Read Online The Key (Sanguinem Emere) by Carmen Taxer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carmen Taxer
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of them or tempt them from me-”
“No one could-”
A sharp slap resounds through the room.
“Do not interrupt me, Levi.”
A few terse moments of silence follow before Dimitri breaks it once more, “Eva is at the door, please instruct her to come in. We will decide at her whim whether you are to be punished further or not.”
For just a moment I have to stifle a laugh as my inner writer describes me as a deer caught in the headlights upon hearing Dimitri’s words. I wish I could run – the words coming from Dimitri frightening me - but the force of my own stupidity locks my feet to the ground outside the door, waiting for the blonde man’s (Levi’s?) footsteps to reach me and expose me again, just as his bony, alabaster fingers did in the solitude of the bedroom. The frightened portion of my body is adamant that we should just make a run for it. What can they possibly do to keep us here if we run now? Make a strange cryptic phone call to some well-paid armed guards standing just outside the house; the kind that only ridiculously rich, Socialites may have?
Actually, that sounds plausible. Maybe we shouldn’t run then.
I’m not being paranoid now, I’m sure of it. Something about the tones of the speaking voices and the way in which things have been handled over the past hour. Everything is different. Formal and almost business-like in a mob-family type of way. With more archaic word choices.
Although the story is looking more and more enticing by the second.
The door swings open at the hand of the blonde man – Levi - who is morosely stroking at the left side of his face with his free hand. A line of moisture trembles on his upper lip. And when I care to look past his sneer (which I do at first glance to avoid the fury in his eyes) his fear becomes evident. I like to think there is some sort of plea there, but I have learned that the bullying man in any situation will never beg a woman to assist him, not even if his manhood calls for such an action. Not even without using the words.
The floral scent gracing the air is almost as intense in here as through the rest of these twisting hallways.
“Eva. Good evening.”
The tenderness radiating from Dimitri’s voice draws my attention away from the ruffian blocking my path with his licentious glare as I scan the room beyond his face.
A library. Mentally I beam that my powers of deduction are still somewhat on par. Yes, I had split it fifty-fifty on being another dining room, but sometimes you just have to accept possible failure.
At the far end of the room, beside an unlit fire that has been politely stacked as though awaiting a welcome flame, sits Dimitri in a winged, black leather armchair. The leather clashes horribly with the rest of the room’s décor (a deeper green or a brown would have suited the wallpaper and carpets far more appropriately), but the sight of Dimitri lounging like a content cat with a small smile on his face directed at me makes my eyes graze over colours, structures and textures, just to languish in the pleasure of staring at him.
“Jesus,” Levi whispers with an exasperated rolling of his eyes, “You look like a docile puppy dog. Come on, straighten your shoulders out, don’t let them see you rattled.”
I glare at him, offence cutting my voice off dead in my throat to prevent me from commenting on his despicable nature. Even though he is correct and I should probably be thanking him.
But his words hit a nerve. I do feel a very unnatural attraction to Dimitri. As if every concern I have been feeling since Saturday evaporated for only a moment as he looked at me. Not like me at all.
I walk into the room, uncomfortably noting the presence of Cecily and Delilah placed to the left and right of Dimitri’s seat, respectively. Cecily sits on the lush carpeting, her legs curled under her and her head resting on his lap, for all the world a loving pet; her eyes closed and a happy smile on her peaceful features. Delilah,
“No one could-”
A sharp slap resounds through the room.
“Do not interrupt me, Levi.”
A few terse moments of silence follow before Dimitri breaks it once more, “Eva is at the door, please instruct her to come in. We will decide at her whim whether you are to be punished further or not.”
For just a moment I have to stifle a laugh as my inner writer describes me as a deer caught in the headlights upon hearing Dimitri’s words. I wish I could run – the words coming from Dimitri frightening me - but the force of my own stupidity locks my feet to the ground outside the door, waiting for the blonde man’s (Levi’s?) footsteps to reach me and expose me again, just as his bony, alabaster fingers did in the solitude of the bedroom. The frightened portion of my body is adamant that we should just make a run for it. What can they possibly do to keep us here if we run now? Make a strange cryptic phone call to some well-paid armed guards standing just outside the house; the kind that only ridiculously rich, Socialites may have?
Actually, that sounds plausible. Maybe we shouldn’t run then.
I’m not being paranoid now, I’m sure of it. Something about the tones of the speaking voices and the way in which things have been handled over the past hour. Everything is different. Formal and almost business-like in a mob-family type of way. With more archaic word choices.
Although the story is looking more and more enticing by the second.
The door swings open at the hand of the blonde man – Levi - who is morosely stroking at the left side of his face with his free hand. A line of moisture trembles on his upper lip. And when I care to look past his sneer (which I do at first glance to avoid the fury in his eyes) his fear becomes evident. I like to think there is some sort of plea there, but I have learned that the bullying man in any situation will never beg a woman to assist him, not even if his manhood calls for such an action. Not even without using the words.
The floral scent gracing the air is almost as intense in here as through the rest of these twisting hallways.
“Eva. Good evening.”
The tenderness radiating from Dimitri’s voice draws my attention away from the ruffian blocking my path with his licentious glare as I scan the room beyond his face.
A library. Mentally I beam that my powers of deduction are still somewhat on par. Yes, I had split it fifty-fifty on being another dining room, but sometimes you just have to accept possible failure.
At the far end of the room, beside an unlit fire that has been politely stacked as though awaiting a welcome flame, sits Dimitri in a winged, black leather armchair. The leather clashes horribly with the rest of the room’s décor (a deeper green or a brown would have suited the wallpaper and carpets far more appropriately), but the sight of Dimitri lounging like a content cat with a small smile on his face directed at me makes my eyes graze over colours, structures and textures, just to languish in the pleasure of staring at him.
“Jesus,” Levi whispers with an exasperated rolling of his eyes, “You look like a docile puppy dog. Come on, straighten your shoulders out, don’t let them see you rattled.”
I glare at him, offence cutting my voice off dead in my throat to prevent me from commenting on his despicable nature. Even though he is correct and I should probably be thanking him.
But his words hit a nerve. I do feel a very unnatural attraction to Dimitri. As if every concern I have been feeling since Saturday evaporated for only a moment as he looked at me. Not like me at all.
I walk into the room, uncomfortably noting the presence of Cecily and Delilah placed to the left and right of Dimitri’s seat, respectively. Cecily sits on the lush carpeting, her legs curled under her and her head resting on his lap, for all the world a loving pet; her eyes closed and a happy smile on her peaceful features. Delilah,
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