Blood Debt (Touched Series Book 1) Read online

  The chauffer didn’t flinch. He stood with his back to the door, a menacing look on his face but no response. As I looked in the bathroom, it, too, needed a good cleaning. Did she think I was going to be Cinderella? I dug around and found some soap and some shampoo whose contents had long since separated. “Great. Hey, Aragon, where can I get some shampoo and conditioner?”

  I peeked through the doorway when I still didn’t get a response from him. “Hello-o-o-o, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually. Where can I find something to wash all the sweat off of me?”

  Miffed at his lack of response, I walked toward him and reached around him for the door handle. A single hand shoved me backward. “What the hell? I get that you aren’t talking to me, but I need something to get cleaned up with!” I started to wonder, maybe he was mute? No, he had spoken when he offered to let me spend the night in the trunk.

  I heard a tap on the door. Aragon opened it, and a petite woman walked in with a serving tray piled high with sandwiches, chips, and OHMYSWEETGOODNESS - cold water! As she set the tray down on a coffee table beside the couch, she didn’t make eye contact with me. I immediately reached for the water and emptied the glass in seconds. As I was pouring more water into the glass from a pitcher off the tray, a second knock at the door echoed, and Aragon let in a middle-aged man who had a basket of toiletries, a pair of satin pajamas, and a change of clothes. Both the woman with the food and the man left without saying a word or even making eye contact with me. I was grateful and thanked them both, though neither acknowledged me.

  As I towel dried my hair, I sat in the bathroom, wondering: What had I done to deserve this? Just hours ago my mind raced with the possibilities of the future. I had silently hoped to slow down the “Drake Freight Train,” but I had never anticipated completely derailing it. Having satisfied my physical need for water, food and hygiene, I let my mind wander back to our lunch today. I thought of the fantasies he kept sharing with me through his touch. It had been a foreign experience and one that still gave me butterflies thinking about it.

  Drake would think I stood him up tonight. I still wasn’t convinced that Bianca’s plan had merit, and I hated the idea of being responsible for whether someone’s blood line continued - especially when I didn’t know anything about him or his family. Sure he was handsome, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, but this whole Centaur relationship thing seemed to be for keeps. No matter how great he was, I wasn’t ready to commit myself to him or anyone.

  I wondered how long it was before people realized I’d been taken? I hadn’t locked my car, and it had been abandoned close to Will’s house. Hopefully someone was looking for me by now.

  I needed to push thoughts of Drake out of my mind and focus on the problem at hand. How was I going to get out of here? Where was here?

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, sun peeked in around the window shades. I woke up and looked at the door. Aragon still stood in the same place he had been when I fell asleep. I decided I’d try a different approach: using my brightest smile and sweetest voice, I called, “Good morning, Aragon.”

  Still nothing. I went to the bathroom, threw my hair in a quick braid, and changed quickly into the clothes I’d been given last night: capri pants, a white t-shirt, underwear and flops - all were precisely my size. As I approached the door to the hallway, Aragon opened it for me. The house looked interesting, but I needed to see how far Aragon would let me go. I was surprised when he trailed me wordlessly into the garden.

  Zandra joined me shortly after I arrived. She stood a few feet away from me but addressed Aragon, “You may go find your relief. I’ll expect you back promptly at 9 p.m.” Aragon nodded and walked away. Zandra turned her attention toward me.

  “I trust you’re well rested?” Her words were friendly enough, but the tone she used was less than heart warming.

  “Uh. . . yes. I was just admiring your estate. . .” Crap, I didn’t know what to call her. These were the first words spoken to me since my arrival, and they took me by surprise. “It’s very . . . big.”

  She furrowed her eyebrows at me, obviously stunned with my impressive vocabulary. Her response was curt, “Right. While you’re here, you will have a guard at all times. Do not speak to any of them. They’re here for your safety, not your entertainment. You’ll be guarded around the clock.”

  “Is that necessary? Am I in danger?”

  “Danger? Danger from yourself. They won’t let you make a stupid mistake like your mother. There’s no phone, no television and no internet. No visitors will be allowed until I can trust you. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t answer – she must have taken my silence as consent. She started to walk away when I blurted out – “What about my father? How will he know I’m okay?”

  “You are my responsibility now. He has been notified.”

  A little more abrasive than I meant for it to be, I told her, “I need to call a friend of mine in California. He’ll be worried if he doesn’t hear from me.”

  “Camille, you’ve had far too many distractions in your life. I intend to simplify it for you, teach you things your mother neglected. I do not have the patience or the desire to cater to your every whim.”

  She put her back to me and made a straight line for the house. When she did, Aragon’s replacement arrived: another large man unwilling to make eye contact with me. The mosquitoes were the size of small birds, so I didn’t stay outside long. When I got into the house, Zandra was nowhere to be seen. The guard pointed to the staircase, and he followed me to my room.

