Chapter 4
Chapter Four
She’d made a tactical mistake. Melody could feel it in her bones. She’d heard Victor open his bedroom door and then storm downstairs. It wasn’t as if the man had quiet footsteps. He just pounded and pounded down the steps with an angry stomp.
She’d tiptoed out after him. Not like she wanted to alert the man to her presence, but she knew trouble when she heard it. Especially when that trouble stomped so furiously.
So she ditched her boots and socks and slipped down the stairs barefoot. She crept toward the den. Stayed out of sight and quite clearly heard the words that chilled her.
“We need a DNA test. Immediately.” Victor’s rough, angry voice.
Followed by Dario’s, “I told you, I told you all! I don’t think that’s Melody. She looks different. She acts different.”
Her heart nearly jumped from her chest. The very first night, and already, they were ready to kick her out of their world. What were they going to do? Toss her into the snow? Let her freeze in the darkness?
She’d hired a driver to bring her to the mansion.
A deliberate choice because, well, one, she didn’t have a car.
And, two, because she hadn’t wanted the people in the mansion tracking her back to where she’d been staying before tonight.
No sense in them learning I arrived in Richmond three days ago and have been staying at the shadiest no-tell-motel imaginable.
At night, she dragged the old chair beneath the door in her motel room and lodged it in place for a bit of extra security.
Now, though, she was at Mage Mansion and left with a big problem. If they kicked her out—
No, no, that can’t happen.
She had to stay. She had a job to do. A mission. And she wasn’t going to be thrown off or out. Her original plan had been tricky, yes, but she could change gears. She could do this.
She just had to figure out her next step.
Except, in that instant, her next step came charging toward her. Victor rushed out of the den and stormed straight toward her.
“Thought I heard you,” he rumbled in the deep and dark voice that seemed to sink straight through her.
Anger flashed in his eyes, igniting the darkness and stealing her breath.
Victor was intimidating and dangerous, and he’d kissed her like he’d been starving for her.
Something that made no sense. None at all.
But, evidently, Victor was the one in control at the mansion. Not Sebastian. Not Dario. Victor. The others seemed to follow his commands. And if she wanted to stay…
Then Victor had to be on her side.
Hell. She grabbed the bottom of her sweater, and she lifted it up. She yanked the sweater over her head and dropped it to the floor. “I have the scar.” Her hand gestured toward her right shoulder. “Happy now?”
His eyes widened. Then they dropped—they dropped to her right shoulder. To the curve where a faded, white line cut across her skin. The scar on her shoulder pointed toward her collar bone.
But his gaze didn’t stop on her collar bone. Instead, that dark gaze of his went down…down to the long scar that cut across her stomach. A slash that wasn’t quite as faded as the one on her shoulder because it was far more recent.
“What in the fuck…” Victor began.
“Hey!” A shout from behind him. Dario. “What’s happening?” The shuffle of footsteps. Then he was shoving his head—followed by his whole body—out of the doorway. “Holy shit, is she stripping?”
A growl broke from Victor even as he surged toward Melody. His arms wrapped around her, and he hauled her forward, shielding her with his body. Curling himself around her. “Get the fuck back inside!” Victor blasted.
“You love that word,” she murmured, even as a shiver skated over her. “I think fuck must be your favorite.”
He said it again, and she wondered if he’d done it just for her, but then he was yanking off his shirt. Shoving her arms into it. Buttoning it crookedly and then, what in the world?
Victor lifted her into his arms. Started carrying her back toward the staircase.
“What is happening?” Dario yelled after them. “You tossing her out?”
Fear coiled within her. “Don’t.” A breath. “Please.”
“You’re not going any fucking place. You’ll stay here. You’ll stay with me.”
Aw, he’d said the fucking magic word again.
Then, louder, Victor announced, “I’m taking Melody back to bed. She’s tired, and she’s confused.”
She was tired. She was not confused. Well, maybe a bit. Why do I feel so strange each time Victor touches me?
“Tell everyone to get to bed!” Another command from Victor as he mounted the stairs. Mounted them carrying her and the man wasn’t even slightly out of breath. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Shouldn’t you be kicking her ass out?” Dario’s steps followed them.
Victor stopped midway up the staircase. His gaze fell to collide with hers.
Melody held her breath.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Victor said, and the words were a vow.
