Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
ANABELLE
I’ve spent the past two nights in the library, exploring all it offers. There are more books than I can read in a lifetime, but it’s such a thrill to go through them all and plan which I want to read first.
I even found an old gardening book about roses. There are notes in the margins in a feminine cursive I assume must be Asher’s mother’s. As soon as I saw them, a plan formed in my mind—I’m going to try to nurse the rose bush in the maze back to health as a thank you to Asher.
I’m still not exactly sure why he’s given me free rein in the library, but I’m eternally grateful. It’s almost overwhelming how many books are in there.
I have to force myself to put down the book I’m reading, turn out the bedside lamp, and go to sleep. I toss and turn for half an hour before I eventually drift off.
Hours later, I’m not sure what has awoken me until my brain fires up enough to recognize the sound of operatic music. It’s the same song that originally drew me to the library the day Asher found me there.
I listen for a moment, fright turning my muscles to stone and making me unable to move.
It’s not coming from my room, but somewhere outside the door.
Rolling over, I switch on the bedside lamp.
It casts a golden glow over the room, not nearly full enough to prevent shadows from lurking in the corners.
“Hello?” I say into the darkness.
I’m relieved when there’s no answer, though I don’t know if it’s good or bad.
The music continues, starting over from the beginning.
Could Asher be listening to music at… I glance at the bedside clock… three o’clock in the morning? Seems unlikely, but not impossible. His room is on the same level as mine.
Pushing off the blankets, I sit on the edge of the bed and set my feet on the lush area rug.
Midnight Manor is unnerving in the daytime, but even more so at night. I don’t often wander through the house after dark, and the idea doesn’t exactly appeal right now, but neither does lying here wondering where the music is coming from.
I walk across the room and crack open the door.
The music is louder now, and the hallway is only dimly lit by flickering sconces.
I creep down the hall, feeling the shadows at my back as though they’re chasing me and urging me forward.
The long, wide hallway ahead of me feels never-ending as the darkness wraps around me.
Goose bumps prickle my skin, and that distinct sensation of being watched washes over me once more. I walk faster, panic rising and causing my shoulders to climb up toward my ears.
Just go back to your room. What are you doing?
I’m farther from my room now than I am from Asher’s room, which is where the music seems to be coming from.
The chorus of voices crescendos, and there’s something deeply disturbing about the sound of them—male and female merging as one.
They sound as though they’re issuing a warning, but it’s in a language I don’t understand.
By the time I reach the doors of Asher’s suite, the music is so loud that it surrounds me, fills me up, and becomes a part of me. There’s something unearthly about it.
I stare at the doors for a heartbeat. Will Asher be upset if I disturb him?
A flicker of movement in the shadows causes me to take action. I don’t want to stand in this hallway by myself any longer.
The moment I set my hand on the doorknob, the music stops.
The silence is so abrupt that it takes me a moment to find my bearings and make sense of the new sound coming from inside Asher’s room.
A sound that reminds me of the time my father took me hunting, and he didn’t get a clean shot on a bear.
It howled in anguish until he was able to put it out of its misery.
I push open the doors to find the room dark. Fumbling for a light, I finally find a switch that turns on a lamp in the far corner. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to see Asher thrashing in his sheets, shouting.
“No! No! Stop!” He must have been screaming for some time, because his voice is hoarse.
With no regard for my safety and whether it’s a good idea to wake him in the middle of what I assume is a nightmare or night terror, I rush over to the bed. “Asher! Asher!”
He doesn’t hear me. The sheets are twisted in his hands, and his face is crumpled in pain. “No, stop. Please, stop. I promise I won’t do it again!”
Tears prick my eyes. “Asher.” I touch his shoulder. When he still doesn’t wake up, I shake him. “Asher, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” I shake him harder, letting my fingernails dig into his skin. “Asher!”
His eyes snap open, and he startles me when he bolts into a sitting position, and his hand wraps around my neck.
Oh, god. This is why they tell you not to wake someone.
My hands grab his wrists. “Asher, it’s Anabelle,” I manage to say before he squeezes too hard.
He blinks a few times, his eyes clearing from the grips of his nightmare. “Anabelle?”
His brow furrows. Then he notices that he has me by the throat, and his face crumples as he drops his hand to the bed, fisting the sheets. Seeing him so forlorn and desolate makes something snap in my chest. There’s no trace of the powerful, hard-as-steel man I’m used to.
“Are you okay?” I cup his face. I don’t care if he doesn’t want me to show him any affection or comfort.
But he doesn’t push me away. Instead, he hauls me onto the bed with him, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing. He dips his head into my neck, sucking in air.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” My hands run up and down his bare back, his skin hot and moist with sweat. “It was just a dream.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he whispers into my throat.
I stiffen then relax into his hold. Obviously whatever he was dreaming wasn’t his imagination, but the replay of something terrible that has happened to him.
We stay like that for a few minutes until Asher’s breathing returns to normal. When he pulls away, and I meet his gaze, the air rushes from his lungs. I see the extent of his pain. I don’t know what happened to him, but it must have been bad to still haunt him to this day.
“Are you all right?” I ask, taking his hand.
He nods then clears his throat. “Yeah. Thanks for waking me.”
I nod. “Of course. Sorry I barged in here.”
He doesn’t ask why I was even down at his end of the wing, and I don’t offer the information about the song. I’m not sure he’d believe me anyway.
“It’s fine.” He pulls his hand away from me and pushes it through his hair.
“Okay well, I’m going to head back to my room and try to get back to sleep.”
I move to push off the bed, but he grips my wrist, keeping me in place.
“Will you stay?” His voice is a near whisper.
Part of me thinks that he hates himself for asking, but a warm sensation blooms in my chest, like a rose just loosening its petals. “Of course. Yes.” I nod.
His shoulders relax in relief.
“Just let me turn the light off.” I motion to the small lamp in the corner.
“I’ll do it.” He shifts his legs to the side and gets out of bed wearing only a pair of relaxed gray lounge pants.
I climb in and go to the far side of the mattress, sitting up and watching as he walks across the expansive room. I try not to focus on the way the muscles in his back bunch and flex with every stride. Now is not the time to be getting turned on.
When he clicks the light off, I ease down in the bed, pull the sheet up over myself, and turn on my side so that I’m facing away from him.
I know he wants the comfort of someone sharing his bed after whatever trauma he just relived, but I want him to know I’m not going to read anything into his request or try to take advantage of his situation.
The mattress dips behind me. Though I’m not facing him, and it’s nearly pitch black in this room, I somehow feel him.
As though my body is acutely aware of his presence and every atom in my body is straining toward his.
I close my eyes and try to relax enough to fall asleep again, but it feels impossible knowing he’s so near and yet not near enough.
It’s not until a few minutes later when the bed shifts, and Asher’s hand slides around my waist, hauling me back into his chest, that I’m finally able to drift off.