~Faye
I’m out of the bed in record time.
“Why am I here?” I gasp, looking from the bed, to T, who slides out of bed, watching me warily. He’s clearly still plagued by sleep, while I’m shocked awake. He stares at me blearily, as if he can’t believe that I’m actually standing in his bedroom right now. I don’t blame him. I want to tear at my mind to stop whoever is controlling me.
T sweeps his hand through his bed mussed hair, blinking a few times before he concentrates on me again.
“That’s a great question,” he mutters, gaze wandering down my body. When I glance down, I see I’m wearing my nightdress, which is torn near the hip, and covered in dampness and mud. I must have only just got here.
“I was controlled,” I breathe. “Again.”
“You were controlled and brought here?” he questions in disbelief.
He is confused, and so am I. First it was nearly off the side of the cliff, and now it is in the room – in the bed – of the male I have kept captive for months. Whoever is behind this, is sick and perverted, in a way I don’t want to spend too much time considering. Walking to the cliff seems better than this.
“Yes…Don’t you believe me?” I question in disbelief. I motion down my body again for emphasis, so he could see I clearly stumbled my way here. My back, legs and feet ache, after traversing through who knows what.
“Of course I do. I apologise, I’m just surprised to wake up with an Alpha beside me,” he says, blinking those dark eyes a few more times again.
Hopefully in his sleep deprived stupor, he doesn’t notice the blush on my cheeks.
Before he can, I divert my gaze from him, to check out the window to his room. I almost can’t see what’s outside, as rain hits the window repetitively. Did I walk through that? I can’t remember…Nevertheless, I approach the window, pretending for a moment T isn’t watching my every word.
Past the slight haze on the window, and the rain drops contorting the few outside, I can see a lot of trees and overgrown plants. We are in a forest. In the Independence Pack. I know those large trunks and thick leaves anywhere.
“What is this place?” I question. My Pack is one of the biggest. Who knows where we are
“My temporary home,” T replies. He hasn’t moved.
With my forearm, I rub the condensation away, trying to see more. Nothing but an overgrown garden, letting in almost no light. “Where are we?”
“In a nearby village to your estate. A lovely woman sold me this home before I began my mission. I think I may stay here for a while to get Fate off my back,” he tells me. I glance back over my shoulder at him. He still watches me, arms crossed over his bare chest. I’m glad that at this point, I’m not fazed by his shirtlessness. My blush is bad enough.
I look back out the window, swallowing uncomfortably. “Everything is so overgrown.”
“You have kept me in your custody, and I never hired a gardener for my absence. My sincerest apologies,” he says sarcastically. I roll my eyes at him. It was that moment, when I turned back around to look at the rest of the room.
How had I not noticed this at all?
There are paintings everywhere. Everywhere. All of them are done so skilfully, so magnificently. Each of them are similar to each other; swirling brush strokes of lime to forest green. I’ve never seen something like this at all, at this scale. It may be a small room, but these works of art are escapable to an undistracted eye. I still can hardly believe I didn’t see them when I first woke up.
“Who painted these?”
“I did.”
I turn to him in complete disbelief. There is no way I would have struck him for being an artist. I thought that perhaps he collected art…but never this.
“Seriously?” I question. He smiles.
“Do I have any reason to lie?” he murmurs. He points over my shoulder. “Turn around.”
As I turn, I almost fall over at the painting he has mounted above his bed. Long, white hair, green eyes. “Is that me?”
“Do you never look in the mirror?” T questions with a slight chuckle.
I can’t stop looking at the painting. Not only is it me, but it is executed with such detail, it’s almost unnerving. It would make sense for him to be able to paint this after spending all these months with me, having seen me almost every day. But there is no way he could have done this over on night.
“Why? Why did you paint this?”
“I had seen you before the mission. I thought it would be fitting to understand a little before I went in,” he tells me. I blink repeatedly, unsure if I’m hearing him right. I glance at him, the painting, and back again. He doesn’t look fazed by this at all.
I sigh deeply. “How can you assume anything about me from one picture?”
