Page 7

She never disturbed me.

For days, I slept like that, my grief uninterrupted until I woke to someone hovering over my bed, holding out a red dress.

A jolt ran through me, and I clutched the blankets like a shield; I was hit with a vicious flashback of an assault, and I whimpered back in that moment, as if it were real.

“Calm yourself, girl,” Sabine said. “It’s just me.”

Blinking rapidly and trying to adjust to the present, I found Sabine dressed head to toe in black, as if she were attending a funeral. A chill ran down my spine.

Fuck, this woman was strange.

“Dying takes a lot out of you.” Her voice was soft and monotone.

With her hair jet black again, she looked to be in her early forties. If it weren’t for the fine lines around her eyes and on her neck, I would have thought she was much younger.

But the woman was gorgeous, like a supermodel from the eighties. Simply stunning with high cheekbones.

“The longer you stay in your spirit forms, the more it takes out of your body. Extreme tiredness, fainting spells, sometimes worse,” she said, continuing her explanation.

She shook the dress a tiny bit, motioning for me to take it, and I did.

“It’s time for you to shower, change, and eat.” Her voice was steady and melodic, like a nursery rhyme. It had a bone-chilling effect. “The shower is through that door, and the dining room is downstairs by the kitchen. Meet me there when you’re done.”

My fingers curled around the fabric of the dress, but I didn’t move. More orders. There was always someone commanding me, even in death.

The Order had trained me to be an obedient good girl, so I followed her instructions exactly. Thirty minutes later, I sat across from her, my hair wet and the blood-red dress clinging to my frame.

My curves had returned, like they'd been at twenty-two before my kidnapping. Possibly even more so because I no longer had all the hard muscles from years of training in the Bratva.

No, I was soft and exceedingly feminine.

I gulped and glanced down at my meal. The smell of freshly baked bread and cheddar cheese wafted up from it. It was a deceptively simple meal. Broccoli cheddar soup with a French baguette.

“Thank you for listening to me.” Sabine cleared her throat. “You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No. You never have to listen to another order again…unless you want to.”

Sabine lifted her spoon, its edge tapping against the porcelain, and the sound jolted me. She'd told me I was free so casually? Was it a trick?

I remained motionless, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I’d never trust this wisp of a woman.

For all I knew, she was the devil ushering me into hell.

“You don’t trust me,” she said in her dark, singsong voice. “They never do.”

“They?”

“Furies.”

The word rang out between us and echoed through the room.

Under the table, I wrung my hands. More Greek mythology. The Order was obsessed with it. Sometimes, the headmaster would visit my room to rape me, then make me sit on his lap as he told me Greek myths, like he was my parent reading me a fucked-up bedtime story.

He was a fucking weirdo.

A lot of them were.