Restrain (Siren Book 3) Read Free Page A

know he once fixated on giving me the finger by destroying my cameras. That was what originally forced me to put the sheepskin on. So his newfound meekness... it's a victory that's given me a lot more privacy. I don't have to pretend to be one of them. I don't have to indulge my attraction to him. I don't have to worry about whether he likes me, or likes me too much.
    It's not as satisfying, sure, but it's for the better. I was getting too close to the trees to be able to act in the forest's interest.
    Our sleep schedules don't always match up, since I have the privilege of spending time in daylight , but when it works out, I take my time bringing their food, not hurrying in and out.
    I sit at Calder's shoulder sometimes, while they sleep. He's drugged into submission, admittedly, but it's still strange seeing how little real emotion there is on those beautiful features, now etched with stress and loss. The new lines only make him all the more handsome to me. And that's a bona fide problem. I never had to fake the chemistry between us; I only had to figure out how to channel what was already there into the appropriate reaction to manipulate him. It frustrated me and violated me, the confusion he provoked.
    On the one hand, sitting next to him, my hand on his forehead, it grounds me, reminds me that behind the pixellated images there's a visceral truth, one I've fought damn hard to bring into reality. On the other hand, I don't know that I need to be reminded that in slightly different circumstances, I'd be here kissing him awake.
    It's not right, him having so little motivation. It's not right, him lying there, day after day, letting the others explore and interact. It's not right watching him reject the food I've made for him over and over again.
    I think I've finally broken Calder Roane. That was always my goal, but now I'd do anything to have broken him a little less .
     

Chapter Three
    Calder
     
    A glowing face above me, clean and untouched by decay or violence. I strain to open my eyes, bring its features into focus, but my eyes won't cooperate. My head spins, and I can't move my limbs.
    Gentle hands on my forehead, smoothing out a crease. Tracing my cheekbones, and my temples. The soft touch is a godsend, an anchor, one that makes me feel full of strength despite my paralysis. Silky hair falls around my face, casting the one above me into shadow, a new moon, full of potential and horror. I try to cry out, but the gesture's moot. One of the hands retreats from my skin and swipes the hair back over her shoulder.
    Her? Yes, her. My head is in a warm lap, with the vaguest brush of shapely breasts against my forehead, as she looks down at me. A faint shadow caused by scars on the side of her temple tells me who it is, though I wish I could fixate on her eyes.
    Milla heaves a sigh, air streaming past full lips. “ Now , do you understand?”
    I sit up, wishing the dream could have lasted longer. But Marquel and Allen are already gone, exploring, or beating their brains out against the wall, or something. And in the quiet, I have nothing to do but remember it, relive it, as though if I believe in it enough, I'll open my eyes and Milla will be in my arms.
    I don't remember the last time I heard Marquel laugh, a machine-gun patter that you had to believe was sincere, because it sounded too stupid not to be genuine. Being here, well, it's not really living. It's not really dying, either. Yet.
    My mind is stuck on the room where Denise died. The air rushing around me as I fell, and the painful impact. The words scrawled on the wall, and my desperation to get out.
    Trapped in that room with two bodies—my best friend and an unhappy mother—a piece of me died.
    My fingers still itch from my efforts to tear their clothes, piece together a rope. And when I had it finished, when I had the choice to hang myself, or try to get up the hole in the ceiling I came, I chose to fight. I chose to run. And I failed.
    Maybe I would have