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She shook off the thought. She was depressed enough right now without fueling that despondency with familial regrets.
She sat wrapped up in her memories for a long moment before a soft scratch at the door—followed by a quiet whine— jerked her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, Luna,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I got a bit bogged down there. I think I’m homesick. I’m not usually one to wallow in my own misery, but this situation is a little ridiculous, and I feel like I deserve at least a day of what the fuckness before I drag myself out of it.”
She heard a sharp whistle, followed by a curt, “Let’s go, girl!”
Luna’s paws scrabbled on the floors and Iris heard her retreating without so much as a farewell sniff.
“Hey, where are you guys going?” she called, with no real hope of having her question acknowledged. “Can I come too?”
No response from either Luna or her horrible master, instead she heard a door slamming in the distance.
Did they really just go out in this shit weather? She hurried over to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, even though the door had slammed on the other side of the house.
It was pelting down and the wind hadn’t calmed at all. If anything, it seemed worse. Why would they venture out in this mess?
What if something happened to the damned fool man? Did she even care? If he got himself injured or killed, she’d be fine. Even better than she was now, really, because she’d be able to climb out of this very window and make her way into the main house where she’d have access to food and possibly a phone.
She was imagining a scenario whereby she heroically rescued him—with Luna’s assistance—from the bottom of a steep hill when she heard the door opening again, immediately followed by fast, urgent footfalls heading her way. Seconds later the key rotated in the lock, and she turned from the window just as the door pushed inward.
Trystan Abbott stepped into the room. He was wearing a dark green heavy-duty oilskin rain jacket—the type fishermen on boats used—water was streaming off it in rivulets and leaving puddles on the floor. The man himself looked even bigger in the wet-weather gear and appeared to be bristling with agitation.
Immediately alarmed, Iris took a couple of steps toward him, before coming to an uncertain halt.
“What’s wrong? Is Luna okay?”
No sooner had she asked the question than the big dog nosed her way into the room and Iris’s shoulders dropped in relief.
“I need your help,” TDH said, storming forward and grabbing her hand without any warning. Taken aback by the unsolicited contact—as well as by the iciness of his skin against hers—Iris didn’t immediately protest. She was dragged halfway to the door before she dug her heels in and slowed down their progress. He stopped, his head whipped around, and he pinned her with an intimidating glare.
“My help with what?” Iris asked, matching his glare with one of her own.
“Laying sandbags in front of the garage doors to mitigate the effects of the flooding.”
“What flooding?” she asked, alarmed. “Are we safe here?”
He sighed, the sound short and irritated and really bloody condescending.
“The house itself is pretty high, so the possibility of it flooding is minimal. The garage, however, is underground.”
“Seems shortsighted,” she couldn’t help but retort, and he gave her another annoyed glower.
“Stop fucking mouthing off and get a move on.”
“Maybe if you were less rude to me, I’d consider helping you save your millions of pounds worth of cars. Until then, I’m quite content to stay in my prison cell.”
Only she wasn’t. Iris was dying to get out, but she figured she had some bargaining power here, which she ought to take advantage of.
He eyed her for a speculative moment, then shrugged in unconcern and dropped her hand.
“Fine, you’ll probably slow me down anyway.”
Shit, didn’t the guy understand the fine art of negotiation?
“You’re supposed to offer me something to sweeten the deal,” she informed him, folding her arms over her chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need your help that desperately.”