  When I returned, a plate of pastries, a thermos of coffee, and a pitcher of juice were waiting for me on the coffee table in the sitting area of the bedroom. It looked like more than enough food for the two of us, and I motioned for the new guard to take a seat beside me. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I gave a heavy sigh, “I won’t be able to eat it all myself; you could at least eat with me.”

  I watched him closely: his eyes didn’t even dart in my direction, and, if anything, his posture became more rigid as he stood against the door. He pretended not to have heard a word.

  The pastries were all of my favorites: warm cinnamon rolls, donuts with colorful sprinkles on them, and onion bagels with cream cheese. It seemed odd that anyone would know that this combination would be such a welcomed surprise. After I had filled myself on breakfast, I wondered how I would occupy my time. I decided to go for another stroll outside. I reached around the new guard for the door handle, but he merely held his position in front of it.

  I looked at him, frustrated, wondering how in the heck I was going to figure out how to get out of this place if I was confined to this room. “I just need some air. I want to go for a walk.” He didn’t budge. “Are you deaf? I said I’m going outside to get some air.”

  Still as a statue, he didn’t so much as blink in my direction. When I didn’t let go of the door handle, and yanked on it a second time, the man put one hand on my wrist and inflicted more pain than I thought possible with just his thumb and middle finger. I remembered a stupid self-defense class I had taken in middle school that had taught about pressure points on the body. This man should have been teaching that class.

  I can’t say that he did any real damage to anything other than my ego, but if he could subdue me that quickly with two fingers, I doubted I would stand a chance trying to force myself through a door he was protecting. My earlier inspection of the windows on the wall of my room showed they’d been painted shut for decades.

  I took another look around. If this was where I was staying, the dust was going to have to go. I began in the bathroom; just as I had finished the last of the scrubbing and the whole place sparkled, I heard a soft knock at the door.

  The guard opened it and the same petite woman from last night stepped inside with another tray of food. I didn’t need to get close to know exactly what it was: potato
soup with spicy Italian sausage. It couldn’t have been better timed, and it was another favorite meal. I was too pleased with the aroma for my mind to realize how impossible it was for me to again have one of my most prized meals.

  During lunch, a box of cleaning supplies had been delivered to the room. The guard hadn’t spoken a word all morning, so I wasn’t sure how anyone would have known I was doing my Cinderella impression, but I was thankful for the items. By dinner time, my bedroom was spotless. I half expected a tray of food to be delivered again, but the knock on my door was from a man who had brought a change of clothes for me. Clothes may not have been the best description; a black evening gown with shoes that were appropriate for a movie release or a charity ball had been delivered. I showered and dressed quickly, my mind racing with the possibilities. When I emerged from the bathroom, the guard opened the door to the hallway and ushered me down to the dining room.

  A meal that could have served twenty people waited for me. I took a seat in the middle of the long table and waited to see who would join me. It was a full five minutes as the food began to cool before I realized there was only one place setting and no one else was coming. The dinner was wonderful, but I could feel the first real pangs of loneliness. After I had eaten, the guard took me to a library where I was allowed to select a book to read. It was a tough decision; all the books were old, really old. Some were written in different languages; several were handwritten. I searched for a romance of some kind and finally settled on Wives and Daughters written by Elizabeth Gaskell. Once I’d made my choice, I was escorted back to my room.

  Aragon arrived at promptly 9 p.m., just as he had been instructed to earlier. I didn’t try to speak to him, and he didn’t acknowledge that he even saw me as he assumed his post inside my room, directly in front of my door. I hated his watchful eyes; I could feel them on me all night long, but he never stepped closer to me than the one step just inside my bedroom.

  Day 2

  I awoke to bright sunlight again. I ducked into the closet, turned on the light, pulled some clothes on that had been delivered the previous night, and dressed quickly. The closet was roughly nine feet by five feet; I knew this closet and my bathroom were the only places that I would have some sense of privacy. I used my time in the closet to feel around for any secret passageways. One of the baseboards was loose. It looked like something was jammed behind it into the plaster, but I didn’t want to disassemble the closet my second morning here.

  Zandra’s home may have been a pseudo prison, but was surprisingly pleasant to explore – at least as much as I was permitted to see. The walls were adorned with equestrian paintings, statues of horses, centaurs, and ornate wooden finishing. The floors were wood accented with lush rugs in every room. As I walked outside to the gardens, I really took them in for the first time. I was not expecting the meticulously manicured plants, the stone walkways that shimmered in the sun, and the life-sized, marble Centaurs sprinkled throughout. When Zandra found me meandering through the expanse, my education began.

  Zandra came up to me, patted her shirt down with her palms as if to brush away any stray pollen that may have landed on her. We were stopped in front of a statue of Zeus. I had seen images of him many times, so when she asked me, “Camille, quickly, who is this?”

  I answered without hesitation, “Zeus.”

  “And do you recognize the woman beside him?”

  I knew it was his wife, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember her name. I shook my head, and she answered, “She was Hera.” I hadn’t studied Greek mythology, ever. I think the only reason I recognized Zeus was because of Saturday morning cartoons as a kid.

