Eve Langlais by The Hunter

Author:The Hunter [Hunter, The]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781936279364
Amazon: 1936279363
Publisher: Amira Press
Published: 2010-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

56

Chapter Eleven

Suzie fluttered her eyes open and stared at the strange ceiling—a painted fresco of flowers that, while quite pretty, she’d never seen before. Where the hell am I? But right on the tail end of that thought came the memories.

Oh God, my baby boy is gone. Suzie felt like wailing again, but held it in, afraid that woman would come back and put her to sleep again. She needed to find out what was going on, so she swallowed back the tears and sat up, looking around.

Where’s Jessica? She remembered her little body pressed against hers when she’d awoken last time before that woman made her pass out. Where is she now? Had she been taken too? No, that wouldn’t have happened because Huntershe remembered seeing Hunter. He’d make sure Jessica stayed safe. Where did this certainty come from? Deep down in her gut, she just knew. If anyone could protect them it was Hunter. If only he’d arrived before Damian had.

Suzie swung her legs off the bed only to suddenly remember her injuries. But to her amazement, nothing hurt. She touched her face gingerly. No pain. Had they given her pain killers? She sure as hell didn’t remember any. She got off of the bed and wandered to an antique, silver framed mirror on the wall. Suzie stared at her reflection and blinked to make sure it wasn’t a mirage or her imagination. Her face stared back at her, unblemished. Not a bruise, scratch, lump—nothing. She tilted her chin up. Her neck appeared unmarked, as well. Had she dreamed the whole thing, or had she been unconscious long enough for her wounds to heal? And what the hell am I wearing? Suzie frowned down at what she wore.

Someone had obviously undressed her and put her in a white chemise that hit about mid-thigh. Almost like a slip she’d wear under a dress.

Looking around, she wondered again just where she’d been taken. This not knowing anything had passed the point of annoying. She prowled the huge, absolutely gorgeous room—definitely expensive.

This place didn’t look cheap. She only hoped nobody would be expecting her to pay for her stay because she knew she couldn’t afford these digs. The walls of the room seemed to be grey stone covered in embroidered tapestries. It reminded her of a medieval castle. Plush pink carpets covered the stone floors and matched the pink of the coverlet on the bed, a huge, four poster monstrosity that belonged in the middle ages. There were two doors in the room. The first, when she opened it, led into an antiquated bathroom with a claw foot tub and what she assumed—hoped—was a toilet, but definitely not of the porcelain variety she’d come to know judging by the box with the dangling chain above the wooden seat.

She finished her perusal of the bathroom and returned to the bedroom in time to see the second door open. The petite woman she’d seen before came bustling in, holding a dress over one arm.

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