9
When I awaken, my head feels super-fuzzy. Even though my mind isn’t clear, I can tell one thing.
I’m in the infamous Boudoir of Striga and no, I am not kidding.
Basically, this is a cavernous bedroom that an earlier Earl of Striga used for dalliances with his many mistresses. The chamber is all purple velvet everything—curtains, couches, and even tables—with the main attraction being a huge round bed, which is what I’m reclining on right now. Oh, and there’s a fake closet across the room, which holds an unofficial Pulpitum platform. That’s how Lincoln got us here from the grain bin.
Lincoln sits beside me on the mattress. Leaning over, he gently brushes a few strands of hair from my cheek. His skin is warm and firm, sending a shiver through my stomach. His mismatched eyes fill with l
