5. Poppy

Chapter 5

Poppy

E very part of my body tingles in the aftermath of Malachi’s touch. Long after he leaves me to explore the stunning suite where I’m being held “prisoner”, I catch whiffs of his masculine scent all over my skin, and waves of headiness wash over me.

In the six-piece marble bathroom, I strip off the ugly potato sack and tentatively step into the shower, hoping to strip him away, but wary to do that too. I like having his scent on me, but I also hate it. It feels so wrong, but he’d made me feel so good simultaneously. Everything about this journey so far has been confusing, and I wish I’d taken Circe’s advice and just stayed home.

I’m in over my head.

Could I have been wrong about him? About all the Bloodstone brothers?

That hardly seems likely, given what an asshole Malachi is. But the lapping of his tongue between my legs replays over and over as the shower head massages me, bringing me to another climax in the waterfall shower of my new enclosure. Slumping against the glass walls, I sigh, spent and conflicted, trembling slightly. I want to stay in the steam forever, but it reminds me of his dragon’s breath.

I need to get out of this estate, out of Oak Valley, but there are worse places to be. I am near the Bloodstone Alphas, the ones who will give me the answers I’ve been craving since the dreams started.

But those answers will all lead to the same result: the Apex Alphas are murderers, and I am trapped with them.

Moreover, I’d freely given myself to one of them.

What have I gotten myself into? Why didn’t I stop him? He hadn’t forced me.

The coconut soaps and vanilla shampoo wash away the grime of the underground cells, but I can’t stop thinking about the prisoners down there. Who are they, and why was that one so interested in me?

It could have been just as simple as what Malachi suggested. I had been the first woman they’d seen in a long time. But I know in my heart there’s more to it than that. He had seen something in me, that one prisoner in particular, who Asher kept calling off.

And what about Asher Bloodstone? He appears to be the gentlest of the three with his dimpled smile. Could he be my ally?

Coming to Oak Valley had only led to more questions than answers, and I am in real trouble now. No one will ever find me here without the Bloodstone’s permission, not when the town is magically guarded and protected. No one is ever allowed in an Apex Alpha’s town without their explicit invitation.

When Circe finally sounds the alarm to Sadie, and they start looking for me, they will never be able to locate me here.

I’ll get the answers I need and find a way out somehow, before Circe or Sadie get dragged into this. But I have to work quickly. The Alphas are already impatient with my evasiveness.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I grimace at the sack dress crumbled on the floor. The thought of putting it back on after feeling so fresh and clean makes my stomach turn. I can’t do it. I just can’t bring myself to wear it again.

I pad out toward the bedroom wrapped in the towel, where I freeze. On the bed, three different outfits lay sprawled over the duvet. None had been there when I entered the bathroom, and my heart hammers at the sight of them. Before I can connect where they’d come from, a voice speaks from behind me.

“I knocked, but no one answered. Malachi said you needed clean clothes.”

Squealing, I whip around, my hand on my chest, but immediately relax to see Warrick lingering in the doorway between the sitting room and bedroom. I don’t know why I’m happier to see him than Malachi, but I am.

“Oh… thank you,” I mumble.

He studies me for a moment. “I’ll have some food sent up.”

Abruptly, he turns to give me privacy and I stop him. “Who is in the cells downstairs?”

Warrick’s shoulders stiffen, and he half turns back to look at me. “Prisoners.”

Smiling thinly, I adjust the terrycloth towel around my naked body and notice his eyes trail over the swell of my cleavage before returning to my face. “Yes. But why are they prisoners?”

“For various infractions,” he answers vaguely. “Why do you care?”

I press my lips together, unsure if I should answer him honestly or not. “How long have they been down there? A lot of them look like they haven’t seen sunlight in a while.”

“They haven’t,” he growls. “Why so many questions about the captives?”

I sashay closer to him, my pulse drumming as wildly as it had the first time I’d laid eyes on him. This effect the brothers are having on me bothers me, but what if I can use it to my advantage?

Warrick steps back warily, and I stop moving. He hasn’t forgotten what I can do, and I have to tread carefully. I part my lips to explain my interest, but Warrick has already heard enough from me.

