9. Levy

Chapter nine

Levy

I should have known better than to trust Anders. The second I stepped into the room, the door shut behind me, and the audible click of the lock engaged. Fucking jerk. I walked over to Grace's bedside table and set the plate down, then moved to hover by the door, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. When I heard the shower turn on, I groaned. I'd be stuck in here for ages now. I considered knocking on the door and begging Anders to let me out, but he'd just enjoy that too much. I settled for leaning against the wall and waiting.

So far, Erik's master plan had involved a lot of fucking waiting. First, we'd waited for her old man to die, which had honestly happened a lot sooner than any of us had expected. Anders was certain that Douglas had had something to do with it, the heir impatient to inherit the throne. The next step in the plan had actually involved King Sr., who we'd tried to get to secure a marriage between Erik and Grace. Unfortunately, Douglas—that twisted freak—had been unwilling to part with his sister, and King Sr. had dropped the matter, refusing to hear another word about it.

Erik, being… well, Erik , had immediately started a new, even wilder plan, involving the four of us starting a coup and wrestling power from his own father, right under his nose. It was a suicide mission; his dad was allied with Douglas Harding and could call on him in an instant for back-up. Which was why he'd gotten the brilliant idea to steal Douglas's secret weapon. Or, at least, we'd thought she was a weapon. The rumors of her powers may have been exaggerated just a bit. The problem was that Erik relied heavily on luck to get him from point A to point B, and luck, while clearly on his side, was also unpredictable. Often we were left standing around with our dicks in our hands as his plan went up in smoke around us, but somehow, it usually ended in our favor. And one thing I'd learned about Erik was that he never broke a promise. So that was why, despite this plan already going belly up, I still trusted Erik to get us through unscathed. Well, hopefully.

Surprisingly, the water turned off only a few minutes later, so apparently Grace wasn't one of those girls who had to condition their hair a hundred times or something. I ran a hand over my buzzed, short hair, wondering what it was like to have hair that long. Maybe she was just nervous about taking a shower in a strange place. I knew I would be.

The bathroom door creaked open, and she peeked her head out, checking to see if anyone was here. I was, of course, but she didn't know that. Her nose was red, and so were her eyes, like she'd been crying. Guilt bubbled in my stomach as her face softened in relief, and she stepped outside, fumbling with the tie on her sweatpants. They were Erik's, by the looks of it—he was the shortest out of us—but the waistband was still too big on her, and it threatened to slide down if she took her hand away. Using one hand, she held the pants up around her hips, using her other arm to cover her chest. I frowned, and then realized why. Anders had given her a white shirt, which was so thin it was nearly see- through. I could see the outline of her breasts peeking out from between her fingers. He was such a dick, I was sure he'd done that on purpose to amuse himself.

Grace froze halfway to the bed, finally spotting the breakfast I'd set down. Her eyes went wide and flicked toward the door nervously. I knew that fear she was feeling, and I sympathized with her. I didn't enjoy keeping a person hostage down here, it felt too much like an evil I would've rather stayed buried. Eventually, she moved back to the bed, eyeing the food warily. The pill she ignored completely, visibly recoiling from it like it might lunge down her throat unprovoked. She grabbed the bowl of sliced apple and climbed onto the bed with it, pressing her back against the wall.

Anders wasn't going to let me out until I spoke to her, but how was I supposed to do that without scaring the everloving piss out of her? I pictured her screaming, throwing the bowl at me, locking herself in the bathroom as she sobbed…

I got so lost in my own head that I forgot all about her until she sighed, her face scrunching up as she rubbed at the area above her heart. She had a lot of bruising on her chest. Some were fresh, remnants from the car accident, but others looked older. I took a step closer as she gathered up her damp hair and settled it over one shoulder, showing off her beautiful arching neck. Anders was right, I was a pervert. All I wanted to do was run my fingers down her delicate skin. I took another step closer as Grace lifted a slice of apple to her mouth, biting into it and humming softly as she chewed. Her lips looked so soft, I'd bet they'd feel like heaven wrapped around my-

The floor creaked under my foot, and Grace froze, her eyes widening. I didn't even breathe as she looked toward the door, then back around the room, a frown creasing her forehead. "Hello?" she murmured, just like she'd done back at the club. She could sense me close to her, but her eyes were telling her brain that nothing was there, and the conflicting signals were confusing her.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn't come out. Frustrated, I tried again, but as always, the sound refused to pass my lips. Anders called it selective mutism. I called it a fucking curse.

Grace sat back down, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the room. Abruptly, a feeling of complete calm washed over me, so forceful that it dropped me to my knees. I'd never felt so relaxed before, not even in the blissed-out haze of multiple exhausting orgasms. My control faltered, and I heard Grace gasp, the bowl clattering to the floor as it fell out of her hands. My eyes widened in surprise, and I turned to look at the little mirror where I knew Anders was watching.

What the fuck just happened?