Julian
ABIGAIL FIDDLES WITH HER new dollhouse; her favorite doll is taking afternoon tea in the drawing room, just as Abigail herself frequently does in the real Chastain Castle.
I sit on her bed, watching idly as she plays—though my eyes consistently stray. Without my permission, they inevitably return to the stuffed, brown bunny that sits on her dresser. The one that looks so much like Atlas to me that I find it amusing.
Little bunny.
It’s strange to me how easy it is to read Atlas now that I’m at least a little certain of what his condition is. Or, rather, his curse.
Such a soft, sweet boy with a vicious appetite—and for some reason, a tremendous amount of guilt surrounding his own desires.
On one hand, I want to coddle him and show him exactly why he shouldn’t be afraid of his needs. Yet, on the other hand, I crave being the first person to teach him how to love softly. To take him one slow second at a time as he comes over and over again.
I haven’t seen him all day—not since last night when I lay over his body and all but begged him to let me help.
I know it’s risky, that I’m going against all my own warning signs. But I can’t just sit idly by while he suffers, and this thing—the incubus, I believe Atlas called it—is affecting me, too.
So, I guess in that moment—with him naked and hot beneath me, so clearly flushed and used—I decided that I am willing to risk my employment, my proximity to Atlas, and my own safety just to help rid both of us of this monster.
Thinking back now that I’ve slept, it may have been a rash decision. But I don’t regret it; in fact, I’m kind of sick with excitement every time I think about encountering him again and figuring out what our first move will be.
I said I would help him… I’m just not sure how yet.
And fuck—I should have kissed him. I regret that, out of all the things I said or did last night. Instead of playing it safe and getting up, heading to my own room, and falling into a fitful sleep, I should have planted my lips firmly to his and replaced the taste of that incubus.
“Julie, should we eat lunch?” Abigail asks, and I startle, my eyes shooting to where she’s sitting on the floor, gazing up at me.
“Are you hungry, Missus Abigail?”
“A little. What are you thinking of so seriously?” Her proper tone and piercing green eyes are kind of suffocating as she questions me.
Taking a deep breath, I smile. “Nothing, really. Let’s eat, yeah?”
Standing, I take her small hand in mine, and we begin the walk to Hall E1.
Her long blonde hair brushes my forearm as it sways in loose waves, and I can’t help but relish the small pocket of peace that I am given when I’m with the little girl I’m meant to be watching.
Her affection and innocent demeanor make me feel like the big brother I’ve always wanted to be—even if it’s contractual.
“You know, I’m really happy you’re here, Julie,” Abigail suddenly says, as if reading my mind, just as we’re crossing the main foyer. “You’ll be here for a long time, right? You won’t leave us?”
Something sour twists in my gut at her soft, hopeful words. I intend to be here for a long while, sure. But if I start helping Atlas, and Abraham or Atticus finds out and decides I need to go—that’s that.
I’m just now realizing that I’m not only risking my father’s and my income and my own safety, but Abigail’s happiness as well.
“Of course, my friend,” I say softly. “I plan on being around for as long as I’m allowed to be.”
She beams, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright as she squeezes my hand.
Entering the kitchen, we find Barfred puttering around the stove and adjoining counters. He’s preparing a meal consisting of different sandwiches, fruits, salad, and what appears to be baked asparagus.
“Barfred!” Abigail shouts in greeting, and the man turns to give her a gentle smile.
“Missus Abigail, good afternoon. Hello, Julian.” His smile is calm and familiar—nothing at all like the man I saw interacting with Landon yesterday.
“Hey,” I respond hesitantly. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks for asking.” He turns back to his prepping, giving us a view of his broad back. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes if you want to wait.”
The family doesn’t typically have lunch together, so Abigail and I normally eat in the theater room while watching a movie. I’m assuming Barfred delivers food to the rest of the Chastains, as I never see them here around this time.
“Sure, we’ll wait.”
Barfred nods his head at my response, taking a moment to plate the food on a few separate plates.
Now that I’m taking a good look at him again, I’m realizing for the second time how handsome Barfred is. In fact, he’s more of my typical type. Strong, built, and handsome. He has the kind of face that either makes him appear to be a gentle giant or a vicious panther, depending on his expression.
If it weren’t for Atlas taking up every spare thought I have, I might even find myself curious as to what version he is in bed—if he dominates or submits.