“You should get dressed,” he says, spinning away. “I’ll see about your food.”

Disappointed, I watch him leave, my heart sinking as I retreat to the bed to take in the garments laid out for me.

Three separate outfits to suit three different personality types, as if they are trying to gauge the kind of woman whom they’re dealing with.

I opt for the pleated skirt and casual t-shirt, a combination of two outfits. To my surprise, they fit perfectly, as if someone had measured me without me knowing. The fact is daunting, but also mildly flattering.

I manage to slip my damp tresses into a ponytail when a knock on the door distracts me again.

This time, it’s Asher carrying a silver tray, his amber eyes glowing with interest as he takes in my new outfit.

“That looks more comfortable than a potato sack,” he offers.

“I could do with my own clothes,” I reply. “And my phone.”

“They’re being washed,” he answers nonchalantly, without mentioning my cell phone. “Are you hungry?”

My stomach growls on cue to his question, but my immediate reaction is to refuse his offering. Before I can defy him, he steps inside the threshold, closing the door with his foot. The door clicks ominously behind him.

“No need to be stubborn, Poppy. You need to eat, and you’re already stuck here. You may as well take advantage of our world-class chefs.”

A stab of guilt courses through me as he sets the tray down on the table and lifts the cloche to reveal a delicious-looking plate of meat and vegetables, the savory sauces making my mouth water, even from where I stand.

No sense in offending the cooks just because I’m mad at the Alphas.

I pause. Am I mad at the Alphas? I don’t even know anymore.

“I bet the prisoners down in the underground cells aren’t eating this well,” I comment.

He scoffs lightly and sinks onto the sofa, draping an ankle elegantly over his knee. “They don’t deserve it,” Asher replies flatly.

“And I do?” I laugh dubiously, perching at his side tentatively.

His eyes trail over the curve of my thigh, but then casually slide back up to my face. A bemused smirk rests on his full, luscious mouth, and I find myself wondering what he tastes like.

What am I doing? I came here to get answers, not to fuck the Apex Alphas. So why is my body reacting to them like this?

“You should eat before it gets cold. That’s disrespecting the chef’s hard work.”

I reach for my fork and stab at a baby potato, jamming it into my mouth. I can’t deny it’s amazing, the vegetable melting on my tongue.

“See?” Asher says, reading my appreciation clearly. “It’s good, right?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I insist. “What makes me more worthy than the others in captivity?”

Asher sits forward, his foot falling flat as he folds his hands together. “I can’t tell if you’re just being difficult, or if you’re some kind of social justice warrior.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I tell him honestly.

“What are you doing here, Poppy? You claim you’re here about your murdered father, but now you’re up in arms about the prisoner’s rights? It’s starting to feel like this is a bit of a setup. I’m beginning to understand why Malachi is so suspicious of you.”

My neck stiffens at the accusation. Defensively, I put my fork back on the silver tray and face him. “Can’t I worry about the prisoners and also want justice for my father?” I ask bluntly. “Or am I expected to be entirely single-minded just because I’m a woman?”

His golden eyes widen, my challenge amusing and annoying him. I’m immediately sorry for the latter reaction.

I need him—he’s the nice one. I shouldn’t antagonize him, and he’s easier to approach than Malachi—no matter what happened between us in the elevator.

“I’m just trying to figure out your angle.”

“I told you my ‘angle’,” I retort sharply. “I want to know why you murdered my father.”

Asher nods toward the food, silently encouraging me to eat, but I’m not sure I’m hungry anymore, my nerves raw again as he studies me.

Does he know what happened between Malachi and me?

Just like with his brothers, there’s a distinct transference between us, as if something is striving to connect, but won’t. It makes me heated and uncomfortable, but Asher doesn’t withdraw like his siblings. He’s leaning into it. Or at least he’s trying.

“You’re not giving us much information to make this easier for you,” he reminds me. “How can we give you answers if you don’t even know who you’re talking about?”

His even tone and logic put me at ease. Unlike Malachi, he’s not being condescending, but I get the sense that my lack of answers is bothering him, too.

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“I appreciate that. Please eat. It’s getting cold.” He gestures to the plate again, his movements leaving no room for protest.

