“Nothing’s wrong,” I mumbled, relieved my voice worked again.
The reassurance was more for me. ‘Everything is fine’ was one of my common mantras I broke out during the attacks. If I could speak again, I could help myself.
“You’re sobbing in our bathing room, and we don’t even know who you are. I think something is wrong here,” Bennett said, injecting a hint of humour into his tone. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Veronica,” I said, trying not to stumble over the lie.
If he realized I’d hesitated halfway through the name, he attributed it to my panic attack.
“OK, Veronica. You’d be much more comfortable in the living room, and we can introduce ourselves to you. That way, you won’t be too scared when you see everyone else.”
My tiny nod had him reaching out a hand, offering me help with getting up from the tub. I needed it, my legs shaking. I pinched my thigh with my free hand, and the sweet relief of knowing I was in my own body made me sigh out loud. Bennett smiled at me, looking every bit the welcoming host.
His warm welcome made me a little guilty to be lying to him, but in my addled brain I’d realized the first two times I’d gone through this day, they’d known who I was. Why wouldn’t they want to kill Hadley Odette, niece of the man who acted as their warden? Some random woman named Veronica might just make it through the day alive and break free of this impossible time loop.
He didn’t release my hand and I didn’t drop it as he led me across the hall and into the living area. Waylon was in there already, perched with a deep frown on an armchair. The pixie glared at me, his tail thrashing violently. “Are we done with her? Can we get back upstairs so you can finish railing me?” Waylon asked, pouting.
“Waylon,” Bennett said, annoyance slipping through into his tone.
They’d stopped mid-fucking so Bennett could come play therapist to me. Why was that borderline sweet? I knew from my limited experience that almost nothing got them to stop prematurely. They hadn’t when I’d burst into their room the first two times.
“I was so close to making you come in me,” Waylon said.
“I’m aware, thank you. Be nice to Veronica.”
Lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow, Waylon gave me a once over. “I’m not nice to anyone.”
“She’s been through a lot. You should be kinder,” Zan said, appearing through the wall on the far side of the room. If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d chosen to enter right in my line of sight to avoid startling me.
“We’ve all been through a lot. We live in a prison, and you’re dead.”
Zan frowned, and I was sure he was about to say something else, but Kirin and Abraxas entered the living room through the decorative doors. Bennett helped me to sit down on the couch and stayed by my side, hand on his thigh in invitation in case I wanted to reach out and grab it again. I was certain he was only close to me to try to annoy Waylon, who’d been expecting him to join him on the tiny armchair.
My panic had fully receded by the time I’d come up with some sob story on the spot, pretending someone had placed Veronica in this house.
When we’d finished volleying questions at each other, much like the other two times we’d done this song and dance, I allowed them to give me a tour. This time, Bennett took the honour.
I pretended to be awed by the library when we got there, and it wasn’t overly difficult because the roomdidawe me. All I needed was for my awe to be great enough they understood my need to stay in this room for the foreseeable future. “How many of the books in here have you read?” I asked Bennett, pulling down a random volume and feigning interest in it.
“Less than ten,” he replied.
As he’d gone through the tour, his gentleness had faded. I appreciated it, because I no longer needed to be treated like I was fragile. I’d gotten through the attack in one piece. Faking a gasp, I turned to him with a small smile. “You live in a place with a grand library and have read less than ten of the books? You’re missing out.”
“Literature isn’t my wheelhouse.”
“It’s mine. I can recommend you some. What do you like most? Fiction? Non-fiction? Romance, adventure, crime?”
“There’s no need.”
I looked at him and noticed he was hiding a smile. Humming, I ran my hand along the spines of some books. “Fine, I’ll do my best to pick one you’ll like without your help.”
Bennett had two sides of him I’d seen, and neither were particularly romantic. I was going to say romance was out. Possibly adventure, but he carried himself like he’d been through a lot. It was how he was able to command a room. He had life experience. The adventure novels may be too fantastical to him. He’d enjoy non-fiction more. And… he’d played me like a harp, using his commanding tone in the bedroom without directly ordering me around, and helping me in the tub by softening how he projected himself.
Pulling the ladder over to me, I climbed up two steps and reached above my head for a book. The leather cover was well worn, the letter engraved on the front nearly impossible to read. Pages were folded at the corners, others ripped or torn before being pushed back to fake a perfect page. “This one for you,” I said, dropping myself down from the ladder and spinning.
He was right behind me, his large presence boxing me in. My breath hitched, part fear and part arousal. His hand came out, and it took me a second to realize he was reaching for the book, not me. I placed it in his upheld palm and stepped until my back pressed against the shelves.
“The Warrior’s Quandary,” he said, reading the title aloud.
