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10

VEIL

I hear the key turn in the lock before my mind is fully conscious. My body, on the other hand, instantly propels me out of sleep and into a state of high alert. I scramble to sit up in bed before Gemini opens the door.

The first thing I notice when he pokes his head inside is that his blond hair is now dyed pink.

“Oh good!” he declares, his tone bright and chipper. “You’re awake.”

I have the reflex to contradict him and tell him I was sleeping, but decide against it, choosing pointed silence instead.

He takes one large step inside and sweeps his appraising gaze around the room. He’s dressed in a tweed vest, his chest bare underneath, and matching trousers. A white measuring tape, draped around his neck, hangs loosely over the vest.

It appears he’s surveying the room, as if making sure everything is to his liking—as in no signs of a failed escape, I’m sure.

I didn’t bother checking if the windows were locked when he left last night.

And if they weren’t? Where would I go? Where would I hide?

The city is his. I don’t belong here, and yet I can’t leave. Maybe he’s right, and I should accept my fate.

Destined to become Gemini Foley’s plaything.

My free will clasped tightly in the palm of his hand.

“We are having breakfast on the terrace,” he declares, his hands giving two short claps, shoulders and neck straightening. He flashes me an impatient look, followed by a dazzling smile. “Come, come. Time to get dressed. The morning birds are singing a new song.”

His words from last night drift back like an ominous whisper.

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you to your new wardrobe.”

His turn of phrase and the way he’s waiting for me to follow him makes me think that wherever this new wardrobe is, it’s not in this room.

I cautiously climb out of bed, my gaze serious and suspicious, the scent of him still faintly clinging to the clothes he had me wear last night.

“Can I?—”

“Wash up first? Yes, yes,” he answers abruptly with a curt nod, flicking his hand toward the small en suite connected to the guest room. “Go on now, quickly.”

The impatience in his tone and body language has me scurrying into the bathroom, splashing some water onto my face and freshening up as fast as I can before returning to the bedroom, my hair now twisted into a high bun.

His smile is beatific, per usual, as he takes my hand. The metal of his rings is warm on my cold skin, and his fingers are slender, his skin as soft as a newborn—further proof that he’s never had to work a real day in his life. Walking out of the hallway, I’m struck by the view welcoming me beyond the living room windows.

The sun is low on the horizon. It must be early morning with the way the rays shine over the Pravitian skyline. From this vantage point, with the harbor between us, it’s … it’s beautiful.

I’ve never seen the city of Pravitia like this before.

A bizarre sense of shame smothers the feeling when I consider how mistreated I’ve felt by the city since I arrived. Perversity, cloaked in beauty. It strangely reminds me of the one whose hand is currently squeezing mine as we pass the living room and head into another vast hallway.

“Here we are,” he announces after passing a handful of closed doors. Letting go of my hand, he fishes out a key hanging on a thin leather string from inside his vest.

His eyes glimmer with excitement as he unlocks the door, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Anticipation begins to tickle my stomach as I wonder what kind of wardrobe is waiting for me behind the closed door.

Placing a hand on the small of my back, he coaxes me inside first, but the room is pitch-black, and I can’t see a single thing.

Behind me, Gemini flicks the lights on, and I stifle a scream.

Taking a shaky step backward, I’m stopped by a hard chest.

Gemini’s hands curl around my arms as his breath fans over my cheek before he speaks. “Do you like them?” he rasps, his voice low and much darker than usual.

An unnerving shiver tingles up my nape. I’m still having trouble understanding what my eyes are seeing.

The space is much bigger than I expected, more like a windowless warehouse than a room in the middle of his house.

Rows and rows and rows of mannequins face us, all dressed in different outfits.

And they all … look like … me.

They resemble wax dolls more than mannequins. My features and likeness have been captured in the most unsettling of ways; the only things missing are the tattoos covering most of my body.

I swallow hard, my heart beating at an alarming rate, but I try my hardest to stay calm and look unperturbed.

“How did you even have time to … do all of this?” I finally ask, relieved Gemini is still behind me and can’t see the horror in my eyes.

