Page 129 of The Delta's Rogue
The door closes, leaving us truly alone together for the first time in four years.
Quiet. Blessed quiet. Andsweet, sweet relief.
I exhale, releasing what I hope is the last of my tension. There is still much for us to work through, so much that needs to happen before we can put this experience behind us, but at least we’ll have each other. At least we’re finally together again.
I gaze at my mate in my arms.
My mate. I can’t believe she’s mine, even though a part of me always knew she would be.
Exhaustion lines her features, and fear lurks within her eyes. Invisible scars mar her soul. Scars I would do and give anything to erase. Much about her has changed since last we met, but beneath it all—beneath the sorrow, trauma, and frailty—there is an exquisite, strong, extraordinary female who has owned my heart since the day we met.
She shudders with every breath. Her eyelids flutter, and the blackish-blue circles under her eyes darken with each second that passes. A yawn stretches across her face, and she tries to hide it by snuggling further into my chest.
“You need to rest,” I say.
Like the one at the auction estate, this room is immaculately decorated from the floor to the ceiling. Unlike the room there, however, the atmosphere here is warm, kind, and safe. The beautiful decor in shades of the softest, lightest pink adds to the comfort of the space rather than feeling phony and tacky. Thought, love, and personality wentinto this setup.
Sarina shakes her head and tenses as I approach the bed, stopping me in my tracks. “I don’t think I can sleep with the cruelty of that place lingering on me.” Her nose wrinkles, and she grimaces. “I can feel the weight of their beautification treatments on my skin and the grime of the makeup on my face.”
I head into the connected bathroom instead, scanning the interior for linens and toiletries. Thankfully, there is a stack of towels on the counter, and a plethora of hair and skin care products and tools lined up next to them.
I have no idea what most of them are. I hope Sarina does.
“Here we go.” I set her down and brace my hands on her hips. Her face tilts up, eyes wide and doe-like as she watches and waits for me to speak. “Do you want a bath or a shower?” I flick my eyes between the two options in the mirror’s reflection.
She leans to her left to peer around me at the rest of the bathroom, and I drop my hands from her hips. The seconds tick by, and she continues to stare as the weight of the choice bears down on her. Her shoulders curl forwards, her body caving in on itself, and she backs up one step, bumping into the edge of the black marble counter behind her.
“Hey.” I reach for her hand. “You don’t have to choose if you can’t, remember? You will always have the choice to not make a choice.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve been able to choose anything for myself,” she whispers. Her hand trembles, and her eyes dart around the room, unable to hold contact with mine or stay focused on any one spot.
“I-I can’t—” She shakes her head and ducks her chin, and a tear drips down her nose. “I can’t.”
I lace our fingers together and lift her chin with my other hand. “I’ll start the shower while you wash your face, okay?”
She nods emphatically, gratitude filling her eyes. I give her hand a squeeze and her nose a kiss. The salt of her single tear lingers on my lips as I head to the shower.
Water flows from the sink behind me, and I fiddle with the knobs in the shower, turning the dual heads on. I set the temperature to warmer than what I prefer but not too hot either. I don’t know how much wolfsbane is in her bloodstream, so I don’t want to set the temperature too high for her weakened system. The heated water may exacerbate the scars on her skin from the silver cuffs and collar.
I close the shower door and glance at her. She leans over the sink, furiously massaging her skin. As each layer of makeup leaves her face, I get a better glimpse of what’s underneath—the true extent of how her time there affected her. The hollowed-out cheeks, the pitch-black circles beneath her eyes, the sickly tint to her skin… So much damage for only a week with them.
What did they do to her?
Over and over, she scrubs her face and rinses it. Three times. Four times. Five times. She grips the counter and lifts her dripping wet face to stare at her reflection. Her hair frames her face, hanging like two dark sheets over her shoulders, and her eyes flick to the strands. She straightens and grabs her hair in one fist, draping all of it over her left shoulder as she combs her fingers through to the ends.
A quiet growl vibrates in her throat, and her nostrils flare. She grits her teeth and lunges for the toiletries on the counter, pushing everything aside and searching frantically. A second, louder growl leaves her as she yanks open a drawer, then another and another. She walks the length of the vanity, opening every drawer and cabinet, growing more frustrated with each one.
I approach her slowly, careful not to take her by surprise. “What are you doing?”
I shove my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from grabbing her. I don’t want to scare her or push her back into a mindset where she feels she can’t do things for herself. The two blood-filled vials and Brenna’s ring clink against each other as my fingers brush them, and I pull them out, frowning at them.
“Scissors,” she says.
I meet her eyes in the mirror. Hers flick down to the blood in my hand as she shudders briefly, and I close my fist around them to hide them from her view.
“I want scissors,” she says again. Her eyes shimmer in the fluorescent bathroom lights as she scans the vanity one more time. “I want to cut my hair. They made it grow. They made it longer with their magic.” She closes her eyes. “I hate it, Sebastian,” she says in a low voice as she opens her eyes again. “I hate my hair.”
I set the vials and the ring on the counter to worry about later, then move behind her and gather her hair into one hand. Even lifted into a low ponytail, the ends brush the top of her butt.
