Page 39 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

My body is weightless, rising higher and higher with each breath I take. It’s as if I’m floating through the atmosphere yet held in place by a tether that stretches endlessly, like a balloon on a weighted string.

My brain itches as if a memory is at the forefront of my mind, but I can’t quite grasp the entire thing. Muffled and muted, it teases and dances in and out of existence, chanting my name and laughing at me each time I try to remember.

I curl my fingers around the cord that has no end and tug, testing its strength and distance. Maybe if I pull hard enough, it will…

As I yank on the tether, a blinding white light flares to life, accompanied by a crackling rumble as loud as thunder, and I’m thrown from my slumber.

When I wake, I’m freezing and shivering.

My teeth click together, and I curl into a ball and wrap the blankets tighter around me.

But it’s no use. The cold is bone deep, creating a stiffness and tension that I can’t ease.

It stems from the strange dream, or vision, but lingers from the frigid temperature in my room.

I sit up, wrapping the flimsy lace robe tighter around my trembling body as I climb from the mattress and dart to the closet.

I should have dressed last night, after Brenna left the room and relinquished her magical bindings on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than collapse into the downy softness of the bed and cry myself into a stupor.

The light in the closet clicks on as soon as I walk in, triggered by a motion sensor. But I stop just inside the entrance, shoulders slumping in defeat .

It’s empty. Utterly empty. No clothes. Not even hangers.

All I have to keep me warm is this sorry excuse for a robe and the beautiful but thin blankets on the bed.

I don’t know what their thought process is behind not providing at least one outfit, but never in my life have I felt more dehumanized than I do at this moment. It turns my stomach inside out.

I hug my arms around myself and lean against the frame, guts churning in disgust.

I knew this group was cruel, but I wasn’t prepared to see and experience it firsthand. I wasn’t prepared for the helplessness and hopelessness that come along with being treated as an object or a prize.

I swipe underneath my lids, ridding myself of the fresh wave of tears spilling from my eyes, and stumble back to the bed on weak and trembling legs.

I burrow under the covers and grab some of the superfluous pillows—there are enough for at least five people.

I stack half of them around me, creating a nest. Then I pile the rest on top of my body before I sink back into the last remaining pillow near the headboard.

It’s not perfect, but it’s better than it was before.

I shut my eyes and curl up again, tucking the blanket under my chin. I breathe through each shiver wracking my body, working to relax my muscles now that I’m surrounded by a bit more warmth.

Cold rarely bothers me—us. Shifters. But with the silver cuffs and collar and the wolfsbane in my bloodstream, along with the trauma of everything I’ve experienced since they took me, I may as well be human.

I drift away beneath the weight of the blankets and pillows. The slight increase in heat and pressure soothes my tired muscles and limbs, easing me into a state of near relaxation.

The knowledge of my danger lingers, though.

I exist right on the edge of unconsciousness, dozing but not quite asleep.

My senses are alert even while suppressed.

I listen and wait for Brenna’s inevitable return, my semi-lucid mind conjuring increasingly terrible scenarios of what they’ll put me through today.

I swallow a whimper in my sleep as Nuncio’s face haunts me, inching closer and closer, his smirk taunting me. His hot, putrid breath fans my cheek, and I strain away, chin lifting and neck arching .

The front of my throat pushes against the silver collar, and I bite back another whimper as I roll my neck and try to ignore the pain. But it grows, creeping to my chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and down to my legs and feet, until it covers my entire body.

I scream, but no sound escapes me. I try to yank the collar off, but my hands are frozen in place, clutching the blanket under my chin.

The door opens and shuts, and I’m released from the hold on my body. A choked, raspy, gasping shout escapes me, and I squeeze my eyes shut and curl in on myself from the residual pain of Brenna’s brief manipulation as she entered my room.

Light footsteps cross to the bed, their owner hesitant. I peek through my eyelids as Brenna makes her way to me.

The bruise on her cheek is already a deep purple, freckled with red from broken capillaries. She wears a fitted black V-neck dress and over-the-knee boots, her dark hair pulled back in a bun drawing focus to the bruising on her face and the deep neckline of her dress.

She stops on the side of the bed, examining the way I’m buried beneath the pillows with the comforter tucked tightly around me. She takes it all in but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she says, “I’m here to get you ready for the day.”