“I see a happy person in those smile lines, and a magic wielder in those fingertips,” he explains, pointing to each detail as he speaks. The more he says, the more he uncovers as I notice how deliberate each part of the painting is. I would consider it mesmerizing I had hired an artist, rather than it being T.
“How did you know I have magic?”
He shrugs loosely. “I saw, once.”
“When.”
He taps his nose. Once. Twice, and follows it with a smile. My jaw clenches, despite how distracting his smile may be. Perhaps I should slap him, even if I am standing in his home, with a man who once tried to kill me. I may not think he will today, but there is no way I still trust him.
“I hate when you do that,” I mutter, “almost as much as I hate the fact that you painted me.”
“Is it not flattering?”
“Not in the slightest. It’s creepy, and I feel violated,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest, as if it was armour designed specifically to deflect his snarky remarks.
He quirks an eyebrow up at me, still smiling arrogantly. It irritates me that I crawled into his bed, against my will; I surprised him when he woke, and yet he still manages to find an upper-hand over me. It is almost as if he knows exactly how to get on my nerves. If he could, he would probably paint a million of these portraits to hang all over his house. Just to annoy me.
“Please, the dramatics,” he says, dismissing my statement with a single hand wave. “People paint and draw you every day, and hang portraits of their marvellous Alpha in their homes.”
“Maybe…But not above their beds,’ I counter.
He glances around himself dramatically. Purposefully. “I had no other room in this place.”
“Couldn’t you have swapped it out with another?” I exasperate, motioning around in a circle to all the other paintings that he has hung up. As soon as I say that, I regret it, knowing that him placing a portrait of me anywhere was too much for me to handle. I would rather it be burned.
“And ruin the aesthetic around here?” he says with a shrug. “Please.”
I glower at him. “You’re insufferable. And creepy.”
“And you crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”
“That wasn’t on my own merit, thank you very much.”
We stare at each other, me breathing heavily in and out my nose, while he just watches me, a shadow of a smile on his lips. Why am I even still here? I did not control my walk here, which means I shouldn’t feel obliged to stay. In fact, I’m even considering going home, alerting my Guards of T’s whereabouts, so they can come back here to burn his house down. That portrait will go one way or another.
“Right. Well, would you like some tea?” he asks suddenly, cutting the conversation to something away from our argument. I narrow my eyes on him, unsure of what he is planning. I’ve been taught never to accept something from a stranger like this. Especially an unpredictable immortal.
“I think I should get back. I don’t trust people who keep paintings of me above their bed,” I tell him firmly, noticing the bedroom door out of the corner of my eye. T stands near it, like a guard.
He rolls his eyes. Again. “Faye, it’s just a photo. I’ll put it away later if that makes you feel better.”
“It does, actually,” I say breezily. I’m not sure if I necessarily believe him, but it’s a start.
“Anyways, I need to go.”
“I’m not letting you go,” he says adamantly, much to my disgust. “And don’t give me that look. I’m not going to go Silent on you and keep you here against your will. If I can’t have a painting of you, I’m not going to adopt your morals all of a sudden.”
My teeth grit, hearing the underlying jab in that sentence.
“I’m not going to stick around and listen to your loud mouth,” I mutter, making quick strides toward the door before I think better of it. He goes to grab my arm, but I yank it away quickly, already predicting him to make that move.
He holds his hands up defensively. “Come on, Faye. It’s raining, and this place isn’t all that close to your estate. It will take you at least an hour to get back.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You walked bare foot too, and you must be sore,” he notices, eyes sweeping down my body again. I shift on my feet nervously, knowing exactly how sore I am. I’m not sure how he can tell just by a glance. “Look at you, you’re covered in scratches.”
He reaches out again, as if it would make a difference to the last time he did it.
“Don’t touch me.”
“What are you scared of?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. I watch the angle of his head, the way that prominent, perfect curl at the front tumbles to his brow. If I could paint, I would consider creating that. I divert my eyes, though, not wanting him to notice me staring for too long. If he has another thing against me…
“The scratches are probably from your garden, and I apologise for my lack of shoes, whoever had my brain in their control clearly didn’t consider that,” I tell him, reaching for the door again. His arm comes out, pressing tightly against the wood. I withdraw my hand as quickly as I put it there.
