Chapter 23
Dorian
T he entire estate is cast in darkness by the time I return home. I don’t bother parking in the garage, and rip onto the grass of the front lawn. I barely register jumping out of the running car before racing onto the porch. My heart plummets when I see that the front door is already open, glass shards catching the glow of my headlights on the floor at the entrance.
Voices carry from the inside. Raney’s.
Paul’s.
I don’t hear Katherine, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. All it means is that her fate is undecided, and that’s worse than knowing.
While her fate hangs in the balance, one thing is clear: my uncle’s dying tonight.
Voices lure me deeper into the estate. I pass Katherine’s room on the way, not surprised to find it empty. The rush of my pulse fills my ears as I follow the shouts.
For a brief moment, I’m a boy again, following the screams of my parents. I trembled back then, sure that I could protect her from him, no matter how my father’s size eclipsed me. My mother’s scream was cut short by a deafening crack of her head against the counter.
As I follow down the long and unforgivingly dark hallway toward Paul and Raney, I’m haunted by the secrets of these walls. The death and blood spilled on their finishes.
How many people have been killed to horde this wealth, to be spent on nothing and no one? How many have suffered for a house that sits nearly empty?
It was as if the very house itself ushered my mother away under the guise of her unhappiness. To her, it may have been her own heart to push her away time and time again. But I know it was whatever ghosts linger in these halls, telling her to run for her life.
Paul can use whatever excuse he likes to chase Katherine and Raney, to justify what he’s done to her mother, what he’s done to God knows how many people. It’s the same excuse that men before him have used. For the family, for the legacy, for power and ego. But I’ve known the truth all along, because it’s in my blood.
For generations, the Wards have lost their minds.
Moonlight pours in through the darkened sunroom from all directions. Raney stands in the center of the room, locked in some sort of stand-off with her father. His fists clutch onto her arms, and her own fingers dig and rip at his sleeves. Tears streak her face, but there’s a fury unlike anything I’ve ever seen strewn across her face.
“If you want to kill me, just kill me!” Raney cries. “As far as the world’s concerned, I’m already dead. At least I’ll be with my mom.”
As I step closer, I see that while one hand is crushing her upper arm, he also has a pistol pressed just under her jaw.
“You can join the whore in hell for all I care,” he snarls in response to her. “I should’ve never adopted you, you ungrateful little bitch.”
From the room’s open door, I see neither Cory nor Katherine. I want that to be comforting. But I fear the worst.
The wrong creak in the floor gives me away. Raney and Paul both whip their heads in my direction.
Paul’s face warps from a sneer to a cocky grin. I see that his bottom lip is split—I can only hope that his stepdaughter managed to land a good punch in before he got the upper hand.
“All done schmoozing, Dorian?” he mutters, his voice oozing condescension. “I thought I’d have at least another hour or two. Sorry for the mess. I used to have a key for the place until you changed the locks on me.”
I don’t respond and step further into the room. A card table with craft supplies has been knocked over, spilling paper across the floor. While the room is in disarray, there’s no visible blood or bodies. It’s still not a relief until I can lay eyes on Katherine.
“You’re not going to say anything?” he jeers. When Raney attempts to slip from his grasp, he shakes her but doesn’t take his eyes from me. “Looking for something? Some one ?”
“Of all the nights you’ve come back, why now?” I demand in as even a voice as I can manage. I want to strangle him and watch the life drain from him, but a wrong move could cause him to kill Raney in an instant.
“I came here not too long ago, actually,” he replies. “One of your servants let me in, but I didn’t find anything.”
My face twitches at the implication that he assumes Cory is a servant. It means that even though he’d been married to Annette, Cory’s aunt , he didn’t recognize him.
“I always assumed you were hiding this little brat, but I could never prove it. Then I saw that guy with her up north at one of the properties. Drove right past to see them headed inside. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”
“Great,” I mutter, “you found her. Why are you dragging this out?”
Paul returns his attention to Raney, shoving the muzzle of the gun so hard against her jaw that she hisses in pain. “She’s not the only little stowaway you have, Dorian. I know you have that Starling girl here somewhere, but this bitch won’t tell me where.”