  “Hera was very beautiful. Zeus was proud of her beauty and loved having a handsome wife. But occasionally someone would admire Hera too fondly, and Zeus would take out his vengeance. Have you heard the story of Ixion?”

  I shook my head that I hadn’t, so she continued. “Ixion was a god Zeus thought was a close friend. Zeus suspected that Ixion had romantic feelings for Hera, but he wanted to be certain of Ixion’s intentions with Hera before he passed judgment on this friend. Zeus sent a cloud, Nephele, disguised as Hera to learn Ixion’s trustworthiness. The cloud bore a child for Ixion, who was named Kentaros.”

  “A cloud, like a cloud in the sky?”

  “This was Zeus. His power was limitless, so making a cloud take the form of Hera was not difficult for him. When Kentaros was born, he was shunned by the gods as well as humans and was forced to live out his days, utterly alone. Eventually, Kentaros moved to the beautiful pastures of Thessaly and bred himself with the mares that lived in the pasture. Kentaros is the father of all Centaurs.”

  “But, I thought that Centaurs that were half horse were all just a myth?”

  “No, we are all children of Kentaros.”

  I knew using Will’s first name diminished his position in front of Zandra, so I purposely included “Dad” in my response. “Dad told me we were descended from warriors. Gretchen said that humans described the warriors’ speed as fast as horses, so they began drawing our race as both man and horse.”

  “Camille, you don’t really believe that, do you? Where does the magic in your veins come from?”

  I answered cautiously, hoping not to infuriate her and not wanting to let on that I had my doubts about magic in my blood, “From my mom and dad.”

  “Exactly. They were both descendents of Kentaros and his mares. Most of the herds from that original pasture are still represented, their magic unabated, their blood pulsating with that of a god.”

  “Our ancestors really were half horse?” The notion still sounded absurd to me, but she continued.

  “My given name is Zandra Chiron. Have you heard of Chiron?”

  “No.”

  She furrowed her brow at me. “Chiron was the noblest of Centaurs. Had there been royalty among Centaurs, he would have surely worn a crown. He was unlike many of the other Centaurs born on that pasture. Most Centaurs were fierce warriors, more prone to battle than civility. Chiron was different: he was gentle and kind. He was a musician, a physician, and even a teacher of gods. One of his prized pupils was Zeus’ son, Hercules.”

  “So Chiron was a teacher?”

  “As I said, he was a Centaur of many talents. During a class where Hercules was paying more attention to his lessons than to his weapons, he inadvertently shot Chiron with an arrow that had been dipped in the blood of the Lernaean Hydra.”

  “A Hydra, that’s the snake that you cut off its head and two more grow in its place, right?”

  “It is similar to a snake, but it was a sea creature. Its blood was poisonous and brought instant death to humans. Chiron was an immortal since Zeus himself had shared his immortal nectar with him, so the blood-tipped arrow only brought suffering and pain to Chiron.”

  “But you just said Chiron was a physician. If he was an immortal and a doctor, why didn’t he just cure himself?”

  “He tried unsuccessfully for years to cure himself. He begged the other gods to kill him to end his suffering, but none would kill him, and he couldn’t be comforted.”

  I looked around, a little worried because Zandra seemed to take all of this as reality, and a small part of me wondered if a suffering immortal Centaur was around the corner. “So what happened?”

  “Prometheus was a Titan who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to man. Fire was a substance for use by the gods and was not intended to provide warmth to the lowly humans. As punishment for giving fire to mankind, Prometheus was chained to a rock in Tartarus. Each day as the sun came up, an enormous vulture would come to the rock and gnaw his liver. Each night the liver would grow back.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “For him, immortality was a fate worse than death – an eternity of physical anguish. Hercules, despite his accidental poisoning of Chiron, was good. He watched day after day the suffering that Prometheus was subjected t
o and asked Zeus to release him from his punishment.” She saw my interest and asked me, “Camille, have you not heard this before? Did you learn nothing in school?”

  Ashamed that I’d never heard these stories, I was intrigued and hoped silently that she would continue. “I don’t remember any of this.”

  “And your mother never shared any of these stories?”

  “No, never.”

  She kept her contempt masked, but I could see it was there. “Zeus believed in harsh punishments but was persuaded by the young Hercules to show mercy. He agreed to let Prometheus free of his punishment if another would take his place. Hercules wanted to offer himself up in place of Prometheus, but Chiron wouldn’t allow it. Chiron gave up his immortality and released Prometheus from the rock in Tartarus.”

  “But how was he allowed to give up his immortality in Tartarus, if Prometheus couldn’t?”

  “Prometheus knew he was being punished and chose to hold on to his immortality. He believed eventually he would be forgiven by Zeus and his punishment would be over.”

  “But Chiron took his place before Prometheus was forgiven?”

  “Yes, but Chiron’s liver was never eaten by the giant vulture. Zeus was so moved by Chiron’s selflessness that he placed Chiron in the stars. You know him as Sagittarius.”

  “So you’re a direct descendent of a constellation?”