Chapter Nineteen
NINETEEN
MAVEN
It starts softly, an indistinct voice carrying through the walls. Frowning, I flip the covers off my face and listen harder but can’t make out any specific words, just the cadence of the voice and the tone, low and droning.
A sense of dread and claustrophobia begins to overtake me, as if the walls and ceiling are closing in. The air feels thick and charged with malevolent intent.
I pull the covers over my head again and try to block out the unintelligible murmuring, but my dread quickly gives way to irritation.
I throw off the covers and stand. Crossing to the door, I pull it open and walk out into the hall. The whispering cuts off abruptly.
The corridor is dark and still. No lights peek out from cracks under doorways, no noises disrupt the deep, unnatural quiet. The only thing I hear is the thump of my own heartbeat.
A drop of warm liquid hits the top of my bare foot. Something tickles my upper lip.
Returning inside, I go into the bathroom and flip the light switch. My reflection in the mirror has streaks of red running down her chin.
Fuck. This again.
I wet a washcloth under cold running water and use it to wipe the blood off my face and the top of my foot. Then I pinch my nose and sit on the toilet until the bleeding tapers off.
The whispering doesn’t resume. The shadowed halls of Blackthorn Manor remain oppressively silent.
I feel unbalanced and ill at ease, faintly feverish. Though the light is on, the walls seem to absorb it, leaving the room murky. All of a sudden, I feel trapped.
I need to get out of this house.
I dress quickly, pulling on jeans and boots and shoving my arms into a heavy wool coat. Slipping silently through the dark rooms, I hunt around downstairs to see if I can find the source of the whispering, but no one is awake.
I leave the house through the back door, intending on walking in the forest to clear my head, but after a few steps, I find myself headed in the opposite direction, around the side yard and toward the front gate.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing on Ronan’s front doorstep.
I stand there for a long time, arguing with myself and generally giving myself a good ass kicking. I finally decide there’s only one way to get rid of an itch.
Scratch it.
Just as I’m about to knock, Ronan pulls open the door.
He’s wearing a white terry cloth towel wrapped around his waist, nothing else. His hair is wet. His feet are bare. He clearly just came out of a shower.
The coldhearted bastard is magnificent.
Miserable, I say, “You said you were sorry about how you treated me.”
He stares at me with eyes so fierce, they glow.
“Yes.”
His voice is a rasp. He’s feeling some kind of way about me showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, that’s obvious. Also obvious is that he’s restraining himself from grabbing me and dragging me inside.
That I’ve caught him off guard makes me breathe a little easier. It’s so rare that I get the upper hand.
“You said I deserved better.”
“Yes.”
“You said you were wrong.”
“Yes.”
My sigh is heavy. “All right, then.”
He stares at me in all his half-naked glory, a muscle working in his jaw. “What does that mean? You agree to be friends?”
“I’d rather be hit by a bus. But I’m up for a hate fuck if you are.”
His eyes flare with heat. Licking his lips, he growls, “What about your fiancé?”
I pin him in a death glare. “You know Blackthorns don’t get engaged. But I was in a relationship. I broke it off before I got here. Any other smart questions you’d like to ask me before I change my mind?”
He grabs me and pulls me inside, then takes my mouth and kisses me ravenously.
I break away to admonish him. “We’re back to enemies tomorrow. This is just a onetime thing. Got it?”
Ignoring that, he whips off the towel and tosses it aside, grinning devilishly when I gape at his erection.
He picks me up, kicks the door shut, then heads down the hallway to his bedroom.