“What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing the pocket where he disappeared the key to my freedom.
“Giving you my car keys like you said.”
“No, let me out first. Then we’ll deal with the keys.”
“Okay.” Tears of pain are spilling from his eyes, but he fishes the key out of his pocket again and raises it to my cuff...
“Oh, Ola. Did you really think it would be that easy?”
We both look up, and my heart stops when I see Damianos in the doorway. Dressed in a simple wool knit sweater and slacks. Looking very, very large and really, really in charge.
Shit! Cold dread drenches my body.
“That will be all, Gatekeeper. You may go downstairs now and complete The North Dakota Queen’s lesson as previously discussed,” Damianos says, his voice sounding calm as tea with the human British king.
“Okee-dokee,” Kirk says, dropping the key to the floor where I couldn’t possibly reach it.
He finally releases the silver cuff. And, oh Fenrir Wolf, the skin on the front of his palm detaches, fused as it now is to the silver.
After being half-raised by a great-grandfather who was a motorcycle gang leader, I’ve garnered a reputation as a pretty bad bitch over the years. But I just about faint all over again when I see that.
“Oh gee, that smarts,” Kirk says, looking at his melted palm.
Grey fur sprouts on his face. The natural instinct of his wolf taking over to heal his human.
“No, Gatekeeper. You are not allowed to turn to your wolf for the pain,” Damianos says, stepping further into the room. “This is, after all, a lesson.”
The fur recedes as quick as it appeared, leaving his hand a disgusting mess.
“Kirk needs medical attention,” I say, trying to keep it together. “You’ve gotta at least let him have bandages.”
Damianos levels me with a cool look. “You are going to be even more vexing than I anticipated,” he says before telling Kirk, “Attend to your wound, then complete the lesson. Use your good hand to open the door when you leave.”
Kirk, no longer to my surprise, does exactly as commanded, running out of the room.
And then suddenly I’m alone.
With Damianos Drakkon.
For the very first time.
Chained to the bed…
And wearing a nightgown that makes me look like a tragic heroine in a Shakespearean play.
Not good. Really not good.
Chapter Twelve
There’s a scared rabbit where my heart used to be, thumping its feet wildly and trying to get out. And I can’t even be mad at myself for feeling scared. Yes, I was raised by motorcycle gangsters and Vikings, but Damianos…
He’s something else.
Laying down prone and chained to the bed, my mind has a hard time processing how insanely large he is. He dwarfs both my father’s and my sister’s seven-foot plus dragon husband. And even though he’s simply dressed, he’s still radiating all-powerful trillionaire.
People like me act. Before I enter any room or conversation, I always make a conscious decision to pretend like I’m the baddest bitch on earth.
But this dude isn’t acting. I know that as he looks down at me.
As bad as I pretend to be, he’s way, way badder.
He’s not just the elephant in the room.
He’s the mega monster stealing all the air, making it impossible for me to breathe, much less say something cool and unbothered.
All I can do is stare as he comes to stand in front of the bed, towering over me, as his eyes slowly scan my prone body.
“Thralls can be unbelievably stupid, especially the dogs. If not given precise and specific commands they often hurt themselves in their eagerness to obey. You’ll do well to remember that when dealing with servants during your time here.”
His voice is so casual, that it takes me several moments to realize he’s explaining why Kirk hurt himself trying to free me. And that he expects me to do better in the future.
I consider lots and lots of answers before choking out, “During my time here….so you plan to keep me here for a while. Is this some kind of power move then? You planning to use me as a bargaining chip with my family? My dads or…?”
I think about the Black Box project that Rafes couldn’t get traction on until he was elected for a second term. He’d been scared that Damianos Drakkon would somehow acquire enough of our time gates for some unknown supervillain plot. I used to think him paranoid. And I’d been relieved when he agreed to let us keep the gate his mate arrived at unboxed.
But now I have to ask Damianos, “Is this…is this about the North Dakota gate? Because I’ll never agree to sell it to you. I don’t care what you do to me.”
“No, this is not about the gate.” He crooks his head, but it doesn’t come off as quite human. The gesture is almost slow motion in comparison. As if he thinks his head is much larger than it is.