Page 3 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

I wake up with a massive headache. Really, this one should be crowned ruler of all headaches. The light next to my bed forces me to close my eyes immediately after opening them, which is why I don’t realise where I am right away.

It’s the too-soft sheets that give me the first clue. Is that silk? Who has silk sheets?

I don’t. Fuck. I don’t .

I hurry out of bed, but the sheets are too soft. My legs tangle in the fabric and I slip, crashing onto the carpeted floor.

“You seem to do that a lot,” says a rumbling voice.

I yelp and fight the sheets off. It takes a ridiculous amount of time for them to release me.

Once I’m standing, I realise that the man from the coffee shop, Nathan, is standing tall in the doorway.

On my right there is an entire wall made of windows, the sky beyond still dark.

On my left are the bed I just extracted myself from and a second door leading to what I can only assume is a bathroom.

I focus on the man in front of me and try not to panic. Surely there’s an explanation for why my head is murdering itself and why I woke up in a stranger’s place.

“What did you do to me?”

His eyes widen in shock, but I swear I see fear in them. Okay, maybe that’s not the smartest thing to ask, since it doesn’t seem wise to antagonise the big man who may have kidnapped me. I stand my ground and fight the vicious fog inside my head to put words in a different order. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident. Don’t you remember?”

A chill goes through me, and I close my eyes. His words unleash the memories of my most recent near-death experience. I remember being late and running to my lesson. I see the white and red lights of the cars and I recall bracing for impact.

I open my eyes again and jump a little at finding him so much closer to me.

His dark eyes taking me in, unflinching.

His body seems locked up, tense, and he’s still wearing the clothes I saw him in at the coffee shop.

A dark grey sweater over black pants. However, my brain fixates on his grey socks.

He’s not wearing any shoes. I like that.

It makes him more real, less threatening despite the situation.

Although my body feels strangely relaxed, refusing to read what’s happening as anything remotely close to dangerous.

Wait, I braced for an impact that never came. “I didn’t get hit.”

My memory is spotty after that. There was a shout. Maybe a strong hand on my arm? I can’t be sure; the fog is refusing to relinquish its painful hold on the last images.

“Not by a car, no.” His lips tighten in clear displeasure, and I get lost in the sight of them until his words register.

“Then by what? A bus? A bike?” I try to figure out what it could have been this time, but my body seems to be in one piece, making my theories improbable.

“I pulled you back before the car could hit you, but you tripped and hit your head on the pavement.”

Well, that explains the agony inside my skull. Catching a glimpse of sunrise beyond the windows to my right, I remember where I’m standing. “What am I doing here?”

“You only stayed conscious long enough to command ‘no hospital’, and since I don’t know where you live, I had to bring you back here.

” There’s a twitch in his left eye that distracts me again, and I try to regroup.

When I neither talk nor move, he frowns at me. “You can relax, Liv; I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” my mouth says of its own volition.

His eyes widen again, and before I can figure out a way to call the words back into myself, he leaves the room.

My mind is strangely blank. I would expect a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts to prick me in their desire to burrow themselves beneath my skin, but all I feel is calm.

I guess my head is more messed up than I thought it was. I’m not as worried as I should be, clearly, but having sustained enough concussions to write a book about it, I know that since I’m not puking my guts up, a trip to the hospital is truly unnecessary.

Looking around the room some more, I replay everything in my head slowly, trying to come to terms with the fact that I just woke up in a stranger’s bed. Never mind that it feels better than my own, or that the stranger is the guy I’ve been crushing on for months.

But he’s not really a stranger, is he? At least we’re on a first-name basis. I want to laugh at myself when I realise that’s truly the only thing I know about him.

As if I summoned him, he comes back into the bedroom holding a glass of water and a pill.

“Yeah, I won’t be taking pills from a stranger.”

“But you know me.”

“No, I don’t. Not really. All I know is your first name, the fact that you order coffee at my work and never drink it. And that you live in a fancy-ass penthouse.”

“Ah.” He seems disappointed for a second, but I don’t understand why. “And that is not enough?”

“Definitely not.”

