Page 18 of Chain Me
“You don’t have any idea, do you?” He looked up, and nothing could prepare me for the ice in his expression. Dublin wasn’t just brooding—it was so much worse.
He wasfurious.
“J-Just…” I stammered, wringing my fingers until a coherent reply finally formed on my tongue. “Just tell me, oh wise one. What’s wrong with me now?”
His gaze cut away from me as he started to pace. “I don’t know how else to ask this other than bluntly. Who have you been with, excluding me?”
Been with…
Fire heated my cheeks. His tone said it all.How big of a harlot are you Eleanor, now that your virginity is a moot point?
Needles of shame stabbed through my chest though I bit my lip to disguise my reaction. The only way to counter him was with a forced smile and more faked bravado.
“Other than you?” I coyly raised my hand and ticked each finger off one by one. “Why, Gabriel Lanic. My driver. My maids, before I fired them. My gardener. My security guards—”
“Enough!”
Shock rendered me senseless, and memories that shouldn’t have been there popped into my head. Him, on top of me, his hands beneath my dress. More recently, him delivering a tortured observation in a callous whisper.There is something wrong with you…
I swallowed hard. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t on my figurative deathbed while a vampire taunted me about intercourse.
“Leave me alone—”
“Answer the question,” he snarled in a tone so hard I jumped.
“No one,” I managed to rasp.
Rather than sneer at the admission, he…frowned. “Your modesty means nothing at this point, so I’d prefer if you didn’t lie. Just give me a name.”
“No. One,” I insisted, clearly enough for him to absorb every single word. My cheeks were aflame, and I had to resist the urge to cackle hysterically. This was some mind game on his part, of course. Accuse me of being a moral-less harlot, right before coming in for the kill: I’d already given him my virginity, why not give him his precious contract as well?
“If there is a point to this,” I added harshly, “then I suggest you get to it.”
His brow furrowed and then his expression went blank. It was as if someone had flicked a switch, cutting off all emotion the bastard might deign to feel. Even rage. “I’ve arranged for you to see a doctor.”
Something in his tone made me huddle beneath my blankets before I realized.
“What doctor?”
He had already turned on his heel and stormed from the room. Seconds later, a woman appeared in his wake. Slim and tall, her modest features and stern, wire glasses projected a knowledgeable aura even someone like Dublin Helos would defer to.
“Hello Eleanor,” she said softly. “I’m Dr. Martin.”
Minutes into a brief assessment, I had to admit that she seemed capable enough. She asked pertinent questions and thankfully wasn’t as cheerful as Dr. Goodfellow. Hell, I almost felt as insignificant as a lab rat by the time she finished drawing vials of blood and left the room. But then, minutes later, she returned, lugging a sleek, square-shaped machine behind her.
“Ms. Gray,” she began in a crisp, efficient tone, “I would like to get an abdominal ultrasound, if that is alright with you.”
“An ultrasound?” It was a terrifying term, especially when paired with the high-tech machinery she expertly began to program. “W-why?” I asked, even as a part of me suspected what the answer may be.
Something far worse than a mere cough ailed me. Atumor?Rather than voice that suspicion herself, Dr. Martin took advantage of my silence to plug the machine into the wall.
“Ready?” The woman must have mistaken my panicked expression for permission, because she proceeded to turn the machine on.
And I squeezed my eyes shut.
I couldn’t stop my hands from childishly flying up to cover my ears as well. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel. My hospital gown withdrew, allowing cold hands to feel my flesh underneath. An even colder substance greeted my belly a second later, biting through my numb skin. And then I sensed pressure, pressing up, down, around. Searching. Hunting. What for? A blockage, a tumor...or something worse?
I didn’t know.
