Last updated on May 23, 2021
“Is everyone gone now?”
“Yes, sir,” said MacArthur as he brought some chamomile tea to his employer.
Shane looked at the grandfather clock by the books. “Dear God, these people can party.”
“Leave this here. Tell the servants to clean up tomorrow. The mess won’t go anywhere.”
“Yes, sir.” MacArthur left the tea behind. Shane leaned forward in the chair and poured himself a cup of the tea. He took a sip—
You are mine.
The voice was so loud in the room, it startled him, making him splash the tea onto the saucer. He looked around the room. “Who’s here?”
You are mine!
He stood up, bent down and placed the tea down on the tray. Was the stress from the party already getting to him?
You will come to me.
“Who are you?” he whispered, knowing that the voice was not in the room. It was in his own head and giving him a headache.
You will do as I say and come to me.
He needed to go to bed. He left the study through the side door that lead directly to his bedroom.
You are mine. You will come to me.
He undressed in the dark, closing his eyes tight, trying to will away the voice in his head. Finally, when he placed his head on the pillow, the voice lessened, easing, whispering, Come to me. You are mine.