Page 25 of Chain Me
That wasallit was.
“It’s good to see you again,” Yulia called to me, her voice muffled by the shower spray. I snuck a glance at her while lathering my hair with the bottle of shampoo. “I should have visited you sooner. But…” She shook her head, her smile strained. “Do you need help? I’m dying to get my hands on those curls again.”
I let her assist me—and I needed the help. For the first time in ages, water felt hot. My skin seared, painfully raw. There was no residual numbness radiating through my bones to shield from sensation.
But…
I froze, half dressed, transfixed on my reflection in a mirror hanging above the sink. A stranger stared back at me. I scanned her eyes, searching for the hint of a monster dwelling within her fragile frame.
A salty taste still lingered on my tongue, impossible to choke down.
“Eleanor?” A warm touch on my shoulder drew my attention to the woman beside me. “What do you think?” she asked while helping me into the white dress.
“It’s perfect.” The praise wasn’t an understatement. Softer than gossamer, the material fit just as comfortably as any previous item of clothing she’d designed for me.
“I think so too. But damn.” Frowning, she glanced at a watch on her wrist. “I wish I could stay longer, but Dublin will kill me if I don’t finish at least a good bit of your clothing as soon as possible. In the meantime, I left a few things to tide you over.” She winked and headed back into the hallway. “You should get some rest. I will check on you later.”
By the time I had the sense to whisper, “Goodbye,” she was already gone.
* * *
Semi-darkness greeted me as I opened my eyes. The ceiling was a swath of flickering shadow, and a lone fluorescent bulb illuminated the room, throwing the man standing at the foot of my bed in stark contrast.
Once again, he’d come armed with a cup of mysterious liquid and a bowl of food. Soup, it smelled like. Along with a thick slice of bread and another piece of cake.
“Eat,” he prompted, placing the meal down before me.
Drowsiness rendered me compliant enough to accept the cup without complaint. It was already in my hand as I closed my eyes. Drank.
The moment I downed the last drop, he was there to ease it from my grasp. I opened my eyes and found him eyeing me from head to toe. I squirmed as he lingered over my face.
The rage was gone from his expression, but in its wake remained something far too close to concern.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I croaked. “For someone who has cancer, anyway.”
“Cancer?” So much for concerned. He went rigid, his eyes narrowed.
I nodded. “A tumor. That’s what you implied, isn’t it? I must have vampire cancer. Either that, or I am a harlot with no morals—”
“Eleanor…” His teeth clattered, but he snatched up the spoon rather than arguing. “Here.”
Accepting it, I twisted the metal between my fingers. The polished surface displayed my reflection, but I barely recognized it. Wide, green eyes and a pursed, pensive expression. Turning away, I fished for any distraction. My scattered thoughts provided one. “Yulia brought me clothing.” I gestured to the duffel on the floor. “But she said you requested an alteration. What?”
“How are you feeling?” he repeated without acknowledging my question. “I’ve asked Dr. Martin to reexamine you—”
“I have myowndoctor.” I fought to put some indignation into my tone and failed. My voice shook. I spent more time eyeing his suit than meeting his gaze directly. He hadn’t changed, and the color scheme made him seem even paler than usual—a statue formed of ivory.
“Your so-called doctor, one Elodie Goodfellow,” Dublin said.
Was I surprised? Perhaps. Frankly, I couldn’t tell fury from shock.
“A medical doctor with more than a few mysterious donations in her bank account from undisclosed benefactors. I’ve taken the liberty of severing ties with her on your behalf and canceling your donation to St. Mary’s. The fewer who have access to your medical records, the better.”
My brain blanked at his audacity. One detail stuck out, however. “So, that wasn’t you. The D.H. donor?”
He raised an eyebrow.
