Promises made.
I had none of that. But when you grow up without parents, you learn not to wish for things that weren’t. Besides, what was the point? It only left me sad.
And I hated being sad.
Just like I hated being scared.
And hot.
Seriously, why weren’t they sweating? I was just about to tug my sweater off when I heard footsteps.
I wasn’t sure what was worse, someone just bursting into the room or hearing the pounding of heavy steps as they got closer and closer.
And closer.
Scuffle, tap, scuffle, tap. Stomp, Stomp. What was stomping, stomp?!
With each step, my heart leapt.
And not in a good way.
It wasn’t like there was much hope for us. Our current predicament was bleak. Literally. We were in a windowless room, with a roaring fireplace on one side and a giant four-post bed on the other.
Right. A bed.
Pretty sure I knew what that was going to be for.
After all, that was why we were here.
Actually, that was why the girls on my left and right were here. I showed up to do what I always did on a Friday.
Water the plants.
Immortals and their plants.
Ever since Ethan had gotten married, his wife, a beautiful human who I’d met on a few occasions, had decided that the bridge between immortals and humans needed to be mended.
And apparently in her mind, that meant plants.
Or I guess, just decorating the immortal compound so that when humans visited it looked more jungle than dungeon.
It was still terrifying.
And honestly, in my mind, stupid. They could put a freaking Ferris wheel inside this place, and I’d still shiver a bit when I walked through.
Because I knew what went on.
On Fridays I watered plants.
On Saturdays, I cleaned the floors.
And on Thursdays.
I shivered again as the footsteps paused.
On Thursdays, I heard the screams of human women, the ones who were privileged to know about the immortals. They screamed for immortality, for bites, for attention.
And sometimes, the immortals took them up on it.