Page 8 of Eternal Surrender
“She can’t be trusted.”
I twisted off the faucet and stepped out, reaching for the large plush towel and wrapping it around my waist. “And you can?”
“Yes.” He rose and pointed to several folded garments balanced on the hamper. “Jeans, shirt, jacket.” Then he pointed lower to the shoes.
“Tell me about Sunaria?” I pulled on the underpants.
“She’s an old girlfriend.” He raised an eyebrow. “Kind of.”
Great, confusion infused with cryptics.
Alex looked thoughtful. “You’re remembering bits and pieces.”
“I just need to know why I feel like a stranger in my own home.”
His expression tensed.
“So Sunaria?” I pushed.
“You knew to be wary of her. That’s a good thing.” He shook his head. “Sunaria took advantage of your situation.”
I gave Alex a nudge, pressing him to continue.
He shrugged. “She has her own agenda.”
“Which is?”
“I dare to think.”
With each question, there came the distinct realization there were endless answers. Trying to stay focused, I stepped toward him. “So far I’ve been addressed as Jadeon, Orpheus and William.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “Is it any wonder I’m confused?”
“I’ll let you get dressed.”
“Where’s my bedroom?”
Alex hesitated and then said, “Turn left out of here and it’s six rooms down. The one with the thick oak door.”
“How did I lose my memory?”
“Jacob’s in the library,” he said, turning to go. “Meet us down there.”
“Alex, I’m sorry about what happened in the dungeons. . .”
He lowered his chin, still clutching the doorknob. “You didn’t know.”
I was still staring at where he’d been standing, wondering if I’d convinced him how terrible I felt.
The clothes fit reasonably well.
My hand squeaked along the mirror, smearing the moisture away, and I turned slightly to see the chair in the corner and then back to see it reversed in the mirror, contemplating the room’s image, minus the one who stood before it.
Sensing nightfall eased the tension of my circadian rhythm and reassured me it was safe to explore. I paused at the top of the huge sweeping staircase, admiring the low hung chandelier illuminating the vast foyer, hoping to see something familiar. A mortal was here; her perfume lingering like the subtlest reminder of a midsummer’s day.
Intrigued, I headed in her direction down the east corridor, taking in my surroundings as though clarity might just find me.
There, asleep on the age-old four-poster bed, lay a strikingly beautiful brunette. Gently so as not to awaken her, I sat beside her, considering it remarkable that a mortal was in a vampire’s lair.
The long green drapes were drawn closed. The only painting on the wall was of a fierce-looking middle-aged gentleman wearing seventieth century clothes.