Sighing, I pick up my fork and oblige him, wanting to make something of an ally of him at least. Besides, the food is excellent.

“But I don’t know what you expect us to do with what you’ve told us,” Asher continues when I take another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth roast beef. Swallowing, I again set my cutlery down and stare at him imploringly, sliding closer to him.

“What about the prisoners?” I ask.

Baffled, he gapes at me. “What about them?”

“What can you tell me about them?”

A shadow crosses over his beautiful amber irises, skepticism straightening his spine. “What do you know about them?” he asks.

“Nothing!” I promise him. “But they seemed to know something about me—the one especially. He kept looking at the mark behind my ear.”

Asher’s face softens at the mention. “I noticed that mark. What is it?”

I shake my head. “I really don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “It may have been there all along, but like the dreams, I only noticed it a year ago.”

Asher gnaws on the insides of his cheeks pensively. “A lot seems to have happened a year ago,” he muses. “I wonder what the catalyst was.”

“Me too,” I agree, nodding vehemently. “I mean, besides turning twenty-two.”

Asher’s gaze locks on mine, his expression losing the rest of his hardness as he studies my face.

“They’re political prisoners,” Asher explains. “Rebels.”

“Rebels?” I repeat. “What are they rebelling against?”

Asher grimaces lightly, his fingers reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair out of my face. “The Apex Alphas and our hierarchy.”

Dumbfounded, I stare at him. “I… I don’t understand,” I say, feeling lost.

He grunts and laughs humorlessly. “I’m not sure I do either at this point. It’s a practice that’s centuries old, but some still fight for the old way. Heretics, relics—I don’t even know what the hell we call them anymore. There are fewer and fewer of them with each passing year, but they still exist. They fight against the triads of Apex Alphas and want the old way of rule.”

My next question sticks to the roof of my mouth, the answer frightening me, but Asher responds to it, even before I can pose it.

“You want to know why we don’t just kill them?” he asks.

I dart my eyes away, blood draining from my face.

“I don’t really know how pack business works,” I mumble. “I’ve never belonged to one.”

“Normally, that’s exactly what we would do with traitors,” he explains. “But in the case of these rebels, we keep them alive for two reasons; one, in hopes that they give us more names as their months and years get more dismal. We can offer perks if they give up other members of their organization. But truthfully, it’s to make an example of them for anyone else who is thinking of defecting. Life in the underground cells is a fate worse than death. They have no access to their loved ones or packs. They just waste away down there, day and night, going crazier.”

Appalled by the cruelty and the conversational way Asher says it, I can only gawk at him.

“They were once your pack members, weren’t they? Your friends?” I ask, aghast.

Sadly, Asher shrugs, his fingers lingering on my cheek. I feel his pulse through his fingertips, synching with mine, and suddenly I’m conscious of how close our faces are to one another.

How does this keep happening?

“They weren’t members of the Apex pack. They were members of different packs under our rule. But if they were really our friends, they would have never tried to overthrow us,” Asher replies huskily. “We have to do what we have to do to protect our pack and our territory.”

I want to be disgusted with his explanation, with the inhumane conditions the males in the underground dungeon are living in. But I’m beginning to understand that it’s not all so black and white.

Asher’s hand cups my face, and he draws me closer. “You’re bewitching for someone who isn’t a witch,” he murmurs. “What is it about you, exactly?”

I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat.

Leaning forward, my lips brush against the luscious fullness of his mouth, shockwaves zipping through me on contact as my eyes close.

The feeling is certainly mutual, and yet if this were a mate bond, wouldn’t I know it?

Something is undeniably happening between the Apex Alphas and me, but I don’t claim to know what.

Asher’s lips part, his other hand snaking up to pull my neck closer as our tongues touch.

Run, Poppy, run!

My father’s voice pulls me back, and I slide away, putting distance between us as shame floods me.

“You didn’t enjoy that?” he asks smugly, as if he already knows the answer, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“I want to speak with the prisoner. The one who kept following me around.”

His smile fades, and he shakes his head.

“If you want answers,” I blurt out, “I believe he might have some. He knows something about the mark, I’m sure of it.”

