Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,15
inside. I can’t see any pipes. Is there a fae sewer system, or will my pee be washed away by magic?
It’s easier letting my mind puzzle over silly things like that rather than to dwell on the contempt in the silver-eyed man’s voice when he talked about me.
This setup sure beats a bucket, even if the details are odd. Rather than toilet paper, I find a wicker box full of leaves. I try to dampen one at the sink and give myself a bit of a wipe-down everywhere I can reach, though it doesn’t feel all that effective. Then I splash more water on my face.
The room has no mirror, but maybe that’s a good thing. If I could see how bedraggled I must look, I’d feel ten times more awkward walking back out.
Sylas leads me down a spiral staircase that’s the same polished wood everything in this keep appears to be built out of. I cling to his elbow as little as possible, which is still quite a lot. He doesn’t remark on my shakiness—or anything else, for that matter—but I catch him eyeing my feet in apparent contemplation. Do I even want to know what he’s contemplating about them?
There is one question I can’t hold back, as nervous as I am about the answer. When we reach the bottom of the stairs at one end of a wide, wood-lined hall, I glance up at him and gather my courage.
“Why did you bring me here? I mean, what—what are you going to do with me?”
Sylas considers my face now, his expression so unreadable I can’t tell whether he’s annoyed or amused by the question. “I was planning on getting you full of breakfast,” he says. “We’re almost at the dining room.”
That isn’t what I meant, as I’m sure he knows, but before I can figure out how to demand a proper response—and whether it’s worth the risk that he’ll turn those fierce white teeth on me rather than offering one—another of my rescuers-slash-kidnappers from yesterday pokes his head from a nearby doorway.
It’s the man with the broad boyish face, which splits with an eager smile. Now that I’ve got a better look at him, I’m struck by his eyes. The sharp-voiced man, the one Sylas called Kellan, might have a silver sheen to his irises, but this guy’s are pure gold, as radiant as that smile of his, both warm and utterly inhuman.
“You’re up!” he says with the same buoyant energy I saw before. “Perfect. I was just about to serve the meal.”
Then I notice the spatula he’s brandishing and the apron draped over his muscular frame. Apparently he’s also the one making our breakfast. Smells drift from the room behind him: creamy and meaty, buttery and doughy. My stomach gurgles loud enough that I suspect the whole keep can hear it.
The eerily gorgeous guy widens his grin. “And it sounds like you’re ready for it.”
My lips part, but I don’t know what to say.
Sylas motions to me. “Her name is Talia. Talia, this is August of my cadre. I wouldn’t typically have any of them working the kitchen, but we’re in short supply of staff.”
“And I like doing it.” August twirls the spatula in his fingers and waves it at me. “If this isn’t the best breakfast you’ve ever had, I’ll keep trying until I get there.”
It’s guaranteed to be the best breakfast I’ve had in more than eight years, as long as Sylas was telling the truth about no funny business with the food. My throat’s still closed up, but I tip my head in acknowledgment, and somehow August’s smile grows even wider. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though. They’ve crinkled at the corners with a shimmer of something almost sad…
It’s probably pity. My face flushes again, but pity is better than contempt, at least. “Thank you,” I manage to say, though still in the whisper I’m having trouble breaking my rusty voice out of, so I’m not sure whether the attempt makes me seem less pathetic or more.
Maybe I should be encouraging these men to see me as pitiable if it means they keep offering me comfy beds and extravagant breakfasts. They want something from me just like my former captors did. If they think I’m strong enough to withhold it, who’s to say they won’t change their approach to something harsher?
Sylas guides me on down the hall, and August pauses partway through turning back toward the kitchen, taking in my limp. His gaze jerks