Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 144760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
No one would suspect a massacre.
Staying perfectly still and eyes on the carpet in submission, I traced the butcher’s blade I’d stolen from the kitchen, hidden carefully in my jeans. The chef had been beaten for its disappearance. His scullery maid whipped in the vegetable garden.
But I hadn’t fessed up.
I’d buried it outside by the cucumbers.
I’d waited until I’d counted eighteen guests had appeared through the cave.
And now...
Now, I was going to use it.
Or die trying.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE CLOCK IN THE LIBRARY struck midnight by the time I finished washing away the mud from his skin and hair. The old-fashioned minute hand tick, tick, ticked as I applied antiseptic cream to his cuts, bandaged sore knuckles, stuck butterfly stitches to the lacerations on his chest, and rubbed arnica into fresh bruises.
I’d managed to get some water past his lips, coaxing him to drink even while he remained unconscious. Occasionally, he acted as if he’d wake up. His pulse would skyrocket, his body would wince, and his forehead would furrow. He’d moan in his sleep about games and friends and blood.
His delusions didn’t last long, the tension in his body draining, leaving him catatonic once again. During his episodes, I kept my hands on his naked chest. I murmured to him that he was safe. That I would take care of him. That all he had to do was open his eyes, and I’d do whatever he needed.
He never responded to me, reserving his reactions to whatever dreams haunted him. Eventually, I ignored his mumbles and flinches, focusing on repairing the exterior wounds, and doing everything I could to repair him.
I worried he’d broken a few bones. The heat in some areas and rapid swelling hinted more than just bruises existed.
But until he was awake, I couldn’t know for sure.
And even if he had broken pieces of himself, what did I know about setting bones? I only knew rudimentary things like making a splint for a broken leg and a sling for a broken arm—just enough to get back to civilization for help.
Not for the first time, my mind ran from the library and flew up the cliff to my Jeep. I mentally made the drive out of the national park and into a populated town with doctors, police, and psychiatrists.
I’d bring them all here or find a way to take Anon to them.
I’d pass on the largest responsibility of my life to professionals who had trained for this.
I...I don’t know what I’m doing.
Kneeling over him, I made a deal with myself.
If he hung on until morning, if I could get him stable enough, if he would only just wake up so I knew he could eat and drink, I’d go for help. I’d somehow make the long journey, not to save myself but to save him.
Crazy how just a few short hours had changed everything.
Incredible how I’d gone from doing anything to get away from this man to doing whatever it took to keep him alive.
Please...wake up.
Don’t die.
My hands trembled as my courage faltered a little.
Dammit.
I dropped the tube of antiseptic for the third time as I tried to apply it to the cuts I’d given him last night. Indentations of my car keys still lingered around his throat and collarbones.
Guilt was a crushing, hissing enemy in my heart.
My shoulders slouched.
I’m sorry.
Tiredness made my arms shake like useless twigs. All my strength had been used. I had nothing left after dragging him here. I’d left scuff marks on the marble tiles as my sapling stretcher hauled in garden debris as well as a nameless man, mumbling under his breath and reliving nightmares in his ill-gotten sleep.
I’d chosen the library because it was the largest, closest room of the house. I’d pushed aside a well-worn chair that sat like a throne in the center. I’d rolled him off the stretcher and traipsed back out the door to leave the rope and branches outside.
I never rested. Never stopped.
The deeper the night turned, the more he sank into hallucinations.
He thrashed as I gently washed his hair. He trembled as I cleaned his body. He keened a noise that broke my heart as I gently pulled off his slacks and wiped away the dirt on his thighs.
His breath was shallow and fast as I touched him with nothing but tenderness and care, his back snapping straight as I applied another bandage to his shin that’d been left raw and oozing from his tumble down the cliff.
I wished I could reach into his mind and silence whatever was tormenting him. I wished I could wake him up so he didn’t have to be their prisoner.
But no matter what I did, he stayed stubbornly asleep.
Exhaustion hung off my eyelashes as I glanced at the clock again and found it was now two a.m., not midnight.
I had no recollection of the past two hours.