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“This is Fiona,” I say, introducing them. “Fiona, this is Hades and his mate, Tinker.”
“Hi,” Fiona says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
They greet her with similar politeness, and I can’t pretend there’s not some mutual wariness in the room. Fiona is uncomfortable, I think. She’s not used to relatively small places, though this house is well over three thousand square feet.
Jacob comes in behind us, goes into the open plan kitchen, and starts fixing himself a snack. Max follows. Max is our driver. He’s a quiet guy with a calm demeanor and a penchant for vehicle theft. I met him when he stole one of my cars while I was in it. By the end of the ride, I had a new member of the pack.
“Come upstairs and I’ll show you our room,” I tell her.
“Is this where you live all the time?” She half-whispers the question to me with a hint of horror that makes me smile. This place is clearly close to her worst nightmare. I can’t imagine how she’d react to a normal home.
In her own environment, she seems very much at ease. She seemed a little entitled from time to time, but in this less luxurious place it is much more obvious. My sweet mate is also a spoiled brat.
“It’s not where I live all the time. It’s a safehouse. A place where you will be kept safe. Here’s the bedroom.”
Our bedroom is the attic room. I chose it because it is spacious, the most private being at the top of the house, and the hardest to escape through the window, though I would not put knotting bed sheets past her.
My hope is that Fiona can feel comfortable enough here to stay relatively obedient to my orders. We finally have time to get to know one another as adults, and as mates. This can be a romantic time, and that is how I intend to pitch it to her, rather than confinement. It is, however, definitely going to be confinement.
“What’s this?” she says, looking around at the double bed with the floral coverlet, large white and beige rug, pine nightstands and windows, one on each side set into the angles of the roof in order to let sunlight stream in. The scene is rustic, yet luxurious. She has her nose wrinkled almost as if I’d taken her back to the alley I caught her in and told her we were going to sleep in one of the dumpsters.
“Our room,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says. “It doesn’t have a bathroom?”
“There’s one on the floor below,” I explain.
“Right,” she says. “So I’m going to… walk around wearing a towel?”
“You don’t have to walk around,” I tell her. “And we can get you a robe. We can get you whatever you need.”
She looks slightly less irritated. “Where’s the closet?”
“Over there,” I say, pointing to a fairly nice pine closet that matches the bedside tables. There’s also a tallboy for additional storage. I don’t think it’s enough by her standards.
“So I can have, what, three coats, a pair of pants, and one shirt.”
“You do understand this is an emergency situation,” I tell her. “Your pack just tried to have you trafficked to Russia. You’re hiding. You’re scared.”
“I am?”
“You’re not scared?”
“No. Not anymore. I’m pissed off.”
That’s a problem. I believe her, actually. She was terrified when she got in the van, but now that tension has been replaced by displeasure. I do have nicer places, bigger houses, more land. But this house was picked because it’s safe. It’s secret, and we can hide out here without fear of being easily discovered.
“Are you hungry?”
“Don’t know how anyone could have an appetite with that wallpaper,” she mutters under her breath. Sassy little thing.
“I’ve seen you hanging out in dive bars without issue, why are you pretending to be precious now?”
“Slumming it is fun when you get to go home at the end of it,” she says. “It’s not as fun when it’s your whole life.”
* * *
Fiona