He chuckles, his mouth still close to my ear. My body breaks out in goose bumps.

“I told you, I never let you go.” He drags his nose down my neck, and my breath hitches. “It was just a matter of time before you were back where you belonged.”

“Which is?” I find myself asking, although I already know the answer. I clench my jaw, teeth gnashing together while I wait for him to respond.

Letting go of my arms, he circles to face me, his gaze hooded and predatory. “By my side.”

“Like your trophy?” I bite back.

“Precisely,” he drawls.

With a quick twist of his heels, he struts farther into the drafty room, hands clasped behind his back until he twirls back to face me. He snaps his fingers and points to the spot next to him. “Come stand here.”

My survival instincts are begging me to run, and my eyes flit to the open door.

Gemini catches my movement. “Don’t you dare, pet,” he says, carefully enunciating every word.

Fear tightens my throat, but I keep my head up as I slowly walk to where he’s pointing while trying my best to ignore the mannequins surrounding me.

He snaps his fingers again. “Clothes off.”

I balk at his words, and his eyes narrow menacingly. His smirk slowly tugs at his lips, as if he expects me to defy him again. Instead, I match the intensity of his gaze and take off my clothes without any protest. There’s a small chill in the room, and I feel my nipples tightening into peaks. I keep my chin raised and my back straight, attempting to clutch on to the last of my dignity.

His chest rumbles with a pleased hum as I stand naked in front of him once again. The vulnerability of the act has not become easier, still as raw as last night. Except his gaze is a lot less clinical this time, as if he’s letting me see past the illusion, to the real him and his real intentions.

Tugging the measuring tape off his neck with a flick of the wrist, he circles around me. “What should I dress my doll up in today?” he says under his breath, holding up the tape to my shoulders and then the length of my arm.

I feel his fingers graze my body with every phony measurement he makes—it’s clearly all an act, as the clothes are ready to wear—and the realization of who has me captive sinks deeper and deeper into my skin.

Does he even see me as human?

I am but a shiny new toy for him to play with.

And what happens when he grows bored of me?

My stomach churns at the thought, but I try to regulate my breathing and keep a smooth expression on my face while Gemini continues to circle me like a starving vulture.

Finally, he steps away, discarding the measuring tape with a flick of his wrist. I watch it flutter to the floor as he begins to wind his way around the mannequins. He stops in front of one, gives it a long once-over, and shakes his head before continuing on.

“Ah!” I hear him say, now much farther away.

I can’t see him from where I’m standing, and I remain still, crossing my arms around my chest in a vain attempt to stay warm.

There’s a rustle of sounds, then more silence before he reappears with what I can only make out as black clothing.

As he strolls back up to me, his grin widens, as if every moment of this bizarre game has him tickled with amusement.

He’s psychotic. Out of his mind.

“Arms up,” he orders.

My lips thin into a line, and I hope my stare conveys every horrible thing I want to yell at him, but I slowly raise my arms anyhow.

“Hold still,” he says before tugging a tight, long-sleeved maxi dress over my head.

His hands smooth over the curves of my breasts, over my stomach, then hips while slipping the dress down my body. I note the lack of underwear.

I tremble under his touch. A maddening cognitive dissonance muddling my thoughts. His seemingly harmless behavior is at war with the countless mannequins staring back at me, their faces expressionless and frighteningly uncanny.

Gemini circles me once again. The dress is backless, and I jump when I feel a finger smooth down my naked spine.

“So many tattoos, and yet you’ve left your back unmarked,” he muses, his finger idly drawing spirals over my exposed skin.

I expect him to ask me why.

But the question never comes.

Instead, he faces me, holding up his finger as if to tell me to wait there, and heads to the left-facing wall, where a large collection of shoes and jewelry are displayed.

Shortly after, he returns, holding a pair of black platform boots and a thin pair of socks.

Beginning to learn his quirks, I’m not surprised when he drops down on one knee and asks me to hold up my foot. One after the other, he slips the socks on my feet and then fastens the boots. By the time he’s done, I’m ready to implode, his careful and meticulous ministrations starting to burn a hole in my chest.

