Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Yet, at the same time I long for his merciless desire to claim me as his, I’m all too aware I need to flee from this imprisonment. I’ve not laid eyes on him and somehow he’s made me his captive. As my chest rises and falls with slowly steadying breaths, fear trickles in.
With trembling limbs, I push off the mattress and quickly pull the heavy covers around me, finally able to shield myself although there’s nothing to hide from. Without warning, he left me panting on the bed, not a word other than “Mine.”
A chill runs through me and a false sense of security temps me. Questions race through my mind in an effort to dim whatever magic lingers. How will I get home? Will he even let me go? Mixed emotions run through me at the thought of being held captive.
Holding the fine linens against me, I take in every inch of the room, searching for his form—or anyone at all. There’s not a soul with me. The floor creaks under my weight and that’s the only sound except for my beating heart.
Swallowing thickly, I search for my clothes. They’re nowhere in sight. And what a sight this place is.
The room is nothing like my own. Carved and painted wooden furniture fills a massive room. I’ve only seen pictures and heard stories of wealth like this. Thick drapes that would surely keep the chill outside in the coldest of winters. Large glass mirrors that a dozen could see themselves in at once. I’ve only a small hand mirror from my mother. It’s rare to come by.
My gaze darts to the door as I contemplate a step. Holding my breath, I take one, careful not to make a sound. I creep quietly to the armoire in the corner of the room. My fingers itch to open the drawer, to see what lies inside and perhaps find clothing. My breath hitches at the floor groaning when I shift my weight.
I slowly open the drawer and wince as it creaks. I hold my breath as my body stills and my eyes dart to the door. I don’t know what he wants from me. The thought that he’d be unhappy with me sends a chill down my spine. I don’t know how he would react.
I know one thing for certain in all of this: I do not want to anger the beast.
Above all else, I don’t want to die.
As fear wraps itself around me, so does the magic. I can feel it, soft and caressing, but I’m all too aware it’s attempting to deceive me, to keep me calm in a manner I should not be. I know nothing except that the beast has taken me.
After a moment of staring at the door, I swallow thickly, ridding myself of an ounce of numbing fear. If he heard me, he’s unconcerned.
The heavy blanket slips slightly and as I pull it up, the floor creaks again. Staring at the door does nothing, there’s not a sound at all to be heard.
Gathering up my courage, I pull the drawer out and gasp when I see its contents. Dozens of gorgeous blouses hang in front of me. I hesitantly reach out to feel the soft fabric between my hands. Smooth silks and soft cottons of all colors make up a simple yet beautiful wardrobe. My eyes catch a small note sitting on the right stack. I have to go on my tiptoes to reach it.
Wear the blue dress.
My body stills and my eyes fly to the door again. A chill sweeps down my shoulders and the magic follows it. It’s such an odd sensation. The will of survival and my fear are at odds with a magic that wishes to soothe me under false pretense.
My shoulders rise and fall slowly. I know better than to disobey the beast.
In a wave, I feel heady. I remember his hands on my body. I remember the feel of his tongue along his mark. I’m vaguely aware the magic is surely toying with me. The memory is vivid and lures me into a contentedness and desire I’ve never felt before.
One I’ve only felt in my dreams of the beast.
I run my free hand along the luxurious fabric until my fingers linger on the pale blue dress. I pull the garment away and study its intricate detail. The cream bodice is laced up the front and the dress has a full flowing skirt. It’s beautiful and certainly something I’d pick for myself if I could afford to have such nice things.
Tiptoeing across the floor, I place the dress on the bed and go back to the armoire. There are two small drawers at the bottom, and I pull them open in search of undergarments. I find a drawer of house slippers. The hides are stiff and definitely newly made. Unlike the paintings in the room and the furniture. Looking over my shoulder, I study the dress once again. It’s new.