Asher hesitates, considering my ask. “I’ll have to bring it to my brothers.”

I feel my hope dwindling as he rises. Malachi won’t agree, I’m sure.

“In the meantime, why don’t you just appreciate the fact that you’re not in the underground cells anymore and stop fighting with us at every turn? Things will go much easier for you that way.”

Smiling weakly, I watch him amble toward the door and leave me alone to finish my lunch and think about the kiss.

Afternoon sunshine dips behind the distant mountains as I sit at the plush window seat by the balcony. I wonder if Circe and Sadie are panicking about me now, and guilt eats away at me.

Warrick enters with a crate in his arms.

“I know there’s a TV, but you don’t seem that interested in it,” he comments, nodding at the black screen of the mounted device in the sitting room. I turn away from the balcony window to peer at him curiously and realize he’s holding a box full of books. “Are you much of a reader?”

My heart skips at the sight as I throw my legs over the side of the nook and wander toward him to look at the titles. “Yes!” I reply honestly. “I love to read.”

He grins. “Me too.”

Warrick gestures at the box. “I took a guess at what books might interest you,” he informs me as I near, and I’m impressed by the selection. “But I guess there’s no reason you can’t go down to the library yourself and pick out what you want.”

Jaw slacking, I stare at him. “You have a library here?” I ask in disbelief as he sets the crate on the ground.

He nods proudly. “The Bloodstones have added to it for generations,” he explains. “Dating back to the first Apex Alphas. You said you were raised by a witch, right?”

I tense at the reminder, but I nod, expecting him to ask more questions about Sadie.

Warrick smiles. “We have an entire section on ancient magic and spells. You could probably work on some of your spells if you get the urge.”

“Oh,” I laugh, relaxing as I reach for one of the titles. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to worry about blowing anything up. We have our own fixers around here,” Warrick chuckles. “You’d be amazed at how much crap Malachi got into in his youth. There’s nothing you can do that can’t be fixed.”

I chuckle at the mental image of Malachi in his earlier years wreaking havoc on the estate.

“No, really, I don’t think I will.”

“It might be fun. You could show us how to do spells,” Warrick presses.

Shaking my head, I replace the book in my hand back in the box. “No, I mean… I didn’t really practice magic that often. I’m not a witch, so it’s never felt natural to me.”

He appears startled by the revelation. “Aren’t you part of a coven?”

“I mean… yes… but no,” I mutter, trying to explain it to him. “The witches never really accepted me as one of them, so I never went above and beyond what was expected by my mom. They always knew I wasn’t a witch, even if they didn’t know exactly what I was. They tolerated me because of my mom. Then when I started shifting, they really didn’t want me around. I guess shifters and witches don’t work together well?”

“That’s not always true,” Warrick sighs, but he avoids my eyes. “They just try to keep their lives separate—like us with humans.”

I trail off and smile weakly at Warrick. “It’s hard to explain.”

“No, I think I get it,” he says gruffly after a pause. “When my brothers and I took over the Apex Alpha roles, when I was nineteen—after our parents died—we faced something similar. Respect wasn’t easy to come by, especially as teenage Alphas. It felt like we had to prove ourselves every step of the way, just to be tolerated.”

Our gazes meet, and we share a weak grin.

“On the subject of witches…” I mumble, clearing my throat and breaking the moment between us. “I should get in touch with my mom and let her know I’m safe. She’ll be worried.”

I cringe as I hear the words aloud.

Am I safe? Or am I getting ahead of myself?

To my relief, Warrick nods. “That can be arranged,” he agrees. “I’ll have a phone brought to you.”

My eyes narrow slightly. “That was easy.”

He grunts and heads for the door. “We’re not the ones who came for you, Poppy. You came for us.”

Shamed, I hang my head. “Warrick!” I call out before he can leave.

He pauses at the door and looks back. “Did Asher talk to you about speaking to the prisoner in the underground cells?”

A look of discomfort crosses his face. “Let’s discuss that tomorrow.”

His response disheartens me, but at least I’ll get a chance to call Sadie today and let her know I’m all right. Small wins, I suppose. I shouldn’t push my luck, considering.

“Thank you,” I say, struggling to hide my disappointment.