But alas, there is only one person I want to get naked with—and something tells me that Atlas has no interest in fucking me the way I have a tremendous interest in getting inside of him.
I sincerely hope that I get to find out.
Since last night, I haven’t been able to think of much else.
“Has Young Master Atlas come down for lunch?” I ask, keeping my tone as casual as possible as I push my dirty thoughts away.
Barfred shakes his head. “Nope. I haven’t seen him since breakfast early this morning.”
“Ah, okay. Thanks.”
The cook turns and places a tray with two plates and two cups of what appears to be lemonade on it and smiles kindly. “Have a great lunch, you two.”
“Thanks, Barfred!” Abigail cheers, and I grab the tray, following her out of the kitchen. Halfway to the theater room, she speaks again. “I’m sure Atty is fine. He keeps to himself sometimes.”
I peer down at her, taking in her concerned expression as she watches me. “Huh?”
“You looked upset that Atlas hasn’t come down for lunch, but he’s probably fine. Sometimes he hides away a lot.” Abigail’s voice is reassuring and kind, her eyes wide.
It must be showing on my face—the disappointment that I haven’t encountered him today.
“Thanks, Missus Abigail.”
“Plus, he might be in a flare-up. When he gets sick, we don’t see him for days,” she tacks on.
Atlas… in a flare-up? Could he be? Do they happen every time he’s touched by the incubus thing?
If so, I did tell him that the next time he’s so overwhelmed, I’d help him. That I’d cool him off.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Abigail asks, her eyes narrowing.
“Like what?” I question.
“Like you’re pleased.”
A bubble of delight forms inside of me, making me feel warm and full. I am pleased. Not because he’s suffering—for that I feel terrible—but because I finally know what the first action I should take is in order to help him.
I school my features. “Let’s eat.”
We have our lunch while watching an old-school cartoon that Abigail loves, and then we finish out the day in the music room as she practices the piano.
I quite enjoy that Abigail is so mature. Her tutors and her family’s eloquent way of speaking and acting make her very pleasant company, even at such a young age. Yet she still carries the charm of youth, playing with her toys and running around to expend energy.
It’s a nice balance, and it keeps my days from becoming boring and repetitive.
So, as she parts for the day, ready for dinner with her family and then her night routine with Theodora, I feel a little sad.
That is, until I remember what the end of the day means.
Some time later, after eating, showering, and waiting for the house and its occupants to settle for the night, I make my move.
The castle is eerie and creaks ominously as I sneak up the west staircase. I pay heavy attention to the air around me, having connected the temperature of each room I enter to the presence of that monster. I’m very confident in that theory.
But Hall W4 is cool and quiet as I creep toward the door of the west tower, my bare feet moving soundlessly.
I turn the knob, slipping inside and quickly ascending the steep steps. The door at the top is unlocked tonight.
With the second knob in hand, turned tightly, I take a deep breath.
I plan to walk in and confront Atlas—to ask him if he needs… assistance. But what if I’m wrong about the temperature theory, and the incubus thing is inside right now? What if it hurts me again?
I brush the scab on one cheek with my free hand. It’s mostly healed in the past two days, but it’s still visible. A constant reminder of what the thing is capable of; of what could happen to me at any moment.
But my desire to help, to touch, outweighs my fear in this moment. So, I push the door open just enough to slip inside and close it softly.
Atlas is sitting on his bed, staring straight at me. He does not appear to have been sleeping, his hair neat and soft, and his silky pajamas smooth and uncreased. The bed is made beneath him as he sits in the center, his feet crossed under himself.
“Hey,” I whisper, taking a singular step forward.
His big blue eyes watch me carefully, shyly, as if I hadn't been pressed against the length of him just last night. As if I wasn’t just confessing how badly I want to fuck him.
“Hi,” he whispers back.
The tension in the room is so thick, so overwhelming that I can practically taste it: the taste of seawater, sweet sugar, and something smoky and rich.
My heart is beating so angrily that I can feel it pounding against my sternum, and although the room is only mildly warm, my entire body feels hot. I’m burning up in his space, even without the presence of something sinister.
Atlas’s aura still feels threatening and tempting, as if he’ll lean forward and swallow my soul at any moment—only now I know that at his core, he is nothing if not a soft, sweet little thing who so desperately needs reassurance.
I wonder where I feel this insidious feeling from; could it be a lingering effect of the incubus? Or is Atlas just incredibly good at hiding his true nature behind this innocent facade?