I struggle not to let the relief show on my face. It means that Katherine’s hiding somewhere.
“Kittie went missing,” I tell him and slowly inch toward them. “You know that. She left the hospital of her own accord. If she was here, you would have found her. The only secret I kept from you was Raney.”
“That’s bullshit, and we both know it. You snatched her up. I know that because you’re just as crazy as your fucking mother.”
Paul strings together the perfect sentence to send a bolt of fury through me. In my rage, I rush forward a few steps, but he clicks his tongue and pushes Raney’s head back with the pistol.
“Leave her alone,” she grinds out, eyes pinched shut. “Kittie hasn’t done anything to you.”
“And you think anyone else has?” her stepfather challenges. “The point is that she hasn’t yet . Your mother found out about the business partners I buried and everything I’ve done for this family and our legacy. Should I have waited for her to sink me before I put her in the ground? Now tell me where the girl is. If you do, I’ll kill you both quick.”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
“You did this for our legacy? Look around you, Paul.” I gestured toward the room. “There’s nothing left of it. We can’t take this place to Hell with us.”
I catch movement just behind the pair. On the other side of the sunroom, Cory’s form slinks slowly from the garden closet, emerging out of perfect blackness. He has something long and smooth in his hands.
“It should be my brother here, not you ,” Paul thunders, grief and anger overtake his smugness. “He should’ve smothered you with a damn pillow the day you were born. I always knew something was wrong with you. All those bugs in jars. You can dress yourself up in nice suits, but it’ll never change the fact that you’re a fucking freak.”
Paul’s words don’t faze me. My father had repeated them often enough that they’ve lost their sting. I’m too focused on Cory creeping up behind him, his steps soundless and eerie. I linger on my uncle’s face, daring to watch my cousin from the corner of my eye.
In my position, with Raney’s life in the balance, I’m no threat to anyone. But Cory? His twelve years in the French Foreign Legion make him a deadly opponent. Perhaps it was this time out of the country, estranged from his family, that afforded him the distance he needed for Paul to not recognize him.
I can’t help but laugh.
Paul’s amusement vanishes. “You crazy fuck. What’s so funny?”
“You were so close to death when you first came here,” I mutter, grinning at him. “You could have walked away with your life. You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“What—”
“Send my father my regards.”
Paul doesn’t have time to process my statement. His confusion has him lowering the pistol from Raney’s neck only a few inches. It’s enough of an opening for Cory to lift what I realize now is a baseball bat and swing.
I expect to hear a gunshot, but the only sound is Paul’s body collapsing onto the floor with a grunt of pain.
Raney is nearly dragged down with him. She scrambles and fights to free herself from his grasp, even managing to spit on him the second he hits the floor.
My uncle rolls onto his back, holding up a useless arm to shield himself when Cory raises the bat again. “Wait, wait a sec—”
Paul doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Cory brings down his makeshift weapon on his arm, filling the room with a loud thud, a crack, and a scream.
I don’t take the time to revel in my uncle’s suffering. I pivot toward Raney, desperation seizing me. I should be asking her if she’s hurt, but there’s only one thing on my mind.
“Where’s Kittie?” I demand.
My heart plummets when Raney shakes her head.
“I let her out through the back door,” Cory explains. He lowers the bat and leaves my uncle on the floor, writhing and inspecting his broken arm.
And sure enough, a quick glance toward the exterior door reveals the disregarded chain and padlock on the floor.
“Cory and I had to,” Raney confesses. She stares me unflinchingly in the eyes. “I wasn’t about to risk her life for this. So we let her go.”
I’m bolted to the floor for a few seconds, paralyzed by visions of Katherine staggering through the forest in the darkness.
Any catharsis or thirst for vengeance is forgotten in an instant. My mind whirls with questions. How far has she gotten? What if she gets hurt or lost?
I intend to throw myself out through the back door of the sunroom and dive into the forest after her, but Paul’s words stop me.
“Help…me,” he pleads.