Her arm lifted and curled around his neck.
It was a tentative movement, one mostly borne out of fear because she worried that he might drop her.
But at her touch, he stiffened. His hold became even stronger, even more determined, and then he was double-timing it up rest of the stairs with her.
He didn’t stop, not until they were back in her guest room.
He kicked the door shut behind them. Stood just beyond the threshold with her in his arms.
His shirt felt soft against her skin. It carried his scent.
Masculine. Woodsy. Her nostrils flared as she drank in that scent.
There was something familiar about it. Comforting?
Her head tilted a bit closer to him. She almost put her head on his shoulder, but stopped at the last second.
He wasn’t some sort of safe port for her.
What on earth was she thinking? He was dangerous. Everyone in that massive house was dangerous. She couldn’t trust any of the people there.
Melody cleared her throat. “Are you satisfied now?”
“This is not my fucking satisfied face.”
She peeked up at him. Nope, he did not look satisfied. Far from it.
“Though you do know that face.”
Uh, oh. Yep, this was what she’d feared.
After that kiss, after the way he’d looked at her.
Even the fiercely possessive touch of his hands as he covered her in his shirt.
..All of that info pointed to one undeniable conclusion.
Melody swallowed. “We’re lovers?” The question came out husky and breathless.
And, crap, she’d made another mistake. Her words had definitely sounded like a question. She tried again. “We’re lovers.” There. More definite. Maybe?
A muscle jerked along his jaw. He strode across the room. Headed straight for the bed. She expected him to drop her on top of it. Instead, he gently lowered her onto the soft bedding. Victor didn’t let go right away. His hands lingered.
She felt that linger in every inch of her body. Heat and electricity surged through her. A touch truly should not impact her so strongly. Yet, his did. Then again, it had really been one hell of a day.
A week.
A month.
A real nightmare of a year.
He finally let her go. Straightened, but didn’t back away from the bed. “How the fuck did you get that scar on your stomach?”
She gave a little eye roll as she sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed.
Melody didn’t rise. Instead, she perched on the edge of the mattress and peered up at him.
A variety of potential responses spun through her mind, but Melody finally settled on, “It takes a lot to satisfy you, doesn’t it?
I mean, one moment, you’re demanding I take off my shirt.
I do it, only for you to immediately cover me up in your shirt. ”
“I didn’t want that dumbass Dario staring at your chest!”
She’d been wearing a bra. Still was. A plain, white bra beneath his white dress shirt. “I don’t think my brother was going to be overwhelmed by seeing—”
“Stepbrother, sweetheart. He’s your freaking stepbrother, and he’s been obsessed with you for years. No sense waving a red flag at the bull, not unless you want me to beat the shit out of him.”
Tension slithered down her spine. Victor had just revealed two very important things to her.
First…sweetheart. He’d called her sweetheart. And his voice had deepened even more and hitched with possessiveness when he dropped the endearment. You didn’t call your enemy sweetheart in quite that tone. Did you?
And second…What. The. Hell? Dario was obsessed with her? Her stepbrother?
“But you didn’t know that.” Victor nodded, as if he’d just had a confirmation that he actually expected. “Just like you don’t know how you got that scar on your shoulder, am I right?”
She needed to bluff. Immediately. “I got it from a knife.”
One dark eyebrow quirked.
“The blade of a knife,” she added. “A long time ago. Accidents happen.”
“It was no fucking accident. You were mugged. You’d just started that food pantry on West Lake, and you were coming home too damn late at night.
You were mugged. The prick cut your purse strap and took the bag right off you.
You were bleeding and scared, and you ran into a gas station, and you called me to come and get you. ”
She’d called him? “Why would I call you?”
He blinked. Those dark eyes—obsidian. She knew the color because she’d been in a souvenir shop not too long ago, and she’d seen a chunk of obsidian for sale.
She’d reached out and touched the black rock.
It had felt smooth and strong beneath her fingertips.
She’d stared and stared at it, even as the sales clerk had come by and started telling her that obsidian was a volcanic rock.
It was supposed to offer protection. Truth.
Some believed it even shielded its carrier against negative energy.
She’d bought the small rock. Been drawn to it by a pull of familiarity that had seemed overwhelming.
She often kept it tucked in a pocket. When she was nervous or stressed, she’d reach for it.