Chapter 13
C H A P T E R
T H I R T E E N
no other paths remained
Cal was unsurprised to find her door closed and locked to him. After all, he had suggested locking it himself and Nadine was nothing if not—he closed his eyes briefly—acquiescent.
A night of restlessness turned into dissatisfaction with the dawn.
He didn’t remember sleeping but must have sunken into a passable imitation of slumber because, for a blissful few blinks into waking, he could not remember the cause of his malaise.
Then it slammed into him like the bolt of a crossbow—Nadine arching beneath him—the stumble of her awkward fingers at his nape—the recriminations—the tears—her panicked flight that still had him wanting to give chase—
She knew him at last for the monster he was, fleeing the moment his teeth were bared.
Now it would be her throat under the blade.
On his way to the kitchen, he ran into Holly, who moved immediately to sidestep him. In her pale, hollow face, her eyes looked overly large and protuberant. It made the whiteness of the sclera particularly noticeable when she averted her gaze.
“See to Nadine,” he ordered, before she could scamper off. “Inform me if she—” Cal paused, weighing his words carefully “—requires anything.”
“Yes, sir.” She bobbed her head and ducked back towards the stairs while he watched with ill-concealed impatience, the disrespect cutting deeper than it usually did.
He could force her to admit him. He knew where his father kept the master key and there was no door in this house that didn’t fit its lock. But given her response to him last night, he could not take the risk that he might spur her to flight and rouse the hunting instincts of his family.
The door to the cellar seemed to loom larger, like a single spot of blight.
That was when he noticed the note affixed to the refrigerator. He recognized his sister’s handwriting with its many loops and flourishes: Goin’ hunting.
Odessa didn’t like to hunt alone so this was practically an invitation and likely just as performative after her earlier warning.
Cal, deciding to ignore the note, turned towards the coffee machine and shoveled in more of the dark roast that he favored, but the maid returned before the cup could brew.
“She says she’s unwell.”
“How so?” Cal asked.
“She didn’t say, sir.”
“I’ll see to it.” He pushed his cup aside. “Thank you.”
The maid backed from the room as he headed grimly for the stairs, where portraits of his ancestors ascended with the wainscotting. This time, he didn’t bother knocking. The time for civility had died out with last night’s fires and he had had a long and restless evening.
“Holly says you aren’t feeling well. Open the door so I can have a look at you.”
“Leave me alone.” It sounded like she was standing near the door. So close. Like a taunt. “I don’t want to see you.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said levelly with a glance at Ben’s door.
“You already did.” She paused a beat. “Remember?”
I remember your sister coming to me in the middle of the night, he wanted to tell her. I remember Ben swearing to me that he was going to fuck you before you die.
I remember making you come so hard that you had to bite your lip to silence your cries.
Arguing with his sparrow through a locked door was not how he had envisioned the morning after their consummation. His jaw clenched as he considered the error of his own hubris and the scorn of his father that he still felt like a weight.
Tame your sparrow. Take her in hand.
“Don’t make me get the master key, Nadine.”
There was a silence. Cal had never considered the idea that a silence could feel defiant.
This one did.
“Nadine.” It came out as a growl. “You—”
She yanked the door open, glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes that suggested she’d been crying.
Her wet hair—she had washed, that was a positive sign—had dampened the front of her T-shirt, rendering it near-transparent where it plastered against her skin.
She noticed him looking and folded her arms.
“What?” she said hostilely.
“You’re pale.” She didn’t seem to have slept, either. Dark half moons hugged the underside of her eyes, which glittered too brightly, and there was a blotchiness to her cheeks that was nearly feverish in appearance.
“I heard there was a landslide.”
“Yes, a bad one.” Leaning over, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Nadine went ramrod stiff, clammy to the touch. “You’re a little tense. Are you sore?”
She yanked away from him with a harsh noise. “Last night you said it was too late to leave. What did you mean by that? Did you know the roads were going to be blocked?”
“What are you accusing me of, Nadine? Acts of god?”
“Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god,” she snapped.
A laugh escaped him, low and relieved. He hadn’t broken her spirits then. Not completely. “Well. I was going to go hunting with Ben and Odessa, but perhaps I should stay here and tend to you, since you seem to be so agitated. There’s plenty I could do to make you feel better.”
