guest suite,I can prepare one for you. They’re on the opposite side of the manor, though. This is the family wing.”

I blink up at him, struggling to process his words. The opposite side of the manor? I can’t fathom a house so large that going from one side to the other would be an inconvenience.

“I…I don’t want to be any trouble.” My fingers twist in the blanket wrapped around my body. “This is fine. More than fine.”

The idea of being separated from Damien fills me with panic. With him, I’m safe. Protected. I don’t want to be stuffed in some suite like this alone, wondering when someone will remember to check on me.

Damien’s expression softens, and I wonder if he can sense my fear, my desperate need for security. “You’re no trouble at all. I want you to be at home here.”

Home. The word sends a pang through me. I haven’t had a real home in so long. Could I belong here? Or is that hoping for too much?

Damien guides me further into the suite with slow, careful movements, as if trying not to startle a skittish animal.

He leads me to a spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed, gesturing to a plush mound of blankets and pillows. “You can sleep here. I’ll take the couch in the office.”

“I c-can take the couch,” I protest.

He shakes his head. “You’re still recovering, so you get the bed.”

Overwhelmed by his kindness, I accept in silence.

He shows me the bathroom next, and I gape at the sheer grandeur of it. Gleaming marble floors, a massive walk-in shower with multiple showerheads, and a deep soaking tub big enough to fit three people. It’s like something out of a magazine, a far cry from anything I’m used to.

Damien points out the linens stacked in a built-in cabinet and rummages through a drawer before producing a brand-new toothbrush, still in its packaging. “Here, this is for you.”

My hands tremble as I accept it, aware of my filth while surrounded by this gleaming space. I must reek. The men at the compound hosed me down when I arrived, but that was days ago, if not weeks. Time lost all meaning in that dark, dank basement.

The thought of standing under a warm spray of water, of scrubbing myself clean and washing away the grime and the shame and the fear, brings hot tears to my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting Damien to see me cry.

If he notices my distress, he doesn’t comment on it. “I’ll give you some privacy. Take all the time you need, okay? No rush.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Damien leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone.

For a moment, I stand frozen, my heart rabbiting as I try to process everything that’s happened.

The sound of the door opening again startles me, and I whirl to find Damien with a bundle of fabric in his arms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I realized you’d need something to sleep in.”

He holds the clothes out to me, and I hesitantly take the soft nightshirt and lounge pants, both meant for someone much taller and broader than me.

“They’ll be big on you, I’m afraid,” Damien apologizes. “But I’ll have some things in your size delivered tomorrow.”

“Is…is it nighttime?” I have no idea of the time, no sense of how long I’ve been awake or what day it might be.

“It is. You must be exhausted.” Damien rubs his palms together. “Tell you what. While you clean up and change, I’llorder something from the kitchen. Anything in particular you want?”

The question catches me off guard, and I freeze, my mind going blank. The thought of being allowed to choose my food, of having options beyond the tasteless, colorless slop I’ve been served over the past year at every place I’ve been held, is too overwhelming to process.

Damien must see my panic because he backtracks. “Actually, don’t worry about it. I’ll order a couple of things that will be light on your stomach.”

While the offer sounds kind, I flush all the same, shame prickling hot under my skin. I must appear half-starved, all sharp angles and protruding bones. Just another reminder of how pathetic, how broken I am.

Clearing his throat, Damien gestures to the bathroom. “I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need anything. I’ll be right outside.”

He leaves again, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stay where he leaves me, waiting in case he pops back in with something else he forgot. The bundle of clothes clutched to my chest holds his musky scent and something spicy like sandalwood. I breathe it in, letting his pheromones soothe the ragged edges of my nerves.

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