Page 12 of Taken By the Vampires
Chapter Eight
I ignored the feeling that I was involved in something completely over my head and pointed to the bundle of clothing he’d placed on the chair. “Are those for me?”
Davon picked them up. “May I bring them over to you?”
While I appreciated him respecting my hasty, fear-fed order, I wanted the clothes more. “It’s okay. I’ll grab them and get dressed. In the bathroom.”
He held them out to me like an offering and I gathered them in my arms. “Thank you.”
“I can help you get dressed if you’re still feeling weak.”
I nearly smiled at the glimmer in his eye. He was teasing, but there was an element indicating that if I invited him to help me, he wouldn’t refuse. “I can dress myself.”
I clung to the clothes as though they could protect me and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Dealing with Davon was like walking through a minefield. I dreaded having to keep on my toes around all of them.
But – they weren’tallinterested in me – like that.Were they? I may have been reading things wrong, but the way Xander held me on his lap last night and Cassius insisted on feeding me was more than just caring for someone who’d been in an accident. It seemed as though everything had a sexual charge to it, simmering just below the surface.
Good God, what if they were into sharing and I was their next conquest? After all, they were three guys on their own. Surely, they didn’t get a lot of female visitors.
I tried to ignore the shivery thrill that raced through my body, but it was too strong and a round of goosebumps broke out over my skin at the thought.
My imagination was getting away from me. Although they may not get many women visitors, I found it hard to believe I could instil such a reaction out of them. Especially given the way I looked.
The mirror in front of me displayed a nightmare. I let the sheet drop. I was a mass of scratches and bruises. There was a particularly nasty purple one with yellowing edges on my ribs, another on my hips and my thigh. My calves were mostly covered in scratches of varying lengths. A cut over a lump on my forehead revealed neat, black stitches peeking from my mop of tangled, black hair.
I’d lost weight, too. My ribs were clearly visible, hips more prominent than they’d ever been, my skin turning a mottled blue in the cooler bathroom air. I’d always been on the thin side, thanks to a large, physical workload on the farm, but I’d been more muscular and fitter than what I looked like now. I was wasted, thanks to six days of illness.
“Not exactly exuding sexuality at the moment, Ella. You’re completely deluded.” I prodded the bump on my head, wincing at its tenderness. There were dark shadows beneath my eyes and my breath smelled awful. Yep, utterly and completely deluded.
At least I could understand why I felt so weak.
“Ella? Are you okay in there?” Davon’s voice was loud. He must be standing just outside the door.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just getting dressed.” If I didn’t hurry, he might come inside and get another good eyeful. I mentally winced. I knew what he’d see and I didn’t want anyone to have to see me looking like this. “Just give me a minute.”
“Call me if you need me.”
I mentally chided myself. They were just being nice and my imagination was in overdrive. They needn’t have gone out of their way to look after me so well. I was being unreasonable, that was all.
Mom often told me that when I tried working the spells from the Grimoire, only to find me flapping my hand about in mid-air and nothing happening, I was having fanciful thoughts. I guess being sick had me more fanciful than ever.
It was just that…I couldn’t seem to help myself. Those carefully written spells, those detailed illustrations—I would blow them off most times, but at other times I’d find myself trying to understand why my grandmother a long time removed went to so much trouble. Surely in those days, being found with such a thing really would have meant her death. She’d lived around the times of the witch trials. It was dangerous for normal women, let alone someone who worked so hard to capture spells into a Grimoire. She could have written anything. A novel. A diary. But she’d chosen to write down spells.
A knock sounded at the door. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I grabbed the tracksuit pants and thrust my legs into them. “I’m fine. Do you have a toothbrush in here?” I hadn’t even looked, but I didn’t want him coming in here, either. Best to let him think I was just slow, not tangled in my thoughts.
“Everything you need will be in the cabinet,” Davon said.
“Uh, thanks. Be out in a second.” I tied the string at the waist. The pants swam on me, but without underwear in the pile of clothing, I’d take them. I quickly yanked on the oversized pullover.
I opened the cabinet to indeed find a toothbrush, toothpaste and a hairbrush. All new and unused, but unpackaged. I made short work of cleaning my teeth and tugging the brush through my hair. I couldn’t do too much with it without washing it properly. Spying a hair tie, I slung my hair into a ponytail and, taking a steeling breath, opened the door to find Davon leaning against the wall just outside.
“I was getting worried,” he said.
He was just being kind. Nice. Maybe I was on edge because no other man had shown such concern for me. That must be it. I just didn’t know how to accept it. They were strangers. They wouldn’t know how most of the available men in town ostracized me. I was too outspoken and no one wanted to tempt the attention of the Holy Trinity.
I plastered a shaky smile on my face. “Nothing to worry about. Told you I could dress myself.” My stomach chose to growl—loudly. I put a hand over it, heat flaring in my cheeks.
