Bloom: A Dark Romance (The Order, 1) Read online

  No, I couldn’t let thoughts like this form into full-fledged fantasies.

  “Done,” he said. “But I have more questions first.” He paused as if some other thought had occurred to him. “Actually, I’ll add something else as well.”

  The corner of my lip twitched with anticipation. I hadn’t expected it to be so easy to get him to teach me how to ride. Anything else was welcomed, but unnecessary. Still, I wanted to know what it was.

  “If you like, I can let you into my private study where you can read anything you like.”

  I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me snooping around the stained glass entrance or if he just thought I’d like to see it because of the books. Either way he was providing me with more information about him to make my escape that much easier. I could be in his study all day, reading the books he read, finding out all I could about my mysterious Owner.

  Only part of me was curious. The rest was planning.

  The smile that spread across my face was warm. “I would like that very much, sir.”

  He nodded. “Very well. You can have that too.” His eyes searched my face and I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. If he found it, he didn’t let it show. “Would you like to know what I want, Fawn?”

  Again, he was using my real name. Vaguely, I wondered what it meant. I wanted to ask, but I thought better. Still, the question must have shown in my expression.

  “I would like you to call you by your real name for what I want,” he explained. Taking my hand, he loosely wove his fingers through mine. “And for those same reasons,” he continued, “for a short while, I want you to call me by my first name.” He swallowed as if the words were hard to say. As if he didn’t force them out they would choke him. “You know it, yes?”

  My own throat was suddenly dry. No one ever allowed you to call them by their first name if they were higher up on the ladder—least of all your Owner. Hastily, I nodded, wary of whether this was a test of some kind. “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Say it,” he murmured.

  Everything in me told me it was wrong. Everything I had ever been taught was against it. If one of us so much as thought about addressing a superior other than by their title we would be beaten and starved—and that was just within the Compound. Who knew what it meant with an Owner—let alone mine.

  “Je n'essaie pas de te tromper.” I’m not trying to trick you. “This is what I want.”

  I hadn’t noticed I’d looked away until his finger was under my chin, guiding my face towards him. Master Lyon brought me so close that for a moment, I thought he would kiss me, but he didn’t.

  “What is my name, Fawn?”

  My thoughts warred within me, tugging between what had been beaten into my mind and what my Owner was asking. But by the time I released a breath, I had consoled myself with the small fact that I wasn’t at the Compound, nor were we in front of any other Member who could condemn me.

  And he had called them Vultures. There was something there, even if he’d only used the word to conceal his true intentions.

  “Elliot, sir,” I whispered. “Your first name is Elliot.” I stared into his eyes as they sparkled with that same realistic smile.

  “Good,” he said. “Now come with me.” He stood in one swift movement, but I hesitated for a second too long, unable to take his hand as I got to my feet. His head slowly leaned to one side, trying to figure me out. “Do you disagree that this is a good deal?”

  Unconsciously, I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing in the humid room. “I’m just not sure that what I want is worth what you want, sir.”

  “Elliot,” he emphasized, though not too forcefully. He was trying to put me at ease. Whatever he had planned, he didn’t want to scare me. At the very least, not yet.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Elliot.”

  He nodded once: his approval of me using his name that I should never use.

  “And to answer your question,” he said, stretching his hand towards me again. I took it and I was in front of him, close enough to touch his bare chest if I turned the right way. “I’m going to help you face your fears so you do not fear me any longer.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but he was pulling me forward before I could inhale enough oxygen to form words.

  FOURTEEN

  I had come to realize that like its owner, Lyon Estate had many hidden places. As soon as I thought I knew every corner of the house, there was another door to open, another room to unlock. So when he led me towards the back of the greenhouse and instead of all the windows only the ceiling was transparent, displaying a vast expanse of stars, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The trees themselves were flowering, millions of white petals and their gentle fragrance filling my nostrils. As he pulled me forward and we moved even further into the indoor forest, we came upon a small sitting area made up of white cushioned lounge chairs. In front of them was a medium-sized swimming pool—of which I had only seen in movies—its clear blue water glistening in the light.

  “Have a seat,” he instructed as he let go of my hand and stepped behind a small island made of white marble. I soon realized it was a bar as he began to fill two glasses with ice and pour some sort of liquid into them. He’d since put his shirt back on, buttoning it over the scars so I could no longer stare at the scars, but his hair remained wild and I almost liked him better this way—more undone, more untamed like me.

  My legs made contact with the soft cotton and I scanned the area again to make sure there wasn’t anything I’d missed. Surrounding the small patio around the pool, there was nothing but grass—to make the trees look more at home I assumed. However, it only made them appear more out of place. Other than that, I had managed to sufficiently take everything in. No shackles or torture devices in sight. It didn’t exactly mean what he had in store for me was completely innocent, but it put me just the tiniest bit at ease knowing that just maybe he hadn’t brought me here to hurt me.

  He came back around the bar with drinks in hand. One was the same brown liquid I’d seen him drink before and one was bright green.

