Possess: A Dark Captive Romance (Protect Book 3) by Olivia Ryann & Vivian Wood

Author:Olivia Ryann & Vivian Wood [Ryann, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

16

Rue

I’m really starting to like coffee. The taste of it, the scent as it wafts in the air. The way that it looks when I dibble cream into it, trying to get the color just so. I wrap my hands around my warm mug and turn another page.

I’m also beyond excited that I can finally use my wrist again, even for something as simple as using it to grip a coffee mug. It’s nice, feeling whole again.

If only psychological scars were as easy to heal as my physical ones. I might not be jumping at every little sound anymore, but my core issue of trusting Dryas… that doesn’t seem to be getting any better, no matter how well he treats me. Part of me just wonders…

Is it all an act? Or maybe he really does mean it, until he gets drunk again. How on earth should I know?

Taking a sip of coffee, I sigh wistfully. Then the object of my sighing comes into view, as if summoned. He looks down at me.

“Get your things together.”

I look up from where I am lounging on one of the couches in the living room area, leafing through a coffee table book of impressionist artists. I think that Dryas looks anxious for some reason. It’s a first; I’ve never seen anxiety in him before. It’s a fidgety kind of energy, combined with a dour expression. It makes me feel… unsafe.

What in the world would worry Dryas this much? No one from Father Derrik’s camp has even been watching us, as far as I know.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, clearing my throat. Maybe I misheard him or something.

He looks at me flatly, his expression harried. “Anything that you want to keep, get it together. We have to leave this afternoon.”

Before I can ask any more questions, he pushes off the doorway and strides off toward his rooms. I set my coffee cup down, biting my lip.

Does he mean just my art supplies? Or like… anything? I have a couple of comfortable sweaters that are favorites of mine. And there is a bowl of little succulent plants in my room that I quite like. I’m sketching each plant, one by one.

I guess I can gather those things. Anything he doesn’t want me to bring, he can throw out. Closing my book on impressionists, I carry it with me upstairs.

The next few hours go by in a hurry. I keep finding things I like and want to keep. My pillows from my bed. All my colored pencils. A tee shirt that I wear as a dress, soft and heather grey. A pair of royal blue knee socks that I wear in the late evenings sometimes.

After I have put everything to be kept in neat piles on my bed, I take a breath. Looking down at the four little piles of things, I swallow against a lump that forms in my throat.

When I came here, I had nothing.

Now, I have things. But it is still strange, looking at the items that I’ve set aside here.

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