Page 25 of Brutal King

God, I’m suddenly so tired. I stare at the bed longingly, but for some reason, laying in it seems like giving up. Like I’m claiming this space as mine.

Instead, I grab the covers off the bed and drag them to the alcove with the stained-glass window and bench. It’s comfortable enough, thickly cushioned and wide, that when I curl up on it and rest my head against a green glass pane, my lids quickly grow heavy.

The walls of my gilded cage go blurry, and then fades away all together.

There’s something about the shadow on the wall. I stare at it, my vision hazy, trying to discern what to make of it. It’s moving, undulating, gathering itself until it forms a man.

Eyes like ice twinkle from the darkness. Eyes that burn in spite of their cold intensity.

“Gideon,” I murmur.

He comes to me, his face becoming clearer as he nears. “Sleep, my Little Bird.”

I wake with a gasp, my lids flying open, and immediately lock onto a pair of icy blue eyes. They stare back at me from within a dark little shadow on the pillow beside me. The pupils elongate as the cat focuses on me and a loudmeowis let out accusatorially.You woke me up.

“Hi.” I say, somewhat confused and disoriented. “How are you here?”

The cat ignores my question and readjusts itself, digging its head deeper into the fluffy pillow before going back to sleep.

I sit up and take in my surroundings. Morning sunlight is streaming in through the French doors and the stained-glass window above the alcove where I’d fallen asleep, casting greens and blues and reds onto the bed I’m in now.

Wait. I’m in the bed?

“What the hell?” How did I get here?

The dream flashes in my mind. Blue eyes and shadows. Was Gideon here?

I turn to the door. The chair is still shoved under the brass lever and the lock is still set. Relief floods over me. It wasn’t Gideon. He didn’t come in while I slept.

“It must have been you I saw,” I tell the cat.

He makes a small sound of acknowledgement and purrs.

“You were in my dream?”

Another meow.

I must have sleepwalked. Though I don’t do it often, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. Actually, I was a pretty active sleeptalker when I was younger. But I would have to have been extremely tired to come across the cat as I made my way to the bed and somehow imbedded him in my dreams.

The question remains. How did a cat get in my room? Was he in here the whole time? Gideon warned me that the felines wanted in, but it didn’t occur to me that they probably already had infiltrated the house.

It doesn’t bother me. I always wanted a kitten, but Tony was deathly allergic.

“I shall call you…” I reach out to him and rub his silky black coat. “Winter.”

Grudgingly, I slip out of the warmth of the covers and go to the bathroom. After doing my business, I stand over the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look hungover. My hair’s a mess, sticking out at all angles, the bags under my eyes could be classified as straight up luggage, and my lips are dry and crusty.

I’m dehydrated, hungry, and… I tug my hoodie upwards and sniff. “Gross.”

Lucky for me, my captor was thoughtful enough to leave bottles of water on the counter and stocked the drawers beneath the sink with toiletries. I’m not sure if he did it specifically for me, or for any other unwitting guest.

“Horrible man,” I mumble as I grab the items I need—toothbrush, comb, lotion and deodorant.

I do a quick wash in the sink, scrubbing the parts I can without getting fully undressed. All the while, I scan everything, searching for any hidden cameras.

A knock on the door has me jumping and accidently soaking the front of my shirt. I snag the towel and hold it to my chest, my heart pounding.

“Sofia.” It’s Gideon.

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