Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It was a shock to feel Atticus's gentle hand cup the back of her calf. He gave it a small squeeze when he ground out, "Fuck that. I want to hear you speak with that pretty voice. You don't have to wait for me to ask you a question, but when I do, I expect an answer, okay? That way I can know for sure that you're all right. Do you understand?"

It was instinct to simply nod, but when he raised his eyebrows expectantly, she said, "I understand."

He flashed her a smile. It was all white teeth and soft lips pulled wide and it— There was a pop! in her mind, like an old-fashioned light bulb exploding, plunging everything inside her into darkness. Carmine didn't breathe. Didn't dare move. She didn't want to do anything to make that smile go away.

But it did. It faded as he carefully extracted one of her feet from the bowl and began to dab it with a washcloth. "Are you venom neutral?"

"Yes." It seemed like a silly question. Of course she was. No vampire would want her otherwise. In another world, she was born luckier. That Carmine would have potent venom, and she'd never have to worry about being hunted or popping out a groom's offspring on command.

"Figured," Atticus muttered. He stood, fetched and filled another bowl, before he knelt again to begin rinsing her feet. It hurt badly enough that her eyes watered, but she didn't dare make a sound.

"Do you have family, Carmine? Anyone you can call?"

"My family wouldn't answer."

They'd exchanged letters for a while, since brides weren't allowed phones or computer access outside of lessons, but that tapered off when she was still a teen.

His fingers went a little tight on her ankle for a second before they relaxed again. "Why?"

She shrugged. "They knew they couldn't protect me, so they gave me to the crypt. They were paid. They moved on."

Carmine said it without an ounce of bitterness. She didn't blame them for the choice they'd made. A venom neutral child was a blessing and a burden. The big, powerful families used them to make profitable alliances and the poor sold them off to better the lives of the rest of the family.

Even if a family wanted to keep them, it came with considerable risk. It was hard to keep that a secret, and once word was out, the danger that someone could snatch your child and sell them to the highest bidder, or even keep them for themselves until they reached maturity, was very high.

The crypt was the safest option for her parents, who were barely scraping by. She'd be protected there. She'd get an education. She'd be sold to someone who could provide for her when she came of age. It all made sense.

Carmine understood it, but that didn't mean she'd go along with it.

Atticus turned his attention to her other foot. He looked like he was barely listening, but his dark tone said something else. "They wouldn't help you if you asked?"

"That could get them killed. They could never pay the price of my upbringing back, and the crypt would see it as stealing if they didn't."

It didn't matter that she'd worked in the morgue since she was fifteen. They accounted for every penny they'd ever spent on her. Every bottle of synth. Every scrap of clothing. Every drop of water for her showers. All of it went into the bride price.

She didn't want anyone to get hurt on her behalf. Carmine planned to get herself out of this. No one else had to bother themselves.

There were only two ways to escape becoming a blood bride: either she had to run, or she had to defile herself.

Eyeing the vampire carefully drying her feet, she weighed her choices. If she had to pick, she preferred option A. But she'd take option B without a second thought. Sex sounded horrific, but it'd only take one time. She could endure just about anything once.

"I'm gonna make sure there isn't anything trapped in your cuts before I bandage them up." Atticus propped her heel on the thick muscle of his thigh. Snatching a small pen light from what she thought was a first aid kit, he aimed the beam at the sole and began to poke around.

Scowling again, he grabbed some disinfectant swabs. "I don't see anything, but this is still gonna hurt. Sorry."

Carmine curled her dirty fingernails into the blanket under her and bit down on her lips. Her body went rigid as the sting registered. It did hurt. It hurt a lot.

But she didn't make a sound. She didn't flinch. If she did, she worried he'd stop making those soft, comforting noises as he worked. Little shush sounds and soft I know, I know, I'm sorry's. No one had spoken that gently to her in decades.

When he finished her right foot, he smeared what looked like half a tube of disinfectant on the sole before he wrapped it in fancy rubber bandages. There must have been some sort of numbing agent in it, because the pain eased almost immediately.

"You did great," he praised, raspy voice so very gentle. "And that was the worst foot, so you're past the bad part. Once I get the other one wrapped up, let's get you in the shower."

A pang of self-consciousness struck her. Carmine had forgotten how dirty she was, but all at once she felt the dust caking her skin and hair, the filth clinging to the waxy layer of her makeup. She hated dirt and disorder. Everything needed to be clean, most especially herself.

Without thinking, she asked, "Do I look that bad?"