I’m beginning to wish for his violence. It’s upsetting and so illogical, but at least I would know the extent of his evil. His current behavior feels a lot more insidious. Like the feathery touch of his fingers when he clasps a necklace around my neck, the pendant falling just above my cleavage. I don’t look down to see what it is, only knowing that it feels heavy against my chest.

Breakfast is served on the terrace. It’s a mild winter day, and my long-sleeved dress is enough to keep me warm when paired with the strong morning rays. The terrace overlooks the harbor and is built so close to the edge of the cliff that it appears we’re floating in midair.

On the table sits a wide array of food—from mountains of fresh-cut fruits to eggs, bacon, and toasted bread. My mouth waters, and my stomach rumbles loudly. I know Gemini hears it by the entertained look I catch from the corner of my eye, but I ignore him.

I suspect he wasn’t the one who cooked all this food, but I haven’t seen or heard a single soul aside from Gemini since he dragged me here yesterday.

Yesterday …

How time has morphed into anything but. My existence feels much different now, not even twenty-four hours later.

Gemini pulls out a chair for me, and I give him a small nod before I sit.

“Hands on your lap, my pet,” he casually announces as he drags a chair as close to mine as he possibly can.

“But …” I begin to say, but never finish my sentence.

He intends to feed me.

An intense burst of hysteria overcomes me momentarily. I feel like I’m losing all sense of control, even the ability to feed myself.

Gemini pops a raspberry into his mouth, unbothered by my current state of crisis, before sticking a fork into the juiciest strawberry I’ve ever seen. He offers it to me, and my reservations crumble with the need to have a taste.

When I lean over to catch the fruit with my teeth, Gemini pulls the fork back with a smirk, and my stomach sinks, feeling like a toy—yet again. We don’t exchange any words as he smiles and I glare. He offers the strawberry again with mock innocence, but I stare at him for a long, tense breath before leaning over again. Because, deep down, I want that godsdamned strawberry even if my dignity is slipping further away from me with each passing second.

It’s as delicious as I expected, and I immediately hunger for more, but keep my hands on my lap, back straight, while I watch Gemini butter some toast, humming idly.

“You will eat everything I give you — understood?” he says, his gaze lifting to mine as he pushes the buttered toast to my lips. His eyes turn hard, but it’s gone in a flash as he repeats, “Understood?”

I nod, my nervous gaze fixed on his. “Understood,” I mutter before taking a bite of the bread, chewing slowly.

We continue this charade until the toast is all gone, and he moves on to a piece of bacon, then a small sip of orange juice, followed by some eggs.

Unrolling a cloth napkin, he dabs the corner of my mouth, his attention oddly focused, as if he were performing the most serious of tasks.

“What happens when you tire of me?” The words slip out without much thought.

He quirks his eyebrow up, his hand still hovering near my lips, while he cants his head to the side, studying me, as if trying to decipher a riddle.

“Where are you from, Veil Vulturine?” he finally says.

Hearing my full name coming out of his lips has my skin tingle with a mystifying shiver. As if he’s looking at me, the real Veil, for the first time since he kidnapped me and not the doll he wishes to play with.

“Does it matter?” I ask, somehow wanting to avoid the subject.

Gemini leans back in his chair, discarding the napkin, and smirks. “Oh, that it does, pet. That it does.” He crosses one leg over the other and then does the same with his arms, his wrists hanging loosely atop his knee.

I allow myself the liberty of a sigh before replying, “I’m from Corutio. It’s a city north?—”

“Oh, I know of it,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

His expression turns far too serious for my liking, as if this small piece of information confused him even further.

Silence lingers.

His eyes narrow.

I swallow hard.

Breaking eye contact, he sighs. “Our gods favor more than just our dear Pravitia, I fear,” he declares, as if miffed that his beloved city isn’t one of a kind.

“Have you been?” I ask warily.

“Nonsense,” he says, his gaze landing back on me.

His grin turns wicked, and my heart squeezes in apprehension at the sight.

“Why would I leave this city when I have everything I would ever desire”—he taps a finger on the table with the cadence of his two last words—“right here?”