My uncle isn’t looking at any of us. Instead, he stares straight past me toward the doorway at my back. I wonder if he’s pleading with a ghost for a second of madness. I’ve never seen anything haunting the estate, but it’s more probable than what I find when I turn around.
Katherine.
My girl stands at the threshold between the hall and the sunroom, her shoulders rising and falling as she catches her breath.
She ran back to me.
I’m winded by a tidal wave of relief. She’s alright. She’s here. It almost knocks me off my feet. But another one of Paul’s pathetic pleas rips into me, dashing my relief and replacing it with rage.
“ Katherine ? Katherine Starling, isn’t it? You can’t let them kill me.”
I’m not sure how, but she recognizes him then. Her entire body stiffens with horror when he speaks her name.
I haven’t forgotten my promise to her.
I go to her, pulling her against me and pressing her face to the crook of my shoulder to shield her eyes. Her entire body is cold. I steal only a moment to breathe her in—confirm that she’s real, that I haven’t lost her—before I glance back to the others.
“Make it slow.”
Cory nods once, adjusting his grip on the bat.
I turn to Raney, whose face has become strangely serene. She surveys her stepfather as he begins to kick and push himself across the carpet on his back.
Paul squirms like an insect missing a leg.
“Blind him,” I instruct her. It’s my own selfish request in what is their vengeance.
Raney nods, circling him. I watch her for only a moment as she crouches next to the overturned card table and picks up a pair of scissors from the floor.
When Paul attempts to sit up, Cory strikes him across the shoulder, sending him shrieking and sprawling back out across the carpet.
As Raney lowers herself to his side, scissors raised, her stepfather shouts in her face, sending spittle flying. “I’ll see you and your mother in Hell!”
“No,” she says calmly. “It’ll only be the two of us, just like this.”
Before Raney gouges one of Paul’s eyes out, I shut the door. His muffled screams and the inevitable impact of Cory’s bat can still be heard, even as I guide Katherine back down the hall. My only regret is that her nightmares may worsen after tonight.
By the time we reach my bedroom, Katherine’s trembling has subsided.
I search her face, her body, her hands, her legs—search for any sign of injury. Even the smallest bump or bruise will send me storming back downstairs and command Cory to let me pull whatever pain’s left for Paul to feel before he finally dies.
But confirming that there isn’t a scratch on her makes me grateful to Cory. Everything could have gone horribly wrong; I tried so hard to keep her safe from him—from everything—and instead, I’d all but wrapped her in a bow to give to him.
“Dorian?” Katherine murmurs.
I expect her to look terrified, traumatized at the very least. And yet, she merely looks exhausted, mere seconds away from falling asleep.
I lay her down on the bed, planting a kiss against the side of her mouth. “It’s over now, Kittie. You’re safe,” I promise her.
I’m so focused on my relief that she’s okay and my gratitude that she returned to me that I’m shocked when she presses her mouth to mine.
My body divorces from my brain, and I bury my fingers into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her and kissing her deeply in return.
Katherine might not have seen what unfolded, but she could still hear everything. Nearly losing her life and the lives of the people she cares about should have made her catatonic or hysterical. And yet she sucks on my tongue, groaning against my mouth. She feels—and her lips taste—far better than they have any right to in this moment.
But Katherine’s mind needs to heal. I have no idea what’s gotten her so hungry, but I can’t indulge in it now. God knows what all of this may have done to her. Perhaps some sleep may do her well.
Begrudgingly, I break the kiss and pull away from her.
Katherine groggily whines in protest. I let out a breathless, humorless chuckle, reaching to peel her fingers from me.
“Get some rest, kitten,” I whisper to her, kissing her knuckles before placing them at her sides. “I’ll be back before you wake up.”
I’m not sure if she’s already fallen asleep, but she doesn’t argue. I smooth her hair back, giving her one last cursory glance for injuries, and when I’m satisfied, I get to my feet.
I have another skeleton to add to the countless housed beneath the estate. Perhaps, once my uncle is dealt with, if Katherine is still as hungry as she appears, I’ll satiate her appetite.