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There’s a sense of mild irritation this time. Like a little kid, she swats at me, and a grumbling sensation comes from her, as if I’m being annoying. Ignoring me completely, it feels as if she rolls over, snuggles deeper into the depths of my mind like she’s burrowing into a bunch of blankets and pillows, and then she falls back to sleep.
Dammit.
A creaking sound comes from somewhere beyond the end of the bed, like someone rising from a chair. I tense, my mind running through what spells I might be able to use, except I don’t even know what I’m facing.
The muscular guy from the table at the bar steps into view.
Shock hits me, but it only lasts a second before rage heats up my veins. He’s involved in this?
I knew he was dangerous when I saw him at the bar. But not just him.
Where the hell are his buddies?
“You—” My throat feels like it’s full of rocks, and coughing catches me almost immediately.
He circles to the nightstand beside the bed and picks up a glass of water. “Here.”
I try to pull away, still coughing, but he just sits on the edge of the mattress and puts an arm around me as if to help me drink it.
I turn my face from the glass. Like hell I’m trusting anything he gives me.
Creepy stirs, wanting to snuggle against him too.
I shove her down. “The fuck… did you do… to me?”
Consternation crosses his face, but then the door opens.
“Is she—” His buddy with the blue-tipped hair stops in the doorway, worry on his face that doesn’t go away when he sees me watching him.
“Drink,” the big guy holding me orders.
I push away from him instead. My strength is returning. Way too slowly for my liking, but I’ll take what I can get.
The consternation on his face deepens, but after a moment’s consideration, he lets me go. “You really should drink. Your system reacted poorly to the drugs they gave you, and they made you have a seizure. I was able to stabilize you, but the faster you flush those chemicals from your body, the better.”
I stare at him, fear trying to bubble up. Seizure? I had a seizure?
Fucking hell.
Across the room, his blue-haired buddy nods urgently at his friend’s words, agreement written all over his face.
Shoving my terror back down, I scoot a bit farther away on the massive bed, not taking my eyes from them. Phineas. That’s the big guy’s name. And Blue Hair is Huck. Which leaves—I rack my brain for the name—Zeb.
Who might be calling the rest of his crew of traders, for all I know.
My eyes dart over the room again. I have no idea if the windows would provide an escape, but Huck is blocking the only other exit.
Dammit.
I’m pretty sure it really is a hotel, though, which can’t be a good thing. And it basically screams money, which is almost worse. The walls are eggshell white and dotted with paintings that look a cut above the kind you’d find in a standard hotel room. The decor is tasteful and understated, and the bed is massive but not lumpy or clammy. The curtains are edged in gold and pulled tight over the two tall windows on the far side of the room.
Traders aren’t poor, no matter how they sometimes dress. They make bank doing what they do because the people they sell to have more money than morals and they’re used to using their cash to get whatever the hell they want.
I clear my throat. “Where am I?”
“Our place,” Huck says right away.
Phineas gives him a short glance, like maybe he isn’t sure the blue-haired guy should have answered, and it makes my skin go cold.
