Page 74 of The Delta's Rogue
As I yank on the tether, a blinding white light flares to life, accompanied by a crackling rumble as loud as thunder, and I’m thrown from my slumber.
When I wake, I’m freezing and shivering. My teeth click together, and I curl into a ball and wrap the blankets tighter around me. But it’s no use. The cold is bone deep, creating a stiffness and tension that I can’t ease. It stems from the strange dream, or vision, but lingers from the frigid temperature in my room.
I sit up, wrapping the flimsy lace robe tighter around my trembling body as I climb from the mattress and dart to the closet. I should have dressed last night, after Brenna left the room and relinquished her magical bindings on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than collapse into the downy softness of the bed and cry myself into a stupor.
The light in the closet clicks on as soon as I walk in, triggered by a motion sensor. But I stop just inside the entrance, shoulders slumping in defeat.
It’s empty. Utterly empty. No clothes. Not even hangers.
All I have to keep me warm is this sorry excuse for a robe and the beautiful but thin blankets on the bed.
I don’t know what their thought process is behind not providing at least one outfit, but never in my life have I felt more dehumanized than I do at this moment. It turns my stomach inside out.
I hug my arms around myself and lean against the frame, guts churning in disgust.
I knew this group was cruel, but I wasn’t prepared to see and experience it firsthand. I wasn’t prepared for the helplessness and hopelessness that come along with being treated as an object or a prize.
I swipe underneath my lids, ridding myself of the fresh wave of tears spilling from my eyes, and stumble back to the bed on weak and trembling legs. I burrow under the covers and grab some of the superfluous pillows—there are enough for at least five people. I stack half of them around me, creating a nest. Then I pile the rest on top of my body before I sink back into the last remaining pillow near the headboard.
It’s not perfect, but it’s better than it was before.
I shut my eyes and curl up again, tucking the blanket under my chin. I breathe through each shiver wracking my body, working to relax my muscles now that I’m surrounded by a bit more warmth.
Cold rarely bothers me—us. Shifters. But with the silver cuffs and collar and the wolfsbane in my bloodstream, along with the trauma of everything I’ve experienced since they took me, I may as well be human.
I drift away beneath the weight of the blankets and pillows. The slight increase in heat and pressure soothes my tired muscles and limbs, easing me into a state of near relaxation.
The knowledge of my danger lingers, though. I exist right on the edge of unconsciousness, dozing but not quite asleep. My senses are alert even while suppressed. I listen and wait for Brenna’s inevitable return, my semi-lucid mind conjuring increasingly terrible scenarios of what they’ll put me through today.
I swallow a whimper in my sleep as Nuncio’s face haunts me, inching closer and closer, his smirk taunting me. His hot, putrid breath fans my cheek, and I strain away, chin lifting and neck arching.
The front of my throat pushes against the silver collar, and I bite back another whimper as I roll my neck and try to ignore the pain. But it grows, creeping to my chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and down to my legs and feet, until it covers my entire body.
I scream, but no sound escapes me. I try to yank the collar off, but my hands are frozen in place, clutching the blanket under my chin.
The door opens and shuts, and I’m released from the hold on my body. A choked, raspy, gasping shout escapes me, and I squeeze my eyes shut and curl in on myself from the residual pain of Brenna’s brief manipulation as she entered my room.
Light footsteps cross to the bed, their owner hesitant. I peek through my eyelids as Brenna makes her way to me.
The bruise on her cheek is already a deep purple, freckled with red from broken capillaries. She wears a fitted black V-neck dress and over-the-knee boots, her dark hair pulled back in a bun drawing focus to the bruising on her face and the deep neckline of her dress.
She stops on the side of the bed, examining the way I’m buried beneath the pillows with the comforter tucked tightly around me. She takes it all in but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she says, “I’m here to get you ready for the day.”
I know I should sit up, but I don’t have the energy. I watch her watching me, glaring at her.
“Anaís, please…” she murmurs, begging me with her eyes—much like I begged her with mine yesterday.
Was that really only yesterday?
“Hace frío.” My voice is hoarse, my throat hurting and raw as I speak to her. “It’s cold, and there aren’t any clothes in the closet.”
She sighs. “I know. You must earn the privilege of having clothing and heat in your room.”
“¿Cómo?” I ask, although I have an inkling of the answer. “How do I earn that privilege?”
“By cooperating.”
A war wages within me as I decide how cooperative I want to be, as I determine if I’m going to be spitfire Sarina or subdued Sarina.