“What are avoiding?”
I shake my head at him. “Look, I’m going to go.”
“At least have a bath,” he offers, glancing back toward the window. “The weather might have cleared up by then.”
“Don’t you have a phone so I could call someone to pick me up?” I exasperate.
“A bath, Faye. You’re covered in dirt and mud.”
I backpedal a few steps, knowing that he isn’t about to let me out that door. The more distance between us, the easier it is to think. “Not happening. I don’t even have any clothes to get into, and I’m not stepping back into this mess.”
“As much as I do love seeing you in that short little outfit, despite the mess, I can offer you something to wear,” he murmurs.
I bite back an angry response at his crude remark. Honestly, I would much rather get out of this outfit, and wash my current wounds then walk back in the rain. For an hour, too. Even if it’s in T’s home. He used me, so perhaps I can use him. He wanders over to a chest-of-draws, sliding it open. I inch toward the door, despite it being to no avail.
He pulls out a black shirt and sweatpants. He hands it to me, and I feel how soft and warm it is under my fingertips. Much better than what I’m wearing.
I decide to state the obvious, just to be difficult. “This is way too big.”
“Naturally. But it is something,” he notes. “Unless you want to walk back in that outfit in the broad daylight, go ahead.”
I could see it now. Everyone would get a picture of it, and I would never live it down. Not only would it ruin my reputation, but I doubt I would be able to look at any of the Alpha’s in the eye. Every Alpha meeting would be hell.
T watches me, probably already assuming my thought process. With a clenched door, I admit defeat. “Fine. The door better have a lock on it.”
He motions me to an adjoining room, which when he opens the door, reveals a bathroom. I watch T carefully, as he switches the light on, and holds the door open. As soon as I’m in, I close it behind me, locking it. Only when I’ve done that, do I sigh in relief.
The bathroom is small, tidy, and oddly blue. A few tiles have ocean waves painted on them, which makes me wonder if T did that. There’s no shower, just a bath, toilet and sink.
The only window in this place is small and square above the bath. If I wanted to escape, I couldn’t.
I strip my clothes slowly, glancing over my shoulder at every second. Despite the lock, T has proved that a barrier is no match for whatever magic he has. Once the water is drawn, I find a few oils bunched at the side. I pick one. It’s citrus, which makes sense. It’s a scent that will never leave my nose, after being around T.
The bath was one I didn’t regret. My muscles haven’t relaxed in so long, despite T being outside the door. By the time I was done, I had to drag my wary body out.
The clothes T gave me were ridiculously big. Nevertheless, it’s better than that dress.
Outside the bathroom, I can’t find T in his bedroom. With bated breath, I push open the door I originally had nearly fought T to get through. On the other side, I find another room. And T.
“This place is insane,” I murmur, looking around, letting the door shudder closed behind me.
Everything is compact into one, with a small kitchen in the corner. I find T there, messing with something on the bench. The rest of the room is like organised chaos. Paintings everywhere, all assorted colours and sizes, blending into a euphoric mess. I see books, and paper. A whole lot of paper. On the floor, table and stuffed between the pages of books.
“I apologise about the mess,” T mutters, manoeuvring around the bench. “I didn’t know I would have guests. Come, sit down.”
I notice the couch he points to. Before I could sit, he shoves a multitude of paper into his arm, transporting it to another part of the room. I sit down on the couch, feeling springs groan underneath me.
“What does all the paper say?” I ask, leaning over to grab one.
“Don’t worry about this stuff.”
The paper is littered with mathematical equations and shapes. Everything looks so purposeful, yet such a mess I can’t make sense of anything.
“You’re lucky I was never good at math,” I murmur, holding the paper up to T, who was coming back from the teacher. “What does this mean?”
“Nothing important. Just a hobby,” he says quickly, plucking the paper from my fingers to replace it with a delicate cup. “Here’s your tea.”
I look down at the tea, having no intention of drinking it. “Why are you being so nice?”
“I have no reason to hate you, Faye.”
“Yes you do. I held you captive, even after the judge found you not guilty,” I say with a chuckle, setting the cup down before T could notice it. He comes back from the kitchen as he does so, holding his own cup too. Unlike me, he takes a sip as he sits down.
