Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Caius reaches up to tap his bottom lip, his intense dark orbs assessing me. “Awfully demanding for someone in your position.”
Please.
It’s on the tip of my tongue.
But fire burns in my gut. I’m not Megan. I’m a Langston. We’re dragons in a world full of sheep. At most, the Crownes are lions. Dragons trump lions every day of the week.
“Fuck off, monster,” I snap, giving him the middle finger as an added gesture of my sentiments. “You won’t get away with this.”
He doesn’t smile or glare.
Instead, his dark eyebrow barely lifts on one side. “We always do, little girl.”
I believe him.
He really does think he’s going to get away with this.
It sounds like he probably will.
With those intimidating words, he stalks out of the room without a backward glance. The audible click of a lock engaging can be heard seconds later.
All alone, hungry, and feeling defeated in my beautiful trap, I burst into tears.
Romy
I tried to keep my eyes open after Caius left, but I couldn’t do it. The fatigue from all I’d endured thus far dragged me into its abyss. Now, after an unknown amount of time, I wake in a panic.
The bedside lamp is still on. The bathroom door remains open as I left it. The scent of expensive cologne lingers in the air, reminding me of my visitors—Orion and Caius Crowne.
My stomach grumbles fiercely. Apparently, my demand for food went ignored. Assholes.
I have to get out of here. Every bone in my body aches and my muscles twitch with tension. I’m exhausted and wired all at once. It takes everything out of me to peel my body out of the comfortable bed, but I eventually manage, only swaying slightly once on my feet.
Where are my shoes?
I know I went to bed with them on. A quick pat of the covers tells me they weren’t kicked off while I slept. And after a sweep of the bedroom and bathroom, they’re missing from those places as well.
They took my shoes.
The robe remains pooled on the floor by the bed just as I left it. Except it isn’t exactly as I left it. In fact, it’s not the same one. It’s smaller. I pick it up to confirm and it’s definitely not the same one. The other one swallowed me. This one is for someone closer to Megan’s size—petite and barely five feet tall.
My heart stutters in my chest as I begin cataloguing anything else that’s different than when I went to bed. In the bathroom, everything looks the same except a washcloth hangs instead of a loofa. And the bodywash is on the left of the shampoo and conditioner, not on the far right.
What is happening?
Did I remember it wrong?
No.
Someone made these changes to mess with me.
I stop at the sink and turn on the faucet. After several greedy handfuls of water, I dry my hands and face with a hand towel and go back into the bedroom to investigate the differences.
The door indeed is still locked from the outside. And, like before, no sounds can be heard from the other side. Just to make sure I’m not losing it, I check the curtains. Still a wall rather than a window hiding on the other side. After I’ve canvassed the entire room, I finally give up and sit back down on the bed.
A smaller bed.
The bed was queen-sized when I fell asleep. Now it’s a double.
I bring my shaky hands to my hair and run my fingers through it. After grasping thick handfuls, I tug slightly. This used to be something I did as a child when I felt like my world was closing in around me.
This is confusing, but it’s real.
I’m not crazy.
Slipping my fingers to my neck, I press down on the bruise that lingers there. How long have I been here? Will they feed me? Am I even remembering the events correctly?
“It was a dream, Romy.”
“Stop making up stories for attention. I’m a busy man.”
“The monster isn’t real.”
Dad’s voice inside my head used to bother me when I’d think about his words as a child. Now they comfort me. They’re so strong and sure.
I need my medicine.
I can feel like I’m unraveling too quickly. Soon, I’ll have to add withdrawal symptoms to my already dire situation. I’m not even sure if whatever Caius injected me with is compatible with fluoxetine. What if I die from a lethal medicine combination?
The room spins as nausea washes over me.
I want to lie down again, but I’m afraid my surroundings will change once again. So instead of sleeping, I commit to memory every detail of this room—mentally measuring from wall to wall, the exact shade of gray paint, the smell of the laundry detergent on the bedding. I do this for what feels like hours until I fall sleep.
A smell wakes me this time.