Thanks for all your comments! I only have one more chapter completely written, so the chapter updates may be a little slower from here on out. I could definitely use a beta reader to keep things moving. If anyone is interested, please private message me!
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When she woke, she was aware of two things. The first was a consuming, throbbing pain in her wrist. The second was Warder.
He was in the room with her. He was there and together they had done--what had they not done?
Images flashed through her mind. His body covering hers. She had urged him on. She had
begged
him.
She had an image of herself kneeling at Warder's feet and taking him into her mouth, sucking and teasing with her tongue until he grew hard. When he came, he had held her head against him and she had swallowed every drop.
What had come over her? Had she been drugged? There could be no other explanation for the way she had acted. She hadn't been herself and now that she was, she had to focus exclusively and completely on the challenge of finding her way out of the mountain and to safety. Her mission didn't matter anymore. Or, at least, she was incapable now of carrying it out. She was too weak.
She had given herself to that creature. He hadn't forced her. She had begged him. What drugs could do that?
She willed herself to rise. She knew he lurked nearby and she thought, perhaps, that she could kill him now with her bare hands. If only she could lift her head. The throbbing in her wrist revealed itself to be only the worst of a litany of aches and pains, including the wound his teeth had left at her shoulder. She felt as if she had run for miles. Her muscles throbbed. Her pussy was sore and when she looked down, she saw blood and...other things...dried on her thighs. Her head spun at the movement and she lay back down, turning sideways so that she could see the table and the desk.
No sign of Warder.
He wasn't in the bed. She sat up, more slowly this time, and scanned the room.
Nothing.
Shakily, she got to her feet and walked to the tiny bathroom. The door was ajar, as usual, and she saw that it, too, was empty.
She was alone.
Still, she felt as if Warder were in the room, watching her. She felt that he was the near the same way that she could sometimes feel if someone was watching her from across the room. She tried the metal door, wondering if he were lying in wait on the other side, determined to face him. The door creaked a bit at her efforts, but it remained shut and there was no movement on the other side.
Lucy shook her head to try to clear it. The sense of Warder's closeness remained, and she easily summoned a headache on top of her other pains.
Uncertain how to proceed, Lucy stumbled back to the tiny bathroom and turned the single tap. She tried turning it all the way right and then all the way left and realized in a moment why she had been afforded the luxury of the distant bath. The shower tap only ran cold, and beneath the warmth of her over-used muscles, the feeling of intense, permanent chill that she usually felt inside the stone walls had returned. Defiantly, she forced herself under the cold spray anyway, scrubbing at her skin until she felt certain that every sign of his attentions had been washed away. Even after she was clean, she forced herself to remain standing under the spray. She realized that she was waiting for the water to wash away this strange awareness of him, the sense of his presence that she could not shake.
It wasn't working and her teeth were actually beginning to chatter, something she had only experienced once before during an ill-advised February swim at the beach.
She turned off the water and stood still in the cold air. She didn't have a towel or any clothes. After a moment of indecision, she snatched one of Warder's towels from the laundry basket that sat out, abandoned by Persephone. She sniffed it warily. She could smell his scent on the fabric. She didn't want to undo what she had tried to accomplish with the shower, but she was freezing. She patted herself dry with the towel. Shivering, and with her skin still slightly damp, she slipped a clean shirt over her head.
She wanted to climb back into the bed and hide under the covers. But the covers smelled of him, too. Worse, they smelled of the mingled scent of their lovemaking. They were wrinkled from sweat and fluid, tangled up and even torn in places. She slid to the floor near the foot of the bed, huddling into the corner and bringing her knees up under the fabric of Warder's shirt.
"This isn't real," she told herself out loud. "This didn't happen."
All the while, she was aware of Warder, his being and not-being with her. She was not alone even though she felt incredibly lonely.
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When he returned, she was grateful.
Only because it was him and not Persephone.
She couldn't face Persephone's derision. She had little energy, and being cold and angry with Warder consumed all of it.
Warder closed and locked the metal door as usual, scanning the room. He found her easily and frowned. "Your hair is wet," he said. "You'll freeze."
He had carried a basket into the room. He set it down and retrieved a clean blanket. Crouching next to her, he wrapped it around her shoulders, gathering her hair and arranging it so that it was outside the blanket instead of touching her neck.
The warmth had the effect of setting her shivering again. Without comment, Warder gathered her into his arms and sat with her on the bed, chafing his hands up and down her body until the shivering ceased. "What were you thinking?" he said.
She tried to answer, but she was too weak.
When her shivers ceased, he set her down and retrieved a towel. Silently, he began to squeeze the water out of her hair, brushing out the tangles with his long fingers.
The way he was tending to her was almost soothing, and as Lucy regained her strength, she found the energy to push him away. He let her and stood up, watching her with something that looked almost like concern. He dumped the contents of the basket onto the bed next to her.
"Persephone has acquired you more suitable clothes," he said. "Dress warmly."
She didn't have to be invited again to cover her body. She reached a hand out from under the blanket and sifted through the offerings. There were more of the same unsuitably summery dresses, but there were also leggings lined in a fleecy material and a black sweater. She pulled on a pair of the leggings, a dress, and the sweater. The heaviest item of clothing in the pile was a fleecy lined jacket, similar to Warder's. She slipped into this as well, running one hand over the buttery-smooth leather.
Persephone wouldn't have wanted her to have anything this nice. She knew it as well as she knew that Warder was watching her again.
He
had picked out these clothes or arranged for her to have them. She was sure of it.
She recalled the other jacket with the antenna hidden inside and saw that it was still lying on the floor, discarded when Warder had undressed her. Slowly, she took off the new jacket and made a beeline for the old one.
"This one is warmer," she said, shrugging into it, her face flaming.
Warder misinterpreted her blush. He assumed that even as his mate refused to meet his eyes, she found herself drawn to the jacket that held his scent. Her behavior reassured him that she would settle, with time. Her emotions would be heightened by all that had happened, but she would also begin to feel safer in his care, whether she wished it or not. And once he knew he could trust her, he would allow her to visit her home--under his guard, of course. Once that promise was kept, he would never have to worry about her leaving the mountain again.
