Skin Tight by Ava Gray Page A

notion of herself as Persephone, but it wasn’t like she could keep from eating what they gave her.
    “You aren’t asleep,” he said by way of greeting. “Would you like me to prescribe something for you?”
    Yeah, I need more meds like a hole in the head.
    She shook her head quickly. “No, I just woke up to use the bathroom. I’m fine.”
    Rowan couldn’t read her mind; he didn’t know when she lied, unless he had evidence to the contrary. She didn’t think he’d devoted his whole night to watching her, though he sometimes did. His intensity set off all kinds of alarms in her, but nobody would come if she called for help.
    This morning, there was an obscene sparkle in his eyes that said he’d killed again. Gillie doubted anyone else would notice the outward signs. Rowan kept his euphoria tightly leashed, but she had no doubt the power was singing through his blood as he studied her.
    Was he imagining what it would be like to sink his hypodermic needle into her skin and hold her while she trembled through her death throes in his arms? Unlike the others, Silas answered her questions directly when she asked, so she knew what went on in those dark and silent halls. She knew about the women who screamed—and those who didn’t. She knew about the man who wept and tried to gouge out his own eyes if he wasn’t tied.
    Dr. Rowan ruled them all.
    He might have been attractive if not for the coldness of his hazel eyes. Like hers, his skin was pale; he seldom saw the sun. In other aspects, he looked normal—a man you would never glance at a second time if you didn’t know of his taste for death. For Gillie, he was the bogeyman made real.
    “I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled, and it was horrid, all teeth and gums—like a bloodred rose laid across the gaping mouth of a desiccated skull.
    Doubtless he fancied he had a charming smile and that she enjoyed his visits.
    Maybe he thought he was doing her some kindness, offering social interaction to the perpetual shut-in, but she preferred the harmless celluloid company offered by her DVDs.
    “Thank you for checking on me.”
    She tried to hide her loathing. Intuition told her that things would get worse if Rowan ever figured out how she truly felt. Right now, he looked on her as a favored pet, one who performed the required tricks admirably, reliably, and without complaint. That status could too easily change. He could take away her comforts, such as they were.
    She’d learned early on the dangers of refusing to cooperate, and she wasn’t strong enough to die.
    “It’s my pleasure.”
    God, she feared it was. “Did something happen tonight? You look . . . odd.”
    Would he confide in her? She didn’t think his social life was any more active than hers. Gillie feared crossing the line toward intimacy, and yet she wondered if she could use his fondness to her own advantage somehow.
    He brightened visibly, as if he enjoyed her attention. “Yes, in fact. Would you mind making me a cup of tea?”
    As if it weren’t nearly six in the morning, as if this were a proper social visit.
    She went to the kitchen without complaint and microwaved two mugs of hot water. When she returned, she found that he’d made himself comfortable in her front room, legs stretched out as if he meant to stay awhile.
    Well, as long as he’s talking, he’s not doing anything horrible.
    Feeling sick, she resigned herself to the reality. Nobody was coming to save her. If her parents had tried to find her, they’d long since given her up for dead. That was, most likely, what the Foundation had told them. In a way, it might even have been kinder.
    “You were saying,” she prompted softly.
    “We lost a test subject tonight.”
    He really meant he’d put her down. Gillie knew how he operated. But she pretended ignorance, as he wanted her to. “Oh no, that’s terrible. What happened?”
    Rowan went on at length, describing the hopelessness of the patient’s prognosis. By the time he finished,