Page 16 of Ensnared

WhenIwake, it’s slow and reluctant.I’msurrounded by clouds, white and fluffy and warm.Iblink and let myself adjust.Abed.I’min a real, actual bed.AsIshift to look for my glasses, the sheets slip silkily over my skin.

Mybare skin.

Ifreeze, then throw back the covers.I’mstill in my long button-down blouse, but my filthy pants are missing.Mycheeks heat.

Crap.Whichof them undressed me?

Feelingaround,Ifind my glasses on the bedside table and put them back on.Theroom is large, surprisingly so.Itmakes me nervous.Abig room means a big house, and a big house—one that looks like it’s in active use, anyway—is always a target.

Inmy sleep-muddled mind, though,Iremember them telling me that their home is hidden from drones.Howdid they manage that?Someof my anxiety eases with the memory.

Theroom is all dark wood and deep, luxurious colors.There’sa bookcase and desk in the far corner of the room, and a small sitting area has been splendidly arranged on a lower section by a crackling fireplace.

God.Thisis stunning.Theluxury feels almost profane after years of cave living.

Midnightblue blackout curtains run from the ceiling to the floor and sit half-open across the large windows.Thebright light tells me it’s past midday.Imust have slept for nearly twenty-four hours.

There’sa door to my left and, closing my eyes in a brief, hopeful prayer,Islide out of bed toward it.Imoan in delight at the extravagant bathroomIfind, complete with heated tiles, a shower big enough for a small elephant, and a standalone porcelain tub that begs me to soak.

Afterrelieving myself—the toiletworks—Iwash my hands, thoughIkeep my head down out of habit.Themirror is large and demands my attention, butIdon’t even want to know whatIlook like.Notyet.It’sbeen a long time sinceI’veseen myself as more than a blurry reflection in the lake, andIwant to be clean beforeIreacquaint myself.I’vebeen living rough, with very little food, for too long.I’venever been a beauty, butIstill dread seeing the damage this life has wreaked.

Inotice a man’s large button-down shirt is draped on a hanger beside the sink and grimace.Wearingtheir clothes feels odd, but it’s better than my own filthy, blood-stained outfit.Witha longing glance at the tub,Ileave my glasses on the sink and limp to the shower.Idon’t know how longIslept, butIwant to be out of the bathroom and dressed before they come looking for me.

Istrip off quickly and turn the shower on, grinning at the heavy burst of water.Nothaving anything to replace my bandages with,Ileave them on.HopefullyBeauwill help me replace them later.

Steppinginto the slick steam,Igasp as sizzling hot water splashes my skin, then laugh, the sound rusty and unfamiliar.Ittakes several minutes to calm my excitement enough to investigate the amenities.Perfumedshampoo and conditioner, luxurious body soaps, a brand-new razor, exfoliants...Isigh in pleasure.

Thefamiliar hunger gnawing at my insides finally drives me from the steamy bliss.Iwonder if they have more cheese.Maybeeven other food.Realfood.Noneof the men had exactly looked peaky.Allthree were hard and strong and clearly healthy.Ittakes a lot to maintain that kind of muscle mass.I’vebeen living off the fruit and vegetablesI’dbeen able to grow in my garden, and the occasional fish or rabbitImanaged to trap.Myattempts were getting better, but meat had nevertheless been scarce.

Aftertowel drying my hair,Ipull on the white silk shirt.It’slong on me but still barely brushes mid-thigh.There’sno fresh bra or underwear to be found, butI’mnot about to put my soiled undergarments back on after finally getting clean.Itwould probably be better to burn them.Iworry my lip between my teeth, feeling exposed.

Wonderful.

It’shardly their fault, though,Ireason nervously.Theyhadn’t been expecting company.

Ipick my glasses up from the sink and, after a moment’s hesitation, rub the cloudy mist from the mirror.

Longdark-brown hair wetly snarls around a face so pale it’s almost translucent.Thedamp ends are doing obscene things to my white shirt, soIquickly twine the length up into a messy bun and secure it with my last hair tie, ruing the lack of a brush or comb to tame the mass.

Theangles of my cheekbones and jaw stick out sharply, andIwince.I’velost a lot of weight over the last few years—too much to be healthy.Mytoo-wide mouth now seems ridiculous to me.Isigh.I’vealways prided myself on being neat and tidy, at least, but between my hair and clothes,Ican’t even manage that.

Notthat it matters, though, right?Aninternal voice taunts me.You’rehere and you have the right parts, checklist done.

Thethought twists my stomach.

Onthe bright side,I’mno longer lumpy and unfit.Ican see the ad campaign now.Starveyourself skinny: theApocalypseDiet.

Tossinga last, irritated look at my reflection,Istalk back to the bedroom—and right into a tall, warm wall of man.Strongarms steady me, and thoughIdon’t recognize him, his scent—books, ink, and parchment—settles me instantly.

“Easy.”

Hisvoice is soft and controlled.Itry to step back, but his grip, though gentle, is uncompromising.

Aftera moment, he murmurs, “Lookat me.Iwant to see your face.”

Witha shiver,Ilook.Inthe flickering light of the fireplace,Imake out a sulky, almost femininely curved mouth.Thesecond thingIrealize is that this man is starkly, utterly beautiful.Hisangular face has an underlying masculine strength to it that belies the thick eyelashes and sweet softness of his lips.

Hiseyes are darkly shadowed and fiercely intelligent as they study me.Smalllines fan from the corners.Olderthan the other three, in his early forties perhaps, his steady maturity is both unnerving and comforting.

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