Chapter 17
Rhys doesn't let me go for a second. He carries me toward the bedroom, and I’m practically fused to him, my legs wrapped tight around his waist and my arms locked around his neck.
We’re still kissing—hard, desperate, tongue-clashing kisses that taste like the lingering adrenaline of the ferris wheel.
I’ve got my eyes squeezed shut, completely lost in the heat of him, when I hear it.
A sound.
It’s a low, vibrating rumble. It sounds like the engine of a massive car idling, a deep, guttural thrum that I can feel vibrating through the floorboards, into Rhys, and into my own bones.
I ignore it, figuring it’s just some weird quirk of this gothic castle, and keep sucking on his lower lip as he finally reaches the bed and drops me onto the mattress.
"Fuck, Ophelia," he groans, hovering over me, his eyes dark and manic. "I can't get enough of you. I could spend a fucking eternity just devouring you."
I’m about to pull him back down for more when I feel something. Something heavy. Something warm and slightly damp. It’s a soft, wet pressure right against my forehead, like a giant, sandpaper-textured tongue licking my skin.
I freeze. That isn't Rhys.
And then the sound returns—that heavy, engine-like rumble, but now it’s right next to my ear. A purr. A fucking massive purr.
I snap my eyes open and look up. My heart nearly stops.
Lying right there, draped across the top of my head and shoulders like some demonic velvet blanket, is a huge black jaguar.
"FUCK!" I shriek, jumping so violently that I launch myself upward, my skull colliding with Rhys’s head with a sickening thwack.
"Ow! Bloody hell!" Rhys yells, clutching his forehead and recoiling.
I scramble backward, practically flying off the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stand there, trembling, pointing a shaking finger at the beast. "Rhys! There is a fucking black panther on your bed! Or is it a leopard! Why the fuck is there a jungle cat in your room?!"
Rhys is still rubbing his head, looking more annoyed at my reaction than the presence of a predator in his linens. "Did you have to move that fucking fast? You've nearly given me a concussion, you mad woman."
I don't give a toss about his head. I’m staring at the creature.
It’s magnificent and terrifying. Its fur is a deep, obsidian black—not a flat color, but a shimmering, iridescent midnight that catches the dim light of the room.
It’s massive, a wall of pure, lean muscle and power.
Its paws are the size of dinner plates, and its eyes—god, those eyes—are piercing, golden-amber orbs that watch me with a calm, terrifying intelligence.
And it is so clean. Like how Rhys always is. Which is my first clue that he owns the beast.
I’m half a second away from bolting out of the room and locking myself in the bathroom when Rhys sighs.
"Relax, Ophelia. He's harmless," he says casually.
He turns to the animal, and my jaw nearly hits the floor. The jaguar doesn't attack; instead, it leans into him, rubbing its massive head against Rhys’s chest and licking his face with a rough tongue. Rhys actually smiles, scratching the beast behind its ears.
"Did you miss sleeping in my bed, you spoiled bastard?" Rhys asks the cat in a tone that's almost... affectionate.
I just stand there, blinking, watching this psychotic display of bonding between a man who likes to destroy people and a cat that could rip my throat out in one bite. It’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen.
"Come here," Rhys commands, his voice softening but remaining firm. "He won't hurt you."
I hesitate, my instincts screaming run, but the magnetic pull of Rhys is stronger. I creep forward, stopping at the very edge of the mattress, my toes curling into the carpet. Rhys reaches out, grabs my hand, and firmly places my palm onto the jaguar’s flank.
The animal doesn't snarl. It doesn't even flinch. Instead, it leans into my touch, the heat of its body radiating through its thick, soft fur.
"Do you... do you actually own this thing?" I whisper, my voice trembling.
"I do," Rhys says, a smug glint in his eyes. "I needed some proper male companionship, since most of the men in my life are either useless or trying to kill me."
"His name is Shadow," he adds.
As I pet him, I realize Shadow is just a mirror of Rhys.
He’s the man’s shadow in every sense—imposing, territorial, and radiating a silent, deadly confidence.
He doesn't need to roar to let you know he's the boss; he just is. He’s protective and calm, but there’s an underlying current of violence in those golden eyes that tells me he’s only behaving because Rhys told him to.
"I wasn't sure how you'd react when you first arrived," Rhys explains, watching me with a predatory softness. "I kept him in another wing, away from you. But it seems Shadow had had enough of being ignored."
He pulls me closer, his arm sliding around my waist. "I imprinted on him at birth. We're linked. And he won't hurt you because I've made sure he knows your scent. That's why he's letting you touch him and why he didn't try to toss you off the bed the moment you landed on his head."
I lean back, looking from the obsidian cat to the obsidian-hearted man. I can't help it; a small, hysterical laugh escapes me.
"Of course," I mutter. "Of course you have a fucking apex predator as a pet. Why the fuck am I even surprised? It's so fucking you to own something that can kill everyone in the room."
