Page 124 of Chain Me
He approached me, mounting the first step. Then he paused, his gaze drifting to someone behind me.
I turned as well, spying a pale figure lurking near the end of the hall.
All thoughts of furniture forgotten, I rushed toward her. “Georgie?”
“I’m okay,” she insisted, shrugging off the hand I’d placed on her shoulder. “I’ll never get my strength back if you keep coddling me.” Her mouth was flattened in determination, but the softness in her eyes robbed any resentment from her tone.
Forcing my arms down by my side, I followed her back into her room.
It’d been over a week since being rescued from under Mero’s influence and she still slept for most of the day. Our interactions since had been few and far between. In fact, now might have been the first time she’d had enough energy to speak let alone leave the room on her own.
“It looks like things have changed,” she whispered, eyeing me from head to toe. “It feels like I was out for years, not days—”
“I’m so sorry.”
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and sat on the edge of her bed, facing me. “I should be the one who is sorry.” She bit her bottom lip, turning her gaze to the floor. “Everything is still fuzzy, but…” She looked up, meeting my gaze with a sigh. “I remember leaving. I remember walking away, convinced that there was no way to save us. I know we were never close but… I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to,” I admitted, inching closer to her. “I don’t think I would have been able to understand, not then.”
Her lips parted in a faint smile. “Well, apparently there is still much that I don’t understand.” Her gaze settled on my stomach, and I sensed that Yulia had attempted to catch her up on some events that had transpired in her absence. “I have been in contact with the Grayne though.”
I stiffened. As far as Dublin would say, the faction was in chaos. There had been no further sign of Mero. No attacks. Perhaps he truly was lying in wait for my inevitable death.
Though, for now, my ring still sparkled on my finger, its promise elusive. Would I wear it for eternity, accepting Adara’s gift?
“As far as I know, the entire cell has gone into hiding,” Georgie explained. “I’m not sure why. But even if I decide not to run Dublin through with a stake”—she lifted her hand, scowling at the trembling fingers—“there is still evil being committed. Far beyond anything you realize. I can’t sit back and let our family’s legacy just…crumble.”
“I know,” I whispered, taking yet another step toward her. When I was close enough, I brushed my hand against her shoulder. She didn’t flinch beyond my reach. “But we could always start our own legacy?”
She took my hand. “So…how are you planning to redecorate exactly?”
I laughed. “Well, I’m starting with a basic color scheme of white.”
* * *
Ileft her room hours later and reentered the hall to find my “mover” carrying a piece of furniture down the hall. One I did not remember approving during my impulsive redecorating shopping spree.
My throat tightened as I observed the delicate contours making up the relatively simple square-shaped object. Once Dublin spotted my expression, he paused. His jaw clenched, his gaze wary.
“If you’re not ready, I can—”
“No.” I swallowed hard and approached him, my shoulders back. As I approached, I hesitantly trailed my fingers along the rim of the item, impressed by the quality of the wood. “It’s beautiful,” I croaked.
He had gone a step further. On top of the wooden frame was a small mattress draped in white.
“I’ve been thinking of names,” I admitted without looking up. “What about Agatha?”
The silence that fell was deafening. My cheeks heated as the seconds passed until I finally mustered the strength to meet his gaze. His eyes were a stormy silver, a blond eyebrow raised.
“Agatha?” he echoed. “Absolutely not. No child of mine would ever be saddled with such a horrid name.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh really? Then tell me, what name would please the big, bad Dublin Helos?”
He stroked his chin in genuine contemplation. “Something worthy. Like Drucilla. Or Mildred. Or Cornelia—”
“Cornelia?” I sputtered, my hands on my hips. “You think that is prettier than Agatha?”
“Immeasurably.” He circled the cradle to stand before me.
Within a heartbeat, I was in his arms, his mouth near mine.
“Though, I suppose I am willing to negotiate,” he told me. With every word, his lips brushed my cheek, sowing a million thrilling sensations I would never be able to fully decipher. “For a price…”