He doesn’t respond, and then he leaves, and I’m left wondering what will happen next.

Asher delivers a cell phone to me a few minutes later, and I eye him as he makes himself comfortable in the sitting room. It’s clear he has no intention of leaving me alone to call Sadie.

“Can I have some privacy?” I ask, already expecting the answer.

He shakes his head. “No,” he replies conversationally. “For all we know, you’re calling in reinforcements.”

I laugh aloud. “How? No one can come to your town without an invitation from you!”

Stubbornly, Asher shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”

Smothering a groan, I accept my fate and dial out, but to my chagrin, Sadie’s phone goes directly to voicemail.

Is she at the hospital? Out looking for me?

“Hi, it’s me,” I say, glancing over at Asher. “I’m fine, everything is fine,” I tell Sadie’s voicemail. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll try to call you again soon, okay?”

I hang up, and Asher chuckles. “You didn’t say her name.”

“Didn’t I?” I ask innocently.

He rises from the couch and sticks out his hand to take the phone from me, and I hold it back.

“Can I call my best friend? I promised to check in with her, too.”

Asher nods, dropping his hands. “Of course.”

Biting on my lower lip, I struggle to remember Circe’s number from memory.

“Hello?” Circe answers right away, and I exhale with relief.

“Hi,” I say, and she whimpers.

“Holy shit, Poppy. Where are you? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her quickly, shooting Asher a quick look. “I wanted to tell you not to worry. I left Mom a message too.”

My friend hesitates and immediately picks up on the odd phrasing.

“ Mom ?!” Circe echoes. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you? Did they capture you? Are you in Oak Valley? Oh gods, I knew they would do something awful to you!”

“I really can’t talk now,” I tell her.

“I told you not to go, Poppy!” she sobs. “What the hell were you thinking? I’m going to gather the coven?—”

“No! Don’t!” I urge her, turning my back on Asher so he doesn’t overhear. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Don’t do anything. Promise me, Cir?—”

I choke off her name before I can say it aloud, sneaking a look over my shoulder at Asher, who is hanging on every word.

“Poppy—”

“I’ll contact you again when I can,” I tell her. “I swear, everything will be all right. Goodbye.”

I hang up before Circe can protest again and quickly delete the phone numbers before handing the phone back to Asher. His grin widens when he realizes what I’ve done with the numbers, but he makes no comment and slips the cell into his pocket.

“Someone will bring you dinner soon,” he promises, heading toward the door.

“You?” I ask hopefully.

“You want it to be me?”

I shrug, cocking my head demurely. “Better you than Malachi.”

“He doesn’t trust you… yet.”

A burst of hope ignites inside me. “You think he might learn to trust me?” I ask, unsure if that’s what I want from him—or any of them. All I know is that my guard is lowering bit by bit with every visit.

“That depends on what we learn about you.” He reaches for the door handle and hesitates. “Warrick agreed to let you speak with the prisoner tomorrow. He’ll be brought out of the underground cells, though. You’re not going back down there.”

Stunned, I gape at him.

“That’s—that’s amazing. Thank you!” I breathe happily.

“We’ll be listening in,” Asher warns. “And if you try to escape, or help him try to escape?—”

“What? No! I won’t! I don’t even know him!” I promise. “But…”

He raises a dark blond eyebrow expectantly. “But what?”

“Would it kill you to show him a bit of kindness tomorrow?” I blurt out. “I mean, just for the meeting? Give him some clean clothes or something warm to eat? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar as Sa—er, my adopted mom always says.”

Compassion flickers in Asher’s eyes, but a veil falls over them just as quickly. “I thought you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t!” I swear. “But he’s still a living, breathing being, isn’t he? No matter what he did.”

The corners of Asher’s mouth twitch, and he abruptly spins away without promising me anything or saying another word.

With a resigning sigh, I retreat to the bedroom and perch on the edge of the bed, flopping back to stare at the ceiling.

I’m pushing my luck and playing with fire here. I already know these guys are dangerous… don’t I?

Or have I just been led by some strange delusions? Nothing is adding up to the dreams I’ve been having.

Maybe the prisoner will shed more light on what I need to know tomorrow.