Rhys smirks, leaning in to nip at my ear. "What can I say, love? I've always had a taste for the dangerous. And you," he whispers, his hand sliding down to grip my ass, "are the most dangerous thing in this house."
Shadow lets out another low, vibrating purr, the sound echoing through the room, and for the first time, I don't feel like running. I feel like I've finally found the only two creatures in the world as unhinged as I am.
The darkness of the room is thick, pressing in on me like a heavy velvet shroud.
I snap awake, my breath hitching in my throat, the remnants of a nightmare still clawing at the edges of my mind.
It was the same old shit—blood, screaming, the butcher's knife—and now my heart is hammering against my ribs like a fucking trapped bird.
I blink, slowly grounding myself. I can feel the heat of Rhys behind me, his heavy arm draped possessively across my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. He’s dead to the world, his breathing slow and steady.
I shift my gaze toward the foot of the bed and see the massive, obsidian silhouette of Shadow.
The jaguar is curled up, a mountain of black muscle, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, guttural hum that vibrates through the mattress.
I can't go back to sleep. Not with those images dancing behind my eyelids.
Carefully, I peel Rhys’s arm off me, moving with the precision of a thief.
I hold my breath, praying he doesn't wake up and decide he needs to fuck the nightmare out of me right this second—as much as I might actually want that.
I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.
I creep over to the nightstand, open the drawer, and retrieve my notebook and pencil. I don't want to wake him; I just need to get this out of my head before it consumes me.
I walk over to the French windows, the moonlight spilling across the floor in pale, ghostly streaks. I sink down onto the floor, leaning my back against the cold glass, and open the book to a fresh page.
The pencil begins to fly, scratching aggressively against the paper.
I don't even think; I just let the darkness flow.
I sketch a distorted, towering figure with elongated, spindly fingers that look like bleached bone, its face a void of swirling smoke and jagged teeth.
Around it, I draw a field of those black roses, but they're rotting, their petals dripping with something thick and dark like old oil. I add a figure—me—small and fragile, being pulled down into a sea of grasping hands and shattered mirrors. It’s grim, psychotic, and utterly fucked up.
It looks like a page ripped from a madman's diary, but as the image takes shape, the pressure in my chest begins to ease.
A soft, heavy sound makes me jump.
I look up to see Shadow. He’s padded over silently, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light.
He doesn't growl or huff; he just sits beside me, his massive presence radiating a strange, silent comfort.
He leans in, placing his heavy paws on my thighs, his weight grounding me.
He tilts his head, looking at the notebook, watching the charcoal lines of my nightmare.
I can't help it; a small, shaky smile touches my lips. I lean closer to him, whispering so softly it's barely a breath.
"It's my second time doing this, you big softy," I murmur, showing him the drawing. "Just drawing the bad things in my nightmares so they stay on the paper."
Shadow lets out a low, vibrating chuff, a sound of understanding that vibrates through my legs.
He settles in, resting his heavy head on his paws atop my thighs, staying right there with me.
He’s like a silent sentinel, guarding me from the very ghosts I’m sketching.
I keep working, the scratch of the pencil the only sound in the room, hoping Rhys stays under.
I don't want to explain the darkness yet; I just want to finish.
Once the last jagged line is drawn, I close the book with a soft thump. I stand up, gently nudging the jaguar. "Come on, Shadow. Back to bed before the boss notices we're gone."
I lead the massive cat back toward the bed, but just as I reach the edge, I hear a groan.
Rhys shifts, his hand slapping the empty space where I was lying. His voice is thick with sleep, raspy and deep, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
"Love...?"
I scramble, quickly shoving the notebook and pencil back into the nightstand drawer just as he opens his eyes.
"I'm here!" I whisper quickly, sliding back into the warmth of the sheets. "I was just helping Shadow back into bed. He fell."
Rhys doesn't say a word. He just reaches out, his grip like iron, and yanks me backward. I let out a little gasp as I drop hard against him, my back pressed firmly against his chest, his heartbeat thumping steadily against my shoulder blades.
Suddenly, a wet, sandpaper-textured nose presses firmly against my cheek. Shadow has followed me in, his massive head invading my personal space. I laugh softly, pulling back the heavy duvet.
"Come on then, you big brute. Get in."
Shadow doesn't need to be told twice. He heaves himself onto the bed, settling in right next to me. I pull the blanket up, covering the jaguar's obsidian fur.
I lay there, sandwiched in the middle. Rhys’s strong arm is locked around my waist, pulling me tight, while my own hands are buried in Shadow’s thick, soft coat.
I am trapped between two of the most dangerous, lethal creatures in this entire godforsaken carnival—a psychotic man and an apex predator.
And I feel completely, utterly safe.
As the rhythmic purring of the cat and the steady breathing of the man lull me, I finally close my eyes and drift into a sleep that is, for once, devoid of screams.