“So he’s here to keep the company running?” I asked quietly, shooting a glance at Lucien’s home, glittering like a black jewel in the sun.
“He’s here because he tried to sabotage it and almost succeeded in blowing up the reactors. And...” She threw a look around the empty garden where we sat. Leaning closer, she said quietly, “Lydia heard a rumour that...ugh it’s so far out there, I’m sure it’s not real.”
“Just say it.” My interest turned razor sharp. “Doesn’t really matter if it’s real or not. All information is good information.”
She exhaled heavily as if even saying it out loud tainted her. “Apparently, his parents were brother and sister. They were forced to have a child because the board wanted the purest blood to run it.”
Okay...that wasn’t what I was expecting—
“And the reason Lucien went wild on his ninth birthday and tried to destroy everything was because they’d locked him in his bedroom with five older women. They wanted to see if he could start getting them pregnant—to get a head start on breeding as many babies with his blood as possible. But...he was a kid!” She shuddered. “Probably hadn’t even hit puberty.”
Sickness slammed into me as my head spasmed. “So that’s their plan? To get him to sire as many back-up blood bags as possible, then kill him once they have a puppet of their choosing in power?”
My stomach turned over.
My stress ignited.
Silence fell between us, dark and miserable.
Laura didn’t speak, her gaze locked on the fish blowing bubbles before us.
Time stretched before I asked quietly, “So...he’s been in here ever since?”
“Sounds like it,” she muttered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Each time I hear screams at night and see another body carried out, I hate him. I’m petrified I’ll never get out of here and I’ve barely slept in over a week, but...I’d probably do the same if I was him if I’m honest. I would kill all those trying to hurt me, just out of principle.”
In the distance, Whisper appeared.
The black panther stood out like a fairytale beast, his pelt sleek and diamond-black in the sunlight. Sniffing the air, his tail twitched.
He looked directly at us as if he’d smelled me on the breeze.
“Uh-oh.” Laura shot to her feet and went to run. “It’s that monster again.” Reaching for my hand, she pulled me up. “Come on. We have to go. The place I’m staying at isn’t far from here, we can—”
Too late.
Whisper broke into a run and covered the distance in a feline flash. Skidding to a halt, his whiskers bristled. He revealed the tips of his fangs, then came to headbutt my hip.
Laura’s mouth fell open.
I glanced at her as I pried our fingers apart. “I think that’s my cue to go.”
“Go?”
I merely nodded. “I’ll see you around, though, okay? I managed to find a pavilion on the outskirts. Come find me, and I’ll keep you company when I’m free.”
“Okay.” She gave me a shy smile. “Thanks.”
Whisper moved to my side, opening his mouth to grab my wrist.
“No need for that, pussy cat.” Holding my arms up to avoid his bite, I nudged past him. “I know the way.”
Laura didn’t say a word as the panther herded me toward the palace, no doubt instructed by his master to collect me.
The entire journey I wondered what fresh torture Lucien had planned and why, despite my imprisonment here and lack of certainty about my future, I no longer hated him.
I’d already felt something I shouldn’t thanks to last night, but now...now I struggled in entirely different ways.
How could I hate someone far more tragic than me?
How could I fear someone who hadn’t stepped outside in twenty years?
I had a nervous system that liked to make me blackout in stressful situations.
But Lucien?
He carried a blood that condemned him to a cage.
A cage that I doubted he would ever be able to break out of.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” LUCIEN demanded the moment I stepped into the East-West blended foyer.
I scowled as Whisper escorted me right to Lucien’s side. “I’m aware you haven’t seen much of the outside world and don’t have a good experience with guests, but the thing we usually say to each other when we haven’t seen each other overnight is ‘Good morning. How are you? Did you sleep well?’” I smiled and crossed my arms. “Now, you try it.”
“Follow me if you don’t want me to kill you.” Turning around, once again barefoot, as if he owned no shoes in this godforsaken place, he marched in the same direction as yesterday.
My headache grew worse as I sighed.
Whisper snorted, nudging my hand as if commiserating with my frustration.
I didn’t want to spend another day cleaning.
If that made me ridiculously spoiled and painfully lazy, then so be it. Another rush of vertigo caught me unaware. I grabbed onto the panther, swallowing against the small prickle of nausea.
This always happened.
Even if the stress didn’t make an absolute fool of me, the aftereffects of a worrisome day always did.
The wine and a nap were a medicinal excuse to recalibrate my system before I fritzed.
Whisper grumbled something in panther speak and strode ahead, his tail flicking. Looking back over his shoulder at me, he raised a furry brow.
I sighed loudly and followed.
Lucien didn’t turn around the entire time he led me deeper into the palace he called a prison. When we reached the octagonal-shaped foyer with its eight corridors branching off with lines scribed into the marble that reminded me of a Bagua symbol, Lucien didn’t go in the direction he’d led me yesterday.
Instead, he balled his hands and in a ripple of black loose trousers and flowing black coat, he led me down a different one. The air cooled the further we travelled as if the walls were warning us not to enter.
Wrenching to a halt at the end, he pushed open a set of iron inlaid doors. They swung open too silently, too easily—as if he came in here often. The entire vibe of the place set my stomach clenching and skin prickling.
“In here,” he ordered, striding into the room.
I lingered on the threshold.
Whisper padded to join Lucien.
What the hell is this place?
Dark navy wallpaper with lotus blooms and crescent moons covered the high walls. The black ceiling pressed down on us with oppressive weight and the polished wooden floor had droplets staining it in multiple places.
My eyes locked onto a particularly large splodge.
Lucien caught me staring. “If you’re wondering if it’s blood, you’re right.”
And there went my headache again.
Gritting my teeth, I glanced at the rest of the room. From the impressive redwood desk, rows of official-looking filing cabinets, to the huge recliner beneath a large spotlight. Glass-fronted refrigerators lined the far wall, their empty racks waiting for something.
Alongside them, shelves of boxes, plastic tubing, and other medical items sat proudly, along with a biohazard bin. A stainless-steel trolley gleamed with instruments: butterfly needles, clamps, and vials.
My gaze shot back to the recliner.
I noticed what I hadn’t before.
A chair that was meant to be used for rest and comfort was bolted to the floor, leather straps dangled from each armrest, and a row of monitor screens sprung to life as if on sensors.
My mouth went dry.
Half an office, half a hospital—the two places grafted together in one of the freakiest rooms I’d ever seen.
Sucking in a breath, my eyes turned hazy as the punch of copper, antiseptic, and wax polish hit my nose.
I backed up again.
“You run, and it will be the last thing you do,” Lucien murmured, grabbing a few empty IV bags and pushing the stainless-steel trolley toward the recliner.
