Page 48 of Chain Me
Dublin stopped short, and I had to dig my heels in to prevent myself from colliding with him.
“I said get out of my way.” He swiveled his gaze in Saskia’s direction and her smug grin wavered a fraction.
Only to reform a heartbeat later, more beautiful than ever.
“What on Earth shall we dress little Eleanor in?” she wondered, turning her attention to me. Wincing in disgust, she scanned my rumpled dress, splattered with blood. “She looks well enough, considering the fuss you made. Still so plain, though I’m sure I can do something with her.” She rubbed her hands, and I recalled an unsettling piece of advice Dublin had given me once.
“Saskia is a succubus. She cannot actually read minds—merely the subconscious fears and desires of those around her.”
“Come here, my dear—”
“No.I’lldress her.” Yulia stepped forward and took my hand. She tried to pull me out of Saskia’s reach—but an iron grip on my opposite arm kept me rooted in place. “Dublin,” she said softly. “I’ll watch out for her.” She brushed her fingers along my arm in brief reassurance. “I promise.”
He let me go. Before I could look back, Yulia was dragging me through the doorway, past a scowling Mikhail.
“Darling Yulia to the rescue,” Saskia remarked, sighing like a child denied a treat. “But will her magic work this time? After all, you brought herhere,Dublin.” The way she stressed the word implied a nefarious connotation. Something that made her haughty tone shake with more than just anger. Fear? “Youcalled Raphael from his rest, all the way here. And for what? Though it is no matter. You may be the all-powerful Cael, but within these walls, even you are just like the rest of us. Under his rule.”
“Come.” Yulia steered me forward.
I looked over my shoulder, catching a mere glimpse of the room. Dublin was framed by the doorway, as rigid as a statue. His eyes flickered to mine and my entire body went cold at what I found in them.
Nothing. Not even anger.
Not hate.
Not even concern.
He was beyond feeling anything at all.
Amusement
“Damn, damn, damn!” Yulia raced around a wide room, snatching items from various racks of clothing.
The space we were in resembled a dressing room, so similar to the one in the original club where we’d met. Red walls and floors a dark shade of wood served to enhance the allure befitting the club’s mysterious name. At least the moniker I remembered it as—Anemia.
In the prime position to display my reaction, a large, golden mirror hung across from us, above a marble vanity.
“I hope you’re all right?” Yulia inquired mid-lunge. Her chosen prey was a garment from an overflowing closet. Frowning, she held it up for inspection and then tossed it aside. Then she rummaged for something different, her eyebrow furrowed in concentration.
“I’m fine,” I lied. The mirror provided enough evidence to contradict me—my bloodshot eyes stared blankly, my hair matted and damp. Scarlet streaks painted my cheeks and my neck, staining the bodice of my dress.
“Thank God,” she muttered. “Finally!” On what had to be her fourth trip around the room, she found a garment that made her nod in approval. Pivoting on her feet, she returned to me and lifted my chin. “Oh, Ellie.”
Her irises contracted with pity as she unfurled her selection and held it before me—a long dress made of black silk. While conservative in some aspects, it had a dangerously low neckline that reinforced its purpose in a club like this—a place where souls were bartered and sold on a whim.
Even Dublin’s.
“It will have to do.” Without waiting for my opinion, Yulia started to tug off my soiled clothing—a task made easier once she found a strip of lace along the neckline and pulled.
There was no other way to describe how the fabric came apart other than like magic. Or expert tailoring.
“Here.” She helped tug the new dress over my head, and before the silky material had even settled at my waist, she already had a wet rag in her hand and was dabbing at my shoulders. “Dublin will be angry,” she warned in a level tone. “I’m glad you’re okay, but you need to realize what is at stake now. The fact that he even came here is—” She bit off the rest of her words, her mouth wrinkled. “Where were you? We thought…” For the first time, she seemed to realize just what substance she was dutifully cleaning off me. Her mouth dropped open in horror and the rag slipped from her fingers. “Are you all right?” She felt along my forehead, inspecting the flesh. “Were you hurt? Dublin didn’t seem alarmed, so I thought—”
“I fell,” I croaked. “He…he gave me his blood. I’m better now.”
“Oh.” She drew her hand away and stooped for the rag.
Cautiously, she continued her ruthless cleansing, but her expression wavered, more strained than before. Her lips twitched as if fighting to contain any more questions. Then she left the room in silence and returned with a basin of warm water and a fresh set of rags.