I know I should sit up, but I don’t have the energy. I watch her watching me, glaring at her.

“Anaís, please…” she murmurs, begging me with her eyes—much like I begged her with mine yesterday.

Was that really only yesterday?

“ Hace frío .” My voice is hoarse, my throat hurting and raw as I speak to her. “It’s cold, and there aren’t any clothes in the closet.”

She sighs. “I know. You must earn the privilege of having clothing and heat in your room.”

“ ?Cómo? ” I ask, although I have an inkling of the answer. “How do I earn that privilege?”

“By cooperating.”

A war wages within me as I decide how cooperative I want to be, as I determine if I’m going to be spitfire Sarina or subdued Sarina .

“I have clothing for you.” Brenna draws my attention to the garment bag she carries with her.

“I doubt it’s any warmer than the ‘robe’ you dressed me in last night,” I snap, my upper lip curling with my words. “It’s so thin it would probably dissolve in water.”

Her lip twitches as if she wants to laugh, but then she’s serious again, and I’m sure I imagined it. “It will cover you more, although not by much. But if you get out of bed and let me dress you willingly, I’ll make sure you stay warm while I prepare you.”

Another wave of nausea floods over me at her words. “Prepare you”. Like I’m a piece of meat. “Dress you”. Like I’m a doll.

I suppose, to them, I’m both of those things.

I turn my face into the pillow for a moment, teeth digging into my lip as the collar snags on my skin.

I don’t want to give in. I really fucking don’t. But I don’t think I can endure another round of pain from Brenna manipulating me with my blood.

With a sigh, I prop myself on my elbow, emerging from my nest of pillows.

Brenna steps back, giving me space to exit the bed, the blood vial clutched in her free hand so she’s ready to use it if I misbehave. It’s now attached to a delicate chain around her neck, which also features a golden eagle pendant resting against her chest in the deep V-neckline of her dress.

I stand in front of her. The robe falls open, exposing all of me. My chin held high, I meet her fragile blue eyes.

She gives me a brief, hesitant smile. “Thank you.” She releases the vial from her fist, takes my hand in hers, and leads me to the little pedestal in front of the mirrors.

I consider attacking her, consider grabbing on to the pretty, perfect bun at the back of her head and yanking it until her neck snaps, but I don’t.

I’m still unsure what her endgame is. She helped me, lying for me and telling Amara I was a virgin.

She took the blow from Nuncio, which was meant for me, when I sassed him.

She may yet be an ally. I can’t burn that bridge before I know if it exists.

Brenna hangs the garment bag on a small hook near the top of the mirror.

When she returns to my side, she peels the red robe down my arms, setting it aside as she circles me to examine my naked body.

She regards me clinically, like I’m an art project or a science experiment that she needs to ace to pass a class .

I form fists as her eyes roam over me. Her gaze catches the movement, and her hand lifts to the vial around her neck, but I uncurl them before she can use it on me.

I hate that I’m already responding to their method of conditioning. It’s debasing and cruel and embarrassing.

“Amara will examine you today,” she tells me when she’s completed one full circle. “She may suggest…improvements.”

“Improvements,” I repeat, my voice flat.

“Enhancements,” she clarifies. “Cosmetic fixes to make you more desirable to bidders.”

“Such as?” I ask through my teeth.

“It varies.” She grabs the garment bag. “Usually it’s surface level, but occasionally it’s more.”

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to calm the panic and rage inside me. Goddess, is there any line they won’t cross? Is there no end to their depravity?

I sense Brenna stepping onto the pedestal with me, and I blink my eyes open and swallow against the tightness in my throat.

She holds a black outfit, and as she watches me, her face softens for a brief, almost undetectable moment.

But that softness is replaced by her fragile, broken, and blank stare as she lifts the dress over my head.

I slip my arms in, surprised and relieved there are sleeves. That relief is temporary, however, because Brenna moves around me to adjust the outfit, and I glimpse the rest of it in the mirror.

There are sleeves, yes, but the dress—if it can be called that—covers little.

The top sits low across my breasts, right above where they are fullest, ruched together by a thin string in the middle of my cleavage.

The sleeves themselves are barely attached to the bodice of the “dress”, and there are slits on either side that end at the tops of my hip bones.