“I did save your life.” He smiles at me then. It’s quite a sight, I’ll admit. There’s even a glint in his eyes making me think he’s joking, but I don’t quite catch the joke. Feeling like I’m missing something, I move on.

“You did, and I can’t thank you enough. Really. Next coffee is on me.” I start walking to the door, but he blocks my way.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. Now move before I move you.”

He’s clearly fighting a smirk and I want to punch it off his too-handsome face. “I had a healer come and check on you. You have a concussion.” His jaw tightens. “She said it was mild, but I don’t understand how having a brain injury can be mild.”

I’m struck by how upset he looks, so much so that it takes a second for his words to register.

“You did what ?”

Frowning at me, he gestures at the bed. “You’re confused. She said it could happen. You need to sit down.”

“I will not! You had a doctor come and examine me while I was asleep? Who the fuck do you think you are?” I panic at the thought of someone checking my body while I wasn’t able to control the narrative.

What did they see? What did they think? Will they do anything?

I feel sick. Maybe sitting isn’t such a bad idea, but fuck if I’m doing it here.

“Asleep?” He seems to be growing angry and my body reacts to it strangely. A steely feeling runs through me, causing goose bumps to appear on my arms. “You were unconscious! If I hadn’t helped you—twice, I might add—you’d be dead right now. So sit. The fuck. Down.”

Twice? Ah, right. He pushed me away from the moving car and took care of me when I hurt my head.

Good graces, I must have fainted in his arms. Ridiculous.

But there’s no way this big-ass alpha male is going to tell me what to do with myself.

I don’t bother answering him, I simply throw him a smile that usually drives people up the wall and sidestep him to walk away from this crazy day. Night. Whatever.

At least that’s what I intend. I only make it a step before his arm wraps around my middle, stopping me from an unpleasant encounter with his hardwood flooring.

I suck in a breath, inhaling a clean, sharp smell that reminds me of a crisp winter night and cedar embers. I’m not a petite woman, but he towers over me. My eyes travel up and up until they meet his piercing dark ones.

“If you refuse to take care of yourself, I will have to do it for you.”

His hold like velvet steel around me, he takes me back to bed. I don’t have the energy to ask myself why I don’t fight him.

I end up taking the damn pill and lying back down in the soft, soft bed.

I argue with myself and decide to make smarter decisions, but only after being more rested.

He saved me, after all, and apart from bringing me to his place and forcing me to rest, Nathan hasn’t hurt me.

So I’ll reserve judgement on him being a potential women-kidnapping psycho until I know more.

My eyes close of their own accord, and I wake up to light glaring in my face once more. Only this time the light is coming from the sun, rather than the bedside lamp. Figures. The one time I’d like to sleep in, London decides to have one of its elusive sunny days.

I feel better. Now that my brain doesn’t feel so foggy, however, it decides to fully freak out about my current situation.

I take in my surroundings, noticing the same things I did earlier.

At least I wasn’t so out of it to hallucinate everything, though I wince as I replay my pathetic attempt to walk away. I blame that on the concussion.

Fuck. That’s what he said, isn’t it? I have a mild concussion.

From previous experience, I know I need to drink lots of water, eat healthily for a while and forego any kind of hard training. Shit.

That also explains the new pill I’m now convinced is ibuprofen and the full glass of water next to the lamp.

He really is trying to take care of me. I frown, a weird feeling spreading inside me. I don’t know how to react to that.

I have to get out of here. The guy probably wants his bed back.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar in front of me, beckoning, but my attention quickly turns to the closed one to my left. I may be a coward, but after making such a fuss last night when the man has been nothing but decent , I choose the bathroom first.

The sliding door is silent as I open it, and my breath catches at what it unveils.

I could live in this bathroom. The walls and floor are a dark material I don’t know.

All except the left side of the room, which is entirely made of glass behind the shower overlooking the bustling city.

Horror spreads when I think of people seeing everything happening inside that shower, but reason is quick to follow.

I’m sure the window is one-sided. Or Nathan is a lot kinkier than I thought.

Not that I’ve thought about him and kinks. Not at all.

The furniture is half made of the same dark material and half dark wood. Everything is sleek and hard angles, but strangely warm.