Page 86 of The Puppet Master
But every tick of a clock I’m grateful not to have brings me closer to the inevitable. The longer I spend in this house, the more outmatched I feel.
My finger pauses mid-stroke when the front door to the house slams shut. I perk up, eyes darting toward the door while I hold my breath. As heavy feet clomp up the stairs, my lungs release.
Not Sawyer. His steps are exact, in perfect rhythm, each foot laid carefully in front of the other.
These steps are loud and off-beat, an ox trampling through a forest versus a cheetah encroaching on prey.
Soft knuckles rap on the door.
“Luna?” the Shadow Sanctum’s bleeding knight calls, so considerate—always. Sawyer’s opposite in every way.
“Come in.”
I go back to my painting as Thorne enters, carrying the smell of steaming broth. I dip my finger in the paint and go back to my outline of the bear, a snowstorm swirling around his crawling form. His red eyes are like beams guiding his path to nowhere. Beautiful, no. Powerful, yes.
“What are you doing?” Thorne asks. He came two days ago with food and saw what I’d done to the floor without comment. So it isn’t the defacement that causes concern to enter his voice.
“Painting.”
The bowl of soup makes a soft clank next to my knees. Thorne’s hands approach carefully. He touches the spot just above the gash on my arm, but yanks away when I tense.
“What happened?”
I glance at the trails of blood on my arm—mostly dried. My bear needed color.
Thorne sighs before dragging a wooden rocking chair closer to me. Tts screech on the floor is sharp enough to turn my head. Without a word, he sits.
Within seconds, the air in the room thins with guilt he doesn’t try to hide, suffocating me with hypocritical remorse, like he’s somehow outside of this. Like this wasn’t his decision, he doesn’t approve, and he wants me to know it.
I wish he’d leave.
But I don’t ask him to.
Sawyer said I should seek out a male who gives off a remorseful vibe, not unlike the one Thorneoozesnow. He comes off like a man itching to rescue a damsel in distress.
But he’s loyal to the Shadow Sanctum. He’d never be useful to a captive…
Right?
My finger pauses over the painting, the bear’s fur solid white. Thorne watches as I walk to the bathroom until I disappear through the doorway.
At the sink, I scrub away paint with methodical strokes, my eyes closing as warm water washes away a sea of germs people tell me I can’t feel. I clean the cut on my arm next, then return to the room.
I’m halfway finished with my bowl of vegetable soup before Thorne speaks.
“I watched the video.”
Broth sputters in my throat, my hand clapping over my mouth as I choke on a carrot. Swallowing, I lock eyes with Thorne. He looks pained, his lips hung in a frown, the bridge of his nose creased.
“The most recent one,” he clarifies. As if it could possibly matter which one he watched.
I look down at the soup as fire licks my cheeks.
My last session with Sawyer…
I was up to six orgasms before I moved enough to cut off my air supply. The more orgasms I was able to withstand, the quicker Sawyer loosened the belt.
It’s a cruel game, but oddly enough, it worked for his purposes. I stopped flinching when he touched me. Within days of meeting him, I didn’t hesitate to beg him to fuck me when he wanted it.
