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It seems to work out too conveniently, and call me a skeptic with an overly analytical mind, but I know something else is at play here. Something I’m missing.
“Does she take in many girls?”
“Ones she deems worthy.”
“Worthy of what?”
The drag of the cloth comes to a stop, and as I twist, I catch the troubled look on her face before it flickers to a smile.
“Worthy of what?” I ask again.
Resuming her scrubbing, she clears her throat. “Staying here. She’s very particular.”
“Why?”
“Well, no man wants to sleep with an ugly girl. A diseased girl.”
“But I’m not expected to sleep with anyone.”
“No, I suppose you’re not.”
“Then, what made her choose me? What made her take me in?”
A long, disconcerting pause follows my question, only the quiet drip of water filling the silence between us. “There. All washed. I gathered you some clothes.”
I reach out, splashing water over the edge of the tub as I grab hold of her arm. “Tell me.”
Lips tight, she wrenches her arm free of my grip. “I don’t know. But why don’t you just be grateful you’re one of the chosen?”
The Chosen. I’ve heard that before. I was that before all of this. But at least then my purpose didn’t lie at the bottom of a murky motive. I knew exactly what was expected of me, and I chose to reject it.
I haven’t a clue what Madame Beaumont wants with me, which may very well make her just as much of a risk as the Ragers and marauders, if I give any thought to chancing escape.
* * *
Father Parsons lets his robe slide to the floor, his lower half concealed behind the edge of the altar, as he makes his way to the steps. “Relax, child. This will be over before you know it.”
Wriggling free is useless, with my arms shackled to the table, as he freely crawls his way up my body. When he reaches my exposed lower half, he pauses and lowers his head to between my thighs. “Sweet, nubile creature.”
I kick and squirm to get away from him, and when he raises his head, I’m staring into the soulless eyes of a Rager.
“No!” Jolting upright, I glance around the dark, empty room that’s lit only by the gossamer beams of moonlight streaming in through the drapes. Every muscle quivers from the lingering rush of fear thrumming through my veins. I lift a trembling hand across my damp brow, and force myself to breathe slowly.
Just a nightmare.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I lie back onto the pillow, but pause at the strange sounds bleeding through from somewhere. A dull thump. Soft moaning.
Throwing my feet over the edge of the bed, I pad toward the door, cracking it open just enough to see a man standing against the wall, his pants slung low on his hips, exposing most of his ass. Slender legs stick out either side of his back, toes painted red, and I follow their length up to the redhead from the pool earlier. When the man turns his face slightly, I just catch a glimpse of Henry’s profile, before I step back into the shadows.
A smile stretches across the face of the redhead as she tips her head back against the wall, clearly enthralled by the act. Not in any sort of distress, it seems.
So much for not touching the girls.
It makes sense why he stays here now. He doesn’t have to take what’s given so freely.
Chapter 7
The hours blur into days, wasted away in the kind of gluttony that feels unbalanced. Madame Beaumont comes and goes, sometimes with a few of the girls, sometimes only with a few of her men. Her scarcity makes it nearly impossible to glean any answers, and by the end of the week, I’ve given up on trying. The only thing I’ve learned of her in my time here, is that she seems to be obsessed with collecting the rare and unusual, has an obsession with the Roman era, given her choice in books and art, and puts far more faith in her men than makes sense.
