Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
HANNAH
This is officially beyond intense. I woke this morning to find myself covered in the evidence of last night’s... activities.
I passed out from the sheer overwhelming pleasure. Then, apparently, slept like the dead for hours.
What. The. Hell.
I’ve never been particularly interested in explicit encounters. Or someone who prioritized physical intimacy above all else.
This isn’t like me at all.
None of this feels familiar...
After an extensive bath—scrubbing myself thoroughly, then scrubbing again—I have to stop abruptly because vivid memories of last night start creating... reactions. Tingles and heat that have nothing to do with the warm water.
He’s not even here, and yet I’m still responding to just the memory—
I shut off the water. I haven’t plugged the drain because I don’t trust that it won’t be full of... remnants of his luminescent essence.
After this, I’ll need to tackle the bedding, though I’m not entirely sure that’s even possible.
Because there was just... so much. I sit in the cooling bath, wringing out my hair.
Dear God. What have I gotten myself into?
Certainly nothing that has any connection to the divine, that’s certain. I remember the whisper of those dark wings enveloping me. The unforgettable sound of them beginning to flutter with increasing intensity.
I rise and step from the tub.
I still don’t know if he was truthful about not influencing my body’s responses somehow. Because this level of... intensity... this isn’t—
None of this feels—
Normal.
Definitely not within the realm of my previous experience.
Normal has completely left the building.
So what happens now?
I perch on the tub’s edge, water dripping from my skin onto the ancient stone. My entire body steams in the frigid air, yet I’m not as cold as I should be. I remember shivering uncontrollably the first few times I emerged from this bath.
Maybe I’m developing some kind of fever. Maybe that explains whatever the hell last night was.
Jesus, the things I let him do—
My face flushes even hotter, and when I press my palms to my cheeks, they’re burning.
Am I seriously going to just sit here waiting for him to return and completely overwhelm my senses again?
I’ve never been someone who waits around passively for anything.
Growing up, when Mom tried limiting me because of my disability, it just made me furious. And ten times more determined to prove her wrong by doing exactly what she said I couldn’t.
Sure, I was never going to run a five-minute mile like other kids... or even a twenty-five-minute mile. But I proved I could travel independently. Hold down a job successfully. Navigate the world like any able-bodied person, even if at my own pace. I find solutions to obstacles.
I narrow my eyes with renewed determination.
Where does he disappear to when he’s not with me, anyway? Then I remember the blood staining his chest last night, and finally I shiver, though not from cold. What’s wrong with me that I forgot about all that blood enough to actually let him—
I shake my head firmly.
He overwhelms my senses, even when he’s not physically present. Either I’m discovering some previously unknown aspect of my sexuality at twenty-five... I press both hands to my burning cheeks.
Can someone really unearth something that fundamental about themselves this late? Wouldn’t there have been signs?
I shake my head again.
The more likely explanation is that he lied. He is doing something to influence me. I glance toward the sink. Or maybe there’s something in the water supply.
Either way, I need more information about him. I’m operating completely blind here.
Where does he even originate from? Would he give me straight answers if I asked directly?
Highly doubtful. Look how quickly he shut down my questions last night.
Plus, he’s clearly sensitive about whatever’s happening in that basement.
Dungeon, I correct myself.
Another shiver runs through me.
Mind made up to take action—any action—I hurry from the bathroom. And by action, I don’t mean tidying this disaster of a bedroom. That’s obviously pointless.
Even though I’m not feeling as cold today, I grab one of the smaller pelts from the foot of the bed—one that still appears relatively clean—and wrap it around myself like a cloak.
A glance through the window shows the same blustery conditions, snow thick on the ground. I can’t spot that distant glint around the lake I noticed before, but it’s daylight, so I shouldn’t expect to. I refuse to second-guess what I saw.
After last night...
My chest tightens. After losing control so completely...
If there’s one quality I’ve always valued about myself, it’s my self-control. If he can reduce me to that state so easily...
I shudder and pull the small pelt tighter, though it barely covers anything essential. It’s basically a decorative cape that leaves most of me exposed.
Heat builds anyway as I hurry toward the great hall.
This sudden impulse to explore feels reckless. I don’t even know his location, so I keep all my senses alert as I move.
I pause in the great hall only long enough to warm myself by the fire. It’s always blazing magnificently.
Who maintains it? Him? An endless supply of firewood is stacked nearly to the vaulted ceiling in a stone alcove near the hearth. Is that where he goes during his absences? Hunting and gathering fuel?
How long will he be gone this time? Apart from the wind, the castle is silent.
No screams from below.
Nothing.
Just the quiet and my movements as I select a thin piece of wood from the stack.
I did some preliminary exploring yesterday before starting to clean. I grabbed that bucket partly as an excuse in case he discovered me wandering. But he stayed away for hours. Most of the daylight.
I’m counting on similar timing today as I nudge my makeshift torch into the blazing hearth.
The castle does contain more furnishings on the lower levels. With the vaulted ceilings on each floor, the main structure rises only eight stories. This doesn’t include the tower where he keeps our chambers, which extends another six stories skyward.
I can’t imagine the place’s age or our location, for this fortress to still be standing.
My mind was full of such questions yesterday, but today I have different priorities.
I’m on a mission for answers, however dangerous it might prove.
I might not be thinking clearly, but who would be after last night?
I felt things. Obviously, the physical pleasure that nearly shattered my consciousness.
But there was more.
I don’t know how to be that intimate with someone without developing deeper feelings. I don’t know how to receive that level of attention, to be brought to such heights, and not start to—
I need to know if I can trust him.
I need to know if he’s deceiving me.
I’ll lose my mind if he keeps affecting me this way while I remain uncertain about his honesty.
So after my makeshift torch catches flame, I don’t hesitate. I wrap the base with the inverted pelt to protect my hand, then turn toward the stairwell.
I begin my descent from the main floor into the darkness of the unlit levels below.
Down and down I go as fire consumes the wood. Sparks and burning fragments fall onto the fur protecting my grip.
I move faster. The flame dances wildly each time the wind from above gusts down the spiral stairway.
I focus on my footing and maintaining balance, determined not to tumble into a fiery heap.
The fire rapidly devours my torch as I continue descending, but I don’t stop. I push deeper into the encompassing darkness.
I will have answers.
I will discover what secrets he guards in that dungeon.
Even if part of me is terrified of what I might find.
Because after last night, after feeling so much, I need to know if this magnificent, dangerous creature is someone I can trust with my heart.
Or if I’m just another conquest in whatever dark game he’s playing.