The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Fifteen

 The next morning, Trinket woke to a pounding in her head.

That's what you get for talking back to your employer.

"Quiet, you," she mumbled as she threw off her blankets and forced herself to sit up.

Ignoring the pain pulsing behind her eyes, she rose to her feet and stumbled over to the wardrobe. As she clumsily searched for a work dress, she played through her conversation with Booker the night before.

"That's really not a concern for me, seeing as I don't love anyone."

"Then there's no way you could possibly understand where he's coming from."

"I don't see that as a problem."

"I didn't think you would."

She slammed the wardrobe shut and rested her head against the doors. Why couldn't she get a hold of her tongue? While Booker had made it clear that he wasn't going to dismiss her over a few arguments, she'd rather not get into fights with her employer, especially not a hot-blooded one with a wild imagination and a large collection of surgical tools at his disposal.

"I'm sure he's more mature than that," she said with a nervous laugh as she removed her nightgown and slipped into her work dress.

She turned to the mirror to put up her hair and was met with the ghastly image of herself cut open down the middle, her delicate organs fully exposed and accessible to any vengeful mad scientist that might be lurking about.

The vision was gone in an instant, replaced by her unscathed reflection. But her heart raced all the same.

At least, she hoped he was more mature than that.

After checking more than once that all her insides were where they belonged, she made her way downstairs to get started on breakfast and almost tripped over the leg of lamb still on the bottom step. Had Booker left it there on purpose to send her a message of disapproval? Or had he been too distracted by his hunt for the Wolf to even notice it?

Not wanting to take a chance on potentially spoiled meat, she disposed of the lamb and got to work in the kitchen. The screaming whistle of the kettle as she boiled water turned the pounding in her head into a relentless stabbing. Nearly blinded by the pain, she splashed water all over the table when she poured it on the tea leaves. As she attempted to clean up her mess, she momentarily forgot about the bread on the stove, only remembering it when the smell of burnt toast filled her nose.

"Blast it all," she hissed as she tried to salvage what she could of the breakfast.

It wasn't anywhere near as bad as the toast Booker had served her on her first morning here, but it was still rather black. She wrinkled her nose at it and then let out a defeated sigh.

"Well, maybe he'll learn not to keep his help out so late," she said, slathering butter onto the bread before placing it on a tray with the tea.

Certain he was downstairs busying himself with his inventions, she headed into the hallway and placed the tray on the small table beside the laboratory door. She went to knock to announce the arrival of breakfast, but that image of herself sliced open flashed before her eyes.

She withdrew her hand with a sharp breath and stared at the door for a tense moment. Then she shook her head and laughed. She was being ridiculous. Booker wouldn't do that to her.

Right?

Nevertheless, she gave a quick knock and then scurried back into the kitchen before he could come to the door.