Page 25 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom

I turned on my heel and left, scratching at the bite marks until my whole hand felt numb.

Chapter Eleven

The walk to the tower seemed longer than usual, the sun twenty degrees hotter. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead and my clothes to my skin. Maybe while Brendon was getting dressed, I’d take a quick shower.

A few feet from the door I stumbled over a rock and fell flat to the ground, my arms pinned under me, still clutching the bundle of clothes. I stayed there for a long moment, inhaling the thick smell of dirt and grass, before pushing myself up and completing the trek.

I opened the door and found Brendon on the couch again, reading another book. I didn’t know if he was just bored or if he was another voracious reader. Maybe he and Franny had at least one thing in common.

“Here,” I said, dropping the clothes onto the coffee table. I collapsed into the nearest armchair, covering my eyes with my arm. How was it so much brighter in here than it had been outside? The artificial lights should have been softer, not harsh and half-blinding.

“Have a fun night?” Brendon asked, his tone dripping with scorn.

I grunted and waved for him to leave me alone.

A long silence passed and then I heard footsteps climbing up the stairs. Right, I said I would shower while he dressed. All I had to do was get up, go into the bathroom, undress, turn on the shower, wash up, dry off, get dressed, and return to the chair before he even noticed I was gone.

I snuggled deeper into the chair, hiding my head with one of the pillows.

“Rick?”

“Not Fred?”

“Fred?”

“Freddy?”

“Frederick.”

“Five more minutes,” I mumbled, trying to wave the person away, but my arm flopped to the side.

“You know, this would be the perfect time for me to make a daring escape. You’re so pliable I could pick you up and use you like a damn key, then run out the door and abandon you to sleep off this hangover. Really, it’s unprofessional.”

Someone pushed away the pillow and I whined in protest as the lights hit me with the full force of a sledgehammer. I tried to grab the pillow back, but all I caught was someone else’s hand.

“What is this?”

I turned my face so it pressed against the back of the chair. The position hurt my neck and back, but it was better than the damn lights.

“Fuck, you’re burning up.”

It was definitely hot in here. I sat up as much as I could and tried to pull my shirt off but couldn’t get my arms out of the sleeves.

“Rick, stop it, I’m trying to examine your wound.”

“’S fine.”

“It clearly isnotfine. Your hand is swollen and practically purple. What bit you?”

“’M fine.”

“Stop saying you’re fine!”

The loud voice hurt my ears and I whimpered and tried to pull away from them, but I couldn’t get far with the chair in the way.

“Mph.”

“What?”