“Perhaps. Other than a small silver burn in two places, you didn’t hurt me too bad,” he tells me. “I’ve been held captive in worse places. Trust me.”
I can’t help but flinch at the sound of that. It shouldn’t have been surprised at this, considering his background.
“Like what?”
“Your precious little friend Alden, the Alpha of Wisdom, isn’t that great of a man,” he explains, leaning back comfortably into the crease of the couch. I watch him, trying to make sense of those words. I don’t want to instantly fall into a trap of his words. Not when Alden is a close friend of mine.
“What do you mean?”
He takes a while to respond. “He has an entire underground ring of sadism. Trust me, I wouldn’t ask him about it.”
“You’re lying. If Alden held you captive, he would have recognised you…Wait,” I breathe, my voice drawing off at the end. For a moment, things began to make sense.
“Something click in that mind of yours?”
“He told me at the Alpha meeting that he wanted to talk to you again. After I nearly threw myself off a cliff, he didn’t come back with me,” I tell him. I had assumed he had wanted to give me time to recover. As far as they may be aware, I tried to kill myself. Great. The next Alpha meeting isn’t going to be very fun.
T breathes in deeply. Deliberately. “Ah.”
“Does that scare you?” I ask softly. “That he wants to see you again.”
“What he did to me, and many other immortals like myself is disturbing. He tortured me to the point where I would have killed myself, had I not escaped. When he first saw me with you, he clearly didn’t want to make a scene,” T explains.
I don’t want to ask, but I force the words from my mouth. “What do you mean immortals like you?”
“Shall I tap my nose again,” he asks, tipping back the rest of his drink, before he places it on the coffee table again. I watch his movements. Would he lie? I have no reason to trust T, and every reason to trust Alden. But when I think about it, Alden has always had an air about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.
I decide to roll my eyes despite myself, not surprised he isn’t sharing information.
“I can tell you don’t believe me. I have no doubt he wouldn’t hurt you. If I did think that, I would have told you earlier,” he says.
“Aren’t you so heroic.”
“I do hope you won’t bring him to me,” he notes, swerving away from my heroism statement. Even if I had meant it as sarcasm. T is the last person I would call a hero.
“I have bigger things to worry about right now,” I tell him. It’s an easier way of telling him that I would never do something like that. No matter who they are. “Like who the hell is in my mind, and why did they bring me here?”
T breathes in deeply, making me narrow his eyes. I can tell whenever he takes a few moments to think about how to phrase his ideas.
“I have a few theories.”
“Like?”
“Too difficult to explain right now,” he dismisses.
I can’t even begin to explain how much it irritates me when he does things like this. Is he the master of vague, or do I just require a lot of validation? Either way, that must be why him and I clash personalities so much.
“You realise that the moment I walk out your front door, I doubt I’ll see you ever again,” I remind him.
“Does that make you sad?” he asks softly.
All of a sudden, he’s a lot closer to me than I noticed. Before, he was on the other side of the couch to me, and now there’s only inches between each other. I’ve been this close to him, but not like this. Something is so intimate about this setting, with the warmth of his proximity, to the rain battering against the roof.
“It will if you don’t tell me these theories of yours,” I murmur.
“Perhaps it will make sense later.”
I glance at the door. “I should go.”
“Whatever happens, just know that everything will be okay in the end,” he breathes.
“Thanks for that boost of confidence,” I say, laughing lightly under my breath. In reality, it’s me doing that just to fill the silence between us that I can’t handle.
Something feels so dark and dangerous being this close to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His intentions instantly come to light, and for a moment, as I stare back into those beautiful eyes of his, I nearly reply.
I nearly kiss him. Nearly.
“Like I said, I should go,” I say quickly.
I abandon him completely, standing to almost run to the front door. I may not know where home is from here, but I don’t care. If I stay here any second longer, who knows what might happen. Outside, the rain hasn’t ceased, but I don’t care. I slide my way across the deck, down the steps and toward his front gate, pulling T’s hood over my head.
When I turn back for a moment, T watches me from the door.
“I’ll see you again, Faye,” he calls through the rain.
“Goodbye T.”