Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,13
you.”
Ember hops off the crate she is sitting on and takes a few cautious steps toward me. I wouldn’t reach out and grab her even if I could. I can already tell this process of convincing her to release me will take small baby steps.
“What can we do to make you more comfortable?” she asks. “I can get blankets and pillows if that helps.”
I bite back the bubbling fury building inside of me. I want to snap, to yell, to shake sense into her that no amount of pillows or blankets are going to make me comfortable, but she will run. I know she will run.
“A chair,” I say, shaking off my frustration. “So, I don’t have to sit on the ground.”
Her eyes light up, and that smile of hers returns. She quickly runs around a crate and drags a wooden chair from behind it. She doesn’t pause before reaching me this time, which I take as a good sign. If I wanted to, I could grab her and snap her neck with my bare hands. But she is unaware of that fact which tells me the trust level is beginning.
She places the chair beside me, and I stand. She still doesn’t move or take any steps backwards. She doesn’t even flinch.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
We are close enough now that I can see more defined features of her appearance. Though I had originally thought her dirty based mostly on her attire and our surroundings, I could now see she is very clean. Oddly so, considering she was barefoot in a dirty cellar. Her nails are short, but no dirt caked underneath them. Her blonde hair shines bright as if freshly washed. Even her dress isn’t dirty… worn… but not dirty.
Her eyes are bluer than any eyes I have ever seen. They stand out the most on her nearly angelic face. She’s smaller than most women, and skinnier but not necessarily malnourished or starving. Stunted, would be a word best to describe her. Almost as if her body is brainwashed—just like her mind—to believe she is an innocent child even though she is a grown woman.
“Ember.” Saying her name feels odd. “Did your father tell you what his plans are?”
“In regard to our wedding?”
I nod as I take the seat and twist my body so I am looking right at her. “Or about me in general.”
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a brief moment. “He hasn’t told me much. I didn’t know he wanted me to be married. I didn’t know this was the plan. He’s told me to allow him to worry about all the details and to just focus on… us.”
“Us?”
“On falling in love,” she says with over-bright eyes filled with foolish beliefs.
I think up to this point, I never actually felt true panic. Not until this very moment.
Panic.
Fucking Hell…
Love? Love? Love?
The word seems absurd. The emotion seems deranged. Love and madness is my new reality, and all I can do is drown in my wave after wave of hysteria.
“I should really go and start supper,” she says as she steps away from me for the first time since bringing me the chair.
I wonder if she can see the lunacy in my eyes. Can she see how it has finally hit me like a brick that I am held captive and may never escape? In a matter of hours, I will be dead to all who know me. They will have no reason to doubt the ranger that I fell to my death. They know I would always go the extra distance to get the perfect picture, even if it meant falling to my death in a pit of acid.
“I was going to make stew… if that is alright with you?” She wants my approval. She is nearly begging for it with those eyes of hers.
I have nothing left in me to continue on. Not now, and maybe not ever.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Stew is fine,” I mumble.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
7
Christopher
I hate the fact I actually allowed myself to sleep last night. I even hate myself more for eating the stew Ember made and settling into the pillows and blankets she brought me as a dutiful hostess would do.
I should fight more. I should not allow any acceptance of this situation.
The bright light shining through the window only reminds me it is now official. In the real world, I am a missing man.
My editor will be waiting for me to send photo proofs. I’m pretty sure I