Walls should not show horrors.
Was this hell?
Is this what she’d brought upon herself for lying to the village?
As if the room could read her thoughts, the very wall that had terrified her only moments before transformed in a rippling blur. In place of rape and murder, Morgaine wa
s given a window. From corner to corner, the space displayed verdant forest. Even the air grew warmed by a soft wind and the chirp of birds.
Technology of this sort this did not exist in her settlement.
Wise enough to know there were no birds singing, no tree branches bending to soft breezes, she frowned at the view. It was nothing compared to forests, to real trees. The image, in its entirety, was an insult.
Gorge yourself on food most likely stolen from your settlement. Bathe, hair uncovered, like a whore.
Or watch more horrors…
There was no question.
Lowering her body into the steaming water, Morgaine kept her eye on that false view of the forest. She sank like a stone until the water hit her chin.
The heat stung limbs that had grown ice cold. It hurt.
She wanted it to hurt.
The tub whirled, streams of steam mixing with soap until more bubbles covered the surface.
The scent was not to her taste. The instant she wrinkled her nose, she would have sworn it altered. What had been roses became herbal... tolerable.
Nausea slowly subsided. Extreme exhaustion took its place.
Drawing a deep breath, she let her head slip beneath the water, listening to the churn and slosh until her lungs began to burn. She wanted to stay like that, in her own underwater world until her heart stopped.
But the tub began to drain on its own.
Her momentary sanctuary was stolen away.
Dripping wet, she sat in the empty bath and hung her head in her hands.
She recognized that the tub wasn’t for comfort. It might be pretty, it might have smelled pleasant, but its purpose was for her to listen and obey.
To be clean because Sergeant Uriel had ordered it.
To be trapped within flower mosaic tiles because there was no towel and nowhere to hide.
She had not been able to get out, but he had found a way in. She’d heard the bootsteps, could smell who’d come to invade and stand in triumph over her.
Morgaine did not give him the honor of lifting her head or even addressing his presence.
The intruder began to purr.
Still, she refused to raise her neck and meet his eye. What was the point? “Is this what you had in mind when you claimed you knew what would make me feel better? Leaving me naked, wet, shamed, and frightened? Whatever punishment your people have decided I have coming, just get it over with.”
An unwelcome hand came to rest on the top of her head. Voice just as gruff as she remembered from her cottage, said, “That is not an appropriate way to address an Alpha.”
Disgusted that he would touch her, Morgaine squeezed her eyes shut. “Uriel? Was that his name, the one managing my transition?”
He corrected, “Sergeant Uriel.”