Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,85

grab the brace.

Every particle in me is hollering to dash to the wardrobe at top speed, but if they hear me running around, I’m toast anyway. I hobble over as nimbly as I can, cringe at the faint squeak of the hinges when I open the door, and crawl inside amid hanging quilts and folded sheets.

There’s enough of a ridge on the inside of the door that I manage to pull it all the way shut. I crouch there, unable to see anything in the room beyond, unable to hear anything over the thunder of my pulse.

The bedroom door clicks open. Sylas’s voice is brisk. “A simple guest room. We have more appropriate quarters prepared downstairs should you require them.”

Someone chuckles. “I should certainly hope so.”

There’s a sniffing sound, and my throat aches with held breath. Then the woman from before says, “You’ve taken to keeping human servants again, I gather.”

“It is difficult to do without any extra aid,” Sylas says smoothly. “And easy to bring them over while we’re situated here. If the scent bothers you, I can assure you your rooms were seen to solely by my pack.”

She hums to herself, and then the door thumps shut again. I press my hand against my mouth to hold in a sigh of relief.

Nestling deeper into the sheets, I lay down my head. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep a wink until they’re gone, but if I do, I think I’ll do it in here.

25

Talia

I wake up the next morning back in my bed—and realize after a few bleary blinks that it isn’t actually morning at all. The angle of the light, only an indirect glow seeping through the window, means the sun has already passed from east to west. I’ve slept into the afternoon.

That’s not much of a surprise. I’m not sure how late it was when I finally crept out of the wardrobe and crawled into bed after hearing the visitors’ horses canter away, only that it was well into the early hours of the morning and my head was aching with nervous exhaustion.

The exhaustion has diminished, but my nerves are still jumpy. The past week may have brought new pleasures into my life, but it’s also driven home just how easily any security I’ve found here can be shaken. Sylas couldn’t even ensure his own cadre wouldn’t try to hurt me. He couldn’t prevent this other lord’s visit either, despite the dangers of letting him in.

Within the keep, Sylas rules with an authority that feels so solid it’s hard to imagine anyone not bowing to his commands. But there are people outside these walls—lots of people, apparently—who have more power than he does.

What happens to me may not be entirely up to him in the end, as much as he’d like it to be.

I fumble out of the bed, still groggy-headed, with those uneasy thoughts churning in my mind. Someone must have checked on me during the day: there’s a new plate heaped with purplish pancakes on the side table. Seeing it, the hazelnutty scent reaching my nose, my heart squeezes. It feels like a peace offering, no words required.

Since I haven’t eaten all day, it doesn’t take long for me to wolf down the whole stack. My stomach no longer aches when I eat more than a bird-like portion of a meal, which I guess is some kind of progress. The pancakes leave a creamier hazelnut aftertaste on my tongue, so delicious I don’t want to rinse my mouth and wash it away. I probably should, though, since my morning breath will have evolved into a higher level of blech by now.

I don’t run into any of my captors in the hall. The view from the south-facing window suggests it’s later than I assumed. Whitt is out on the field, his tall form casting a long shadow, the lowering sun searing off his bright brown hair. He appears to be directing a few of the pack members in setting up for one of his parties, one laying out cushions here, another arranging goblets on a table there.

As I watch, he produces the flask from his pocket and takes a swig from it that I suspect is an early start to his reveling. Apparently last night’s hosting wasn’t enough festivity for him. Or maybe he needs this party to recover from that one.

When I make my way downstairs, the rooms on the first floor are all empty, the halls silent. I feel