  The green one he handed to me and I held it between my knees, noticing a white cube of sugar sitting amongst the ice cubes that looked identical to the ones I’d fed his horse.

  “Believe it or not,” he said as he sat directly beside me, as if taking a different lounger was out of the question, “yours is stronger than mine.”

  My eyes snapped to him. “What is it?”

  He glanced at my glass, at where it was sitting, and I moved it so I only held it in a hand, using the other to pull my nightshirt over my knees.

  “It’s absinthe,” he said. “Well, as close as to real absinthe you can get,” he corrected himself. “I’m not trying to give you cocaine. Just make you more comfortable.”

  Master Lyon took a sip from his drink, probably expecting me to do the same. I stared into the green liquid, the sugar all but dissolved now.

  “Something wrong?”

  I looked back up at him. “Why is mine stronger than yours?”

  He smiled. “Just try it.”

  Defeated, I tentatively lifted the glass to my lips and smelled. There was of course the immediate sharp scent of alcohol, but then there was a pleasant, almost sickeningly sweet after-aroma. It was familiar, but I wasn’t sure why until I took a small sip. It burned at first, but then it tasted just like black jellybeans. The girls would get these candies sometimes in the spring—something I was never allowed to partake in since my return—and they hated the black ones. A few times, instead of dumping the offensive beans in the trash, a girl or two would slip me some.

  I smiled at the memory.

  “What?” he asked.

  I took another, slower, longer sip, holding it in my mouth before swallowing. “You’re wrong about something.”

  He only raised an eyebrow in response.

  “I can appreciate kindness.”

  The ice in his glass tinkled as he took a swig. He only gave me a
contemplative “Hmmm,” for an answer.

  We sat silently for a little while, each periodically taking drinks.

  Soon, I realized that despite its sugary disguise, the absinthe was incredibly strong. My face was beginning to feel numb and my vision was starting to double when I wasn’t concentrating. I placed the half-empty glass between my knees again in an effort to slow down, noticing yet somehow finding it unimportant that my nightshirt rode up my thighs slightly, the contrast of ice and humidity not at all unwelcome.

  His finger was once again under my chin, pulling my attention towards him. He stared into my eyes for what seemed like a long span of time. When he was satisfied with what he saw there, he smiled and let me go. Still, I didn’t shift my head or look away.

  “Relaxed?” he asked.

  A small smirk tugged at my lips. I couldn’t control their movement because I couldn’t quite feel them either. “Trying to get me drunk, Elliot?” A tiny giggle escaped me and I took what felt like most of my control to cut it short. “What exactly are you going to do to me?” The sentence had started out in the same joking manner, but by the end the reality of thing weighed down my tone. Indeed, he had made my drink stronger than his. We were both drinking but he wanted just that much more control over me. He wanted me relaxed. He wanted me pliable and not scared. But why? The possibilities flooded my head and made the sweetness on my tongue turn bitter. My eyes drifted to the pool. Maybe he would drown me. Hang me from one of the trees. He could bury me under the grass when he was done.

  He softly chuckled. “We aren’t here so I can hurt you, Fawn.” He gestured between my knees. “Finish your drink and I’ll make you another you can drink more slowly. I only want you to be comfortable.”

  “But why, Elliot?” I let his name burn my tongue more than the liquor. I hoped he felt its heat too.

  He stood with his empty glass. “I already told you,” he said casually as he made his way back to the bar. “I am going to help put your fears to rest.” I heard him set down his glass and uncap a bottle of something before pouring it. “Have you forgotten already all that I named?”

  Master Lyon only looked at me again when he was done fixing our drinks and walking back to sit beside me.

  Of course I hadn’t forgotten. People like me learned early on that details even of the smallest kind were important. I forgot nothing. Although I didn’t have to, my tipsy mind echoed his words back at me.

  “What you’re most afraid of…the thing that keeps you awake at night, the thing you fear more than pain or any type of confinement is simple. You’re afraid of liking what I will do or say to you. The way you did in front of the fire that night.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he wanted.

  Without another moment’s pause, I downed whatever was left in my glass before taking the new one from him.

  “I didn’t mean always,” he said after a while.

  I took a sip of my new drink. “Always what?”

  “You aren’t always unsure of how to react to kindness,” he explained. “I only meant that it must be…difficult for you, going so long without it and always having to question others’ motives.”

  “Oh,” I said. “It has been, si—Elliot,” I admitted, u. “It’s hard to tell when or if anyone is being genuine towards me.”

  He had finished his second glass of amber liquid and neglected to refill it. I was trying to make mine last as long as I possibly could, knowing that by the end the new phase of the night would begin.

  “I used to be the same way,” he said, nearly startling me with his honesty.

  I could already feel the question bubbling up my throat; I was powerless to keep it hidden in the depths of my mouth. “Was this before or after the Vulture?”

  Fuck. Was this part of his plan as well? Tell me he wasn’t going to hurt me, get me drunk, and loosen my tongue just enough to talk him into hurting me? If so, I was well on my way.

  I opened my mouth out of instinct to apologize but instead gulped down the rest of my second drink, nearly choking, eyes watering. If he was going to beat me, chances were an apology wouldn’t help, but maybe I could at least be numb for most of it.

