Page 55 of Chain Me
Any sound I made was swallowed by his lips parting over mine, taking every strangled cry. It went on for an eternity…
Pleasure bordering on ecstasy. Sensation rivaling pain. Too much. All at once.
And then everything shattered. I fell apart, reassembling over twisted, sweat-soaked silk. When I regained my senses, his mouth was in my hair, his arm over my waist.
And he spoke to me, murmuring words too softly to hear.
But then I made the mistake of relaxing into his embrace, brushing my fingers along his arm. Abruptly, he sat up, pulling away. In a daze, I watched him lunge through the dark, dressing so quickly that he was already in the hall by the time I registered him lifting his shirt.
Gone in an instant.
Turbulence
Ilay there in a daze for so long that I couldn’t tell if it was still night or day when I finally heard a voice drift from down the hall. Dublin’s low rasp, resonating with authority.
“…the plane ready. I want to be airborne within the hour. No delays…”
Then minutes passed, and I sensed he’d started a far different conversation.
“I’m sorry,” he growled, sounding fainter than before. His tone had softened, containing a mixture of emotions—some easily recognizable, others more obscure. Guilt?Anddefiance. “I don’t have a week! I know Saskia suspects. It’s only a matter of time before she starts whispering into Raphael’s ear. With this, he’ll have enough leverage to tack another six hundred years onto my debt—if only to keep him from turning her into his pet. Is that what you want?”
He paused, allowing someone to answer. Through a phone, I suspected, because I didn’t hear another voice nearby.
Finally, Dublin sighed. “It’s either Dmitri or Raphael—” The other speaker must have interrupted, because he swore so darkly that I trembled. “I will never sit back and watch him parade her like some sick conquest. Hate me if you’d like. But Dmitri was there at the beginning. If anyone would know what this means, it’s him—”
Another interruption drew a hiss of disgust from his throat.
“You think I don’t care? Don’t youeverquestion that again, Yulia. You and I both know what this has cost me. So, fine. Cast your lot in with Raphael if you’d prefer him as your protector. Just know that I have never forsaken you, and I never will.”
He went silent again, for long enough that I suspected the conversation had ended. Heavy, slow footsteps alluded to him pacing. A picture came to mind—him glowering while raking his hands through his hair, furious because of me. I’d made him do something that had even Yulia against him.
But what?
No answer came by the time his footsteps advanced toward my room. Just beyond the doorway, they stopped.
“Get dressed.”
His tone stiffened my spine—so cold that it rivaled the chill in the room itself. Cautiously, I sat upright as he retreated, and I had to reconcile the million things I wished to ignore. The inside of my legs felt wet. My knees were jelly, wobbling as I attempted to stand. I had to cling to the bed frame just to keep from falling.
I made my way to the wardrobe and fished out one of Yulia’s dresses. Then I felt along the wall until I nearly tripped over my shoes discarded on the floor. After pulling them on, I entered the hallway, where Dublin loomed in the center room, his back to me. Wordless, he gestured to an open doorway—a bathroom, I realized as I crept closer.
Inside, I quickly washed and ran my wet fingers through my knotted hair. I’d barely stepped over the threshold when I found him in the foyer, wrenching the door to the suite open.
A curt jerk of his chin was my sole cue to follow. Together, we traipsed down the steps and exited the building to darkness. It was either late at night or early in the morning. Bathed in moonlight, his car idled up ahead, but this time, a driver sat before the steering wheel. Dublin ushered me into the back only to slam the door behind me and claim the passenger’s seat for himself.
As the car took off, I wrung my fingers over my lap, desperate to find a distraction from the tension thickening the air. I looked down, eyeing myself critically. My dress was a gray one, relatively shapeless, though no less elegant than any of Yulia’s other creations. In a way, it fit the somber atmosphere so well that it could have been curated for this moment. My trademark costume as Dublin’s dowdy archnemesis, destined to torment him to no end.
Minutes of driving became hours. Eventually, our journey extended beyond the city, but Dublin never revealed our destination and I lacked the courage to ask. Instead, I consoled myself by staring from the window as dawn painted the horizon in brightening shades of lavender and pink. Gradually, the trees of the countryside gave way to neatly trimmed fields designed for a sole purpose.
One that became clear as the driver entered a maze of wide, rectangular buildings and finally pulled up before, of all things, one item even my family didn’t possess: a plane, slim, white, and most definitely private.
“Ready for takeoff, sir,” the driver remarked as Dublin climbed out and approached my door.
He wrenched on the handle and offered his hand—but his mood hadn’t softened during the ride. If anything, the rage had solidified in his very bones, rendering them rigid against me.
“And the arrangements?” he asked the driver while approaching the plane, tugging me along.
The door to the cabin hung open, a set of stairs leading to it. From this angle. I noticed a smiling woman in a crisp black uniform waiting at the top, her hands folded before her.