He dragged the back of his hand along her side, watching her hold herself tighter as she set her teeth against pleasures too recent to be entirely forgotten.
“Especially,” he added, drawing out the word, “if you’re not sore.”
“Deena’s bringing me medicine.”
“Deena can’t do for you what I can.” His slow once-over was deliberate. “We could start by getting you out of those wet clothes.”
Nadine backed from him. “I thought you didn’t sleep with sparrows.”
Again, his eyes flicked down the hall. To his brother’s closed door. “Stop saying that,” he warned. “You don’t want the wrong person to hear you.”
“Why?” she demanded heatedly. “What does it mean?”
Cal braced himself against the door. Part of him was tempted to tell her—now that he had claimed her properly, she would be finding out soon enough. But his brother had also made the mistake of enlightening his sparrow prematurely and now she was dead.
“You’re in too deep, Nadine. The best thing you can do for yourself right now is to pretend. Pretend you’ve given up on finding Noelle, that you’ve turned to me in your grief. That you can’t get enough of me. From what I’ve seen so far, it wouldn’t have to be much of an act.”
The wounded look on her face hurt more than the slap she’d given him the other night. “This is sick. What you’re doing, it’s—mind games—”
“It’s more than that. You want to live, don’t you?” His fingers bit into the old wood. “There’s enough dead things in this house already, little sparrow. I’d rather not see you become one of them.”
“Screw you.”
She was beautiful in her defiance. She’d been beautiful last night, too.
“I’ll leave you to cool off then,” he said. “Don’t take any more cold baths. Ring Thomas, if you need to. He can mix boiling water in with the cold so you won’t catch your death.”
“You don’t care about me, Caledon.” She wielded his full name like a weapon, with a cutting edge well-honed by history. “I don’t know what it is you really want from me but d-don’t pretend like you give a shit.”
“You really don’t know what I want from you?”
That stopped her short. She hadn’t expected him to admit to it, he could tell. Her fingers whitened where they dug into her folded arms. A muscle jumped in her bruised throat. She seemed to be considering slamming the door in his face.
“Why did you do it?” she asked. “I thought you were going to kill me.”
Cal ran his hand free through his hair, fingers catching on the scabby wounds she’d left at his nape in the mine. “My father was going to give you to Ben.”
Whatever answer she’d been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been this. He saw alarm and—to his spiteful pleasure—distaste. “What?”
“I warned you about him.” The words came out in a rush. “I said he played for keeps. We’ll talk later. Leave the tapestry door unlocked and I’ll come see you.”
She looked upset. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d admitting to testing the door, and therefore her trust, or if it was because of the delayal of the truth she so dearly wanted.
He would tell her the truth—tonight. When he had her safely ensconced in his embrace, away from town and the prying eyes of his family, he would tell her.
When no other paths remained, she would know the price of his devotion.
“It’s unwise to involve your friend,” he told her. “Your aunt, too. Your sister should have never involved you, either, though it’s too late for you now.”
Nadine bristled. “Don’t you dare hurt them.” She hissed, like a little cat, and his cock stirred a little at the memory of her nails in his flesh. “Don’t you dare. If you touch them, I’ll—”
“What?” Desire made his voice heavy. “What will you do to me, my little sparrow? Beat your hands against my chest? Scratch me up? Shout at me in that sweet, trembling voice? If that’s the case, you tempt me to villainy, simply by making me crave the punishment.”
She sagged, dropping her arms to her sides. All the light had gone out of her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Are you going to hurt me?”
“No.” He wanted to pull her into his arms, for the reassurance of feeling her heart beating against his: every pulse a reminder that she was still alive in stark defiance of his father and brother’s wishes. “I won’t.”
“But what—”
“Goodbye, Nadine. I’ll deal with you later.”
He could feel her eyes on him as he left, baleful and terrified. Then, the soft click of the door.
Deeming the caffeine a forgone conclusion, Cal headed to his room to dress. Pulling on his jeans and a waffle-knit henley, he armed himself for both the woods and his siblings’ interference, pushing thoughts of his sparrow from his mind.