  “Done?” he asked, indicating my glass.

  I wished I could lie, tell him I wanted more even, but I couldn’t. One more and I would be completely out of control and although I wanted to be numb, I didn’t want to be unable to defend myself if things came to that.

  Wordlessly, I handed him the glass, not wanting to have to say his name again. Perhaps this was why he wanted me to call him Elliot. Make him more human, make me trust him. I’d be lying if I didn’t feel all the effects he was trying to accomplish and the alcohol only further helped him, making my thoughts of protest disintegrate before they could fully form.

  He set the glasses on the ground between us, producing a scraping, hollow sound that I felt in my teeth.

  “Come closer,” he said, staring directly at me. His eyes were warmer, most likely due to the alcohol he’d drunk himself. But there was something behind them that I hadn’t yet seen. If it wasn’t for that very same alcohol in me I would have recognized it sooner. However, right now I was having a hard enough time paying attention to what he was saying.

  He smiled. “Perhaps that was a little too strong.” He took my hand and gently tugged. It was only meant to urge me closer, but I was unbalanced and practically fell into his lap. He immediately started laughing and my cheeks flared red with embarrassment as I sat up and scooted over to where he wanted. I noticed too late that I thought it was funny too. I was smiling as he smoothed out my hair.

  “Why don’t we start small then,” he said once we had regained our composure. “Give you a chance to adjust.”

  I didn’t completely know what he meant.

  “Unbutton my shirt,” he said.

  My eyes snapped up to him, fingers already trembling and not knowing what to do. What it meant. I could feel the warmth of his skin beneath my palms, through the thin layer of fabric. Then after some concentration, I realized I could feel the raised bumps of the long, V-shaped scar on his chest. As if they were possessed, my fingers ran the length of these scars; they were an unexplored path laid out before me.

  Master Lyon slowly brought up his hands, encircling both of my wrists, but loosely; he didn’t want me to stop. He moved with me. He brought his face closer and surprised me so much I nearly jumped when he kissed my forehead. It was far more personal than him taking my mouth, than the biting, and rushed frantic energy I’d felt before. It felt almost…tender. As if he wanted me to be comfortable, as if he wanted it to be more than some physical act. This knowledge coupled with the action itself made me shiver and I could feel my face heating again. I wasn’t embarrassed this time and would have been ashamed of that fact had it not been for my current state. The gesture was comforting, encouraging. I wanted more.

  “It was after the Vulture,” he whispered against my skin.

  If he saw my eyes widen, he didn’t say so. He only repeated his previous command. “Unbutton my shirt, Fawn.”

  As if to encourage me further, he moved my hands to where they needed to be, at the topmost buttons of his shirt.

  They were small and smooth under my fingers. Before I could stop myself, I was doing as he’d asked, slowly revealing the skin and scars that lay beneath. His hands came to rest at his sides, out of my way and a safe distance from me.

  “There,” I said as the last button, just above his hips was free.

  “Good,” he said, not moving. I didn’t move either, fists still holding the hem of his shirt. “Now remove it.”

  My breath caught in my throat but I was barely aware of it. He was most likely trying to toy with me, make me blush again, but I wouldn’t give in. My freedom meant more than my nerves. If this was going to happen, I would at least have some control over my own body.

  So I set to work, starting at his shoulders and pulling the fabric away.

  Again, his hands were a
round my wrists, stopping me this time. “Not like that.” He was laughing again.

  My hands stilled, his shirt barely moved down. “Like what,” I said, hastily adding, “Elliot?” This was why he wanted to change the titles. It made us more human. It made us equal. It made things like this feel somehow natural. The alcohol probably didn’t hurt either.

  “Like you’re stripping a dirty mattress,” he said, humor still lingering in his voice.

  I snorted without meaning to. “Well I’ve never done this before, Elliot.”

  He let go of me, hands trailing down my arms and settling in the crooks of my elbows. “Slowly,” he said. “Like you’re unwrapping something special.”

  Special. I didn’t even think I knew what that meant. I was once considered special, the girl everyone wanted before I ruined my body and was banished to the darkness. Every girl was considered special until they were ugly in our world. Before the dirt of everyone else rubbed off on them.

  He lifted my face to his. “I will not hurt you,” he whispered. “Tonight you are Fawn and I am Elliot, remember? No punishments.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of this either. Did he mean I could stop? Tell him no? Even still, I wasn’t about to give up my prizes, my next few steps up the ladder that would take me out of this darkness for good this time.

  I started again, slowly peeling the sleeves down his shoulders and then his arms. He helped me free his wrists as I finished, his torso completely bare.

  It was hard to look away from the scars, the blacked out skin and the trees they transformed into at the top of his shoulder.

  He took the shirt from me, balled it in his fist, and tossed it aside. “That was better, Fawn,” he said as he faced me again. “Now I want you to try the pants.”

  All oxygen left my lungs. His…what? There was only one reason I could think of as to why he didn’t want to be wearing his pants.