Atticus went very still. He didn't look at her when he answered, "No. You're beautiful. But you also hauled ass through the desert and then wrestled in the dirt for a while. You need to get clean so you can feel better."

They were quiet for the time it took for him to dress her other foot. Finally, as Atticus stood up to drain the dirty water into the small sink, Carmine worked up the courage to ask, "What happens now?"

"Shower," he grunted. "Then bed."

Back to the trailer, then. Carmine worked hard to keep her face from showing her dismay. The trailer wasn't horrible. It had air conditioning, a tiny bed, a toilet bolted to the wall, and the crate of synth. They'd thrown clothes and toiletries, too, so she didn't show up on her groom's doorstep smelly and disheveled. But that didn't mean she wanted to go back.

Once she was in there, escape was impossible.

It was completely dark inside, and even vampire eyes needed some dim illumination to see with. When she was locked in the trailer, all she could do was listen to her own breathing, wonder if her eyes were truly open or closed, and think of all the ways she could die.

What if I run out of oxygen? What if the trailer is left somewhere? What if no one thinks to see what was inside?

She'd seen bodies baked by the sun, bloated and discolored by undisturbed decay, and much worse. What would she look like on the slab if no one found her in time?

Carmine liked small, dark spaces, but the trailer proved to be too much even for her.

Her gaze slid over Atticus's broad back to eye the door. It would be stupid to run out into the sunlight. She lived her entire life indoors, so she had absolutely no tolerance for it. He was right that there was no shelter out there. Left to bake in the sun, it'd only take a few hours for her body to shut down, go into shock, and then quit altogether.

But if this was her only chance to escape before he threw her back in the trailer…

A callused hand gripped her jaw. Not hard, but firm enough to turn her head away from the door.

Atticus glowered at her. His thumb curved over the edge of her jaw, stroking through makeup and dirt to reach her skin. "Don't."

Carmine widened her eyes, but said nothing. She was a terrible liar, so she didn't try. Best to just look innocent and hope.

It didn't work. Atticus clearly didn't buy it. "Don't give me those eyes, doll. I know you were thinking of bolting. I'm telling you: don't. I'm gonna be pissed if I have to chase you into the sun and haul you back here. That shit could kill you."

And if it did, her groom would be furious. Atticus would be in trouble for letting such a huge investment die such a stupid death.

He's going to get in trouble no matter what, she tried to reason with herself. I'm not going to my groom. What does it matter?

She really didn't want to die, but could she risk there never being another chance to bolt? What if he locked her back in the trailer and never opened the doors again?

Panic clawed at her throat and shoved words out of her mouth before she could check them. "Will I be let out again?"

Atticus's brows furrowed. "Let out of where?"

Carmine squeezed her hands together in her lap so hard, she could feel her bones move. "The trailer."

His face cleared, then went stormy again. He crouched low, bringing them eye to eye, and released her jaw in favor of brushing her hair back behind her ears. He was so, so close. Too close. Carmine fixed her gaze on what looked like the barrel of a tattooed gun peeking out from beneath his shirt's collar.

"Doll, look at me."

She was too used to following commands. It was a habit to listen.

He held her gaze, unblinking, when he promised, "I'm not putting you back in that fucking trailer. No one is. You're safe with me. You're gonna sleep in this bed today and then tonight we'll figure everything out. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Words, doll."

Carmine uncurled her lips from where she'd tucked them between her teeth. "I understand?"

A corner of his mouth kicked up. "That didn't sound very convincing."

She could feel the heat of her flush and hoped what remained of her makeup hid it from his too-intense eyes. "I'm a bad liar."

"Yeah? I like that about you." Tilting his head toward the narrow door at the far end of the kitchen area, he ordered, "Shower."

Atticus stood up slowly. She immediately missed the heat of his body so close to her. Clearly, it'd been too long since she had a meal. Her body temperature had obviously plummeted, and that was why she wanted to press her face into his chest and just soak in all that gorgeous warmth.

She looked down at her dress and wrinkled her nose. "My clothes are in the trailer."

He shook his head and turned to rummage in his backpack again. After a moment, he extracted what looked like a blanket. It was only when he passed it to her that she realized it was a massive, well-worn t-shirt.

His voice got impossibly raspier when he muttered, "That should hold you over until tomorrow." He walked over to the bathroom, and since he wasn't looking at her, she risked a quick sniff of the shirt.

Her toes curled with delight even as the roof of her mouth began to ache. Mm, she thought, watching him open the door to reveal the world's smallest shower stall and toilet. Her stomach rumbled. He smells delicious.