I can make you sit if I have to

Sherry didn't object, but neither did she make a move for a good ten seconds. Seeing Dallion with his legs parted as he sat at the edge of the king-sized bed, she wondered what to do.

"I can do it myself, Dallion. You don't have to," she said, her tone careful. If there was one thing she had learned during her punishment, it was that the rain didn’t matter when you were in it, but after, when the wind blew through drenched clothes, that was the true punishment. It made her shiver violently.

The storm clouds still hung outside, ominous and dark. She couldn’t afford another round in the rain, and who knew what worse torment Dallion had in store for her if she defied him? The thought alone made her feel like she was walking on glass, afraid of each step.

"Rubbish. I don’t want you catching a cold. Sit." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument, while he waited with a towel in his hand.

And whose fault was it? He had left her in the rain for God knows how long, and now he wanted to play caretaker? She couldn't help the suspicion gnawing at her.

"I can make you sit if I have to," Dallion's voice cut through her thoughts, dangerously low. Her eyes snapped from the rug beneath his feet to his face, where that impassive look threatened her. He was waiting for her to test him again so he could deliver another punishment.

Reluctantly, Sherry walked over, her feet dragging. She sat down between his legs, turning her back to him. The warmth from the crackling fireplace was a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into her bones. It was all she wanted—to melt into that warmth and sleep. The bed wasn’t even soft enough, but Sherry was used to sleeping on hard surfaces. A mattress, no matter how firm, was a luxury she’d been denied for too long.

"How surprising," she heard him mutter. He meant for her to hear it. "Here, I thought you'd argue. What a sweet little mouse."

He draped the towel over her head, and despite herself, Sherry flinched. She’d expected his hands to be harsh, rough, but when they moved to wipe her hair, they were surprisingly gentle. It didn’t match the monster she knew he was.

How could someone so cruel be capable of softness? It made her want to close her eyes, not from fear, but from exhaustion. Her stomach growled quietly, but that was a secondary concern now. Sleep pulled at her.

Still, his touch confused her. She felt her wet hair being moved to one side, resting over her shoulder.

"Why didn’t you ask for a towel? You know you’ll get sick again," he said, toweling her hair, working his way from the ends to the roots. Sherry kept her eyes on the fire, willing herself to ignore how this moment felt almost… tender.

"Why are you quiet? Scared I’ll snap your neck?" His grin was audible in his voice. Sherry could feel his gaze on the exposed nape of her neck. He was capable of it, she knew. Dallion, the infamous leader of the Cross Empire, was notorious for his unpredictability.

"It feels good, Dallion," she answered, her words cautious. Keeping him on her good side was her only way to survive. His mood swings were as volatile as the storm outside, and trying to understand him was a fast track to madness.

"Good. From now on, come to me every time you wash your hair. I’ll dry it for you." She didn’t answer fast enough, and a sharp tug on her hair made her wince.

"Yes, Dallion. I will come to you from now on." The words tasted bitter in her mouth, like chains tightening around her neck.

"Don’t sigh," he warned. "Your defiance makes me think I should send you back to Lyons compound to learn some proper obedience. Now, that reminds me, little mouse, how did you escape there so soon? He was talking about the Bluebeard where he'd bought her. And don’t lie. I’ll know if you do, and you’ll wish you hadn’t."

Sherry’s mind raced. Was this another one of his games? Only she and her cellmate knew how they’d escaped. If she revealed too much, Dallion might use it against her, or worse, against someone else.

"I can always ask the warden myself," he added, a smirk in his voice, and Sherry’s stomach dropped.

"Are you going to send me back?" Her voice came out quieter than she intended, betraying the fear she fought to keep hidden.

Dallion tilted his head, studying her. "Do you want me to send you back?"

Sherry turned her head slightly, careful not to disrupt his hands still drying her hair. "Please don’t."

He chuckled darkly. "How do I know you won’t run? If you could escape Lyons eyes. You’ve been given more leniency than most. Do you agree?"

She hesitated. Was this a trick? If she agreed, he might punish her more severely next time. If she disagreed, he might show her just how lenient he could be.

"I don't know," she replied softly.

He placed a finger against her neck, right over her pulse. "I can feel your fear, little mouse. Has anyone ever bitten you?"

"No, Dallion." The admission felt like a vulnerability he could exploit.

His smile was slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with an unsettling mix of curiosity and hunger. "So, tell me, how did you leave Lyons's torture house without a brand?"

Dallion stood up, leaving her for a moment as he walked to the bathroom to hang the towel. The silence stretched as Sherry’s mind scrambled for the right answer.

"I added my name to the release list," she said, keeping the other woman’s role out of it, she didn't need to implicate Raphael the woman who she'd spend her first time in Lyons place with. She didn’t want to implicate anyone else in Dallion's twisted game.

"You can copy handwriting?" he asked, genuinely surprised. Not many women, especially ones in her situation, were able to forge handwriting.

"I learned. Just enough to sign my name on that list," she said, watching him pace. His bare feet made soft sounds against the hardwood floor as he moved with the ease of a predator.

"And the Bluebeard brand? captives like you are always branded with a tattoo. Even the clever ones don’t avoid it. But you did. That’s impressive."

"I was sent to confinement on my first day there."

He laughed, the sound low and dangerous. "A troublemaker from the start. What did you do?"

"Refused to strip for the guards," she admitted, feeling a chill at the memory.

Dallion's smile widened, clearly pleased. "But you had to cave in later, didn’t you?"

Sherry nodded, her throat tight.

"Looks like I’ll have to let the guards of Lyons know about this little loophole. Can’t have others slipping through the cracks."

Sherry’s stomach dropped further. "What if I end up there again?"

"If you stay with me, little mouse, you won’t need to worry about that place anymore. Unless, of course, you plan on running." He gave her a pointed look, daring her to try.