Nova

Chapter 49 #2

On my screen was a full-body mirror picture. She was in a green dress, brown hair pulled into a tight bun, neck and wrist gleaming with a necklace, bracelet, and watch.

Me

You always look beautiful, Mother.

But this…you’re going to sweep the ground from

under people’s feet in that dress and heels.

I grinned as I sent it, zooming in on her smile like it could bridge the distance between us. Gods, I’d missed her so much.

When I looked up, Thrax was staring, his head tilted to one side, lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile, eyes sweeping over me, making my heart skitter.

“What?” I muttered, biting back my smile. I knew what. I could see the desire flickering in his eyes, that hunger that always hovered there when he looked at me like this.

I glanced at his bedside table, my gaze falling on the sketch—the complete naked drawing of me under the shower.

Last night, he’d stood next to the sink in only shorts, paper and pencil in hand. His eyes had been fixed on me as I bathed under the shower, his hand moving steadily over the sketch of me, completing it.

And of course, I’d put on a little show before he could even finish replicating the curve of my body on the paper.

I’d slid my palms all over my skin sensually, keeping my gaze on his.

Then, with a sinful sort of defiance, I dragged my hand down to my middle, parting my legs and rubbing my clit before pushing my fingers into myself under the spray, while he drew, his knuckles whitening around the pencil.

Thrax had been painfully patient, denying his straining cock any relief as he worked in silence, dragging lines across the page until the last stroke of me was finished. The whole time, his eyes had been flicking between the paper and my body like he was trying to decide which one he wanted more.

But the second the sketch was complete and he set it aside, he went feral. He was on me instantly, pressing me against the shower wall as he stripped his shorts off. And before I could catch my breath, he was inside me.

No easing, no warning, just a brutal thrust that had me crying out, my palms slapping the tiles, desperate for something to hold.

He pounded into me, the slap of wet skin echoing off the walls as water rushed over us.

His hand tangled in my soaked hair, yanking my head back so his mouth could mark my throat.

With each punishing thrust, he claimed and possessed me with his words, his body unrelenting as mine broke apart around him, moans and pleas spilling shamelessly between my screams of his name, like I wasn’t the one who pushed him into it.

And when it was over—when I was shaking, wrecked, and half sobbing against the wall—his arms came around me, easing me gently.

His lips pressed soft kisses where his teeth had grazed, his hands smoothing over every place he’d held too roughly.

He worshipped what he’d nearly destroyed, cradling me under the spray with care.

And that was one of my favourite things.

I moved closer to the sketch now, picking it up and stretching it out to him. “You can admire this while I hurry back.”

Instead of taking it, he caught my wrist and tugged, pulling me against him. My body landed across his lap, his arm coming around and securing me there. He leaned down, kissing my lips first, then my forehead, his breath hot against my skin.

A grin spread across my face. “Admit it, you’re very clingy.”

He kissed my face—cheeks, forehead, lips, nose, chin—as though he couldn’t get enough. “I’m a lot of things when it comes to you.” He placed one last, long kiss on my lips. “Come back quick, yeah?”

I kissed him back, whispering against his mouth. “Before you can blink.”

He let me go hesitantly, his fingers slipping over my body and arm as I stepped away. I chuckled softly at the longing in his eyes, heading to the door before he could pull me back again and never let me go.

Smiling, I walked out of the door, jogging down the stairs and out of the front door.

Cold air kissed my skin as I stepped outside.

The evening sky was heavy and cloudy, a shade darker than it had been an hour ago, and I knew I had to hurry up before the rain started.

Although Thrax would find me the second the first drop hit the ground—monsters or not—I still didn’t want to be caught in it.

I quickened my pace, taking the shortcut I always used when I was in a hurry. The cold air bit into me, the wind blowing soft but insistent as I walked faster.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck rose, a slow crawl prickling over my skin, but when I glanced back, all I saw were three kids running down the street and a few adults chatting.

I didn’t understand the strange feeling that kept creeping down my spine. Each time I glanced back, there was nothing, no one suspicious. Rolling my shoulders and shaking it off, I added a little more speed to my strides.

My phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down to see my mother’s message.

Mother

You flatter me a lot!

Smiling, I typed quickly.

Me

Hello? Have you looked in the mirror?

You’re absolutely stunning.

Mother

Thank you. I hope my date to the

wedding thinks so.

My fingers paused. Date?

Me

A date? Do I know this gentleman?

It took her a while to respond, and when she did, she sent a photo. It was a selfie of her and the gentleman in question, no doubt taken today because of her dress. He’d worn a suit, the colour of his tie matching her dress.

Franklin.

I blinked at the photo of them smiling, Franklin’s head almost bald now. The last time I’d seen him was before my mother and I moved from my childhood home. He’d been frequenting our house then, picking me up from school a few times whenever my mother got busy with work.

He was always happy to play that father role in my life. And it wasn’t until I grew up that I realised he’d done everything out of love for my mother.

But she’d been too occupied with raising me to pay him attention or return his love properly.

I never thought, after all these years, they’d still keep in touch.

I grinned at them, at how closely Franklin stood behind her and the bright smile on her face. They looked so beautiful.

Me

You have a lot to tell me! When

did you two start talking again?

Mother

Who said we stopped talking?

I choked out a laugh, my eyes wide as I stared at my screen, shaking my head in disbelief, warmth spreading in my chest. They both looked so happy.

Me

Have fun at the wedding. And you’ll

tell me every single detail when you’re free.

Mother

Alright, alright. I gotta go now.

Love you.

Me

Love you.

I pocketed my phone, glancing over my shoulder again, swallowing as a faint unease lingered in my chest. Shrugging it off, I neared the library.

When I got there, I pushed the front door open, walking inside and stopping in front of Amelia, who stood in her usual spot behind the desk.

She plastered a wide smile on seeing me, tucking her straight black hair behind her ear. “Good evening. How may I be of help?”

“Drop the act,” I told her flatly.

Her shoulders dropped as she rolled her eyes. “I’m trying my best here. I’d really appreciate it if you made yourself more tolerate-able.”

“That is not even a word.”

She sighed, pushing her hair back with her fingers. “You’re here for the book?”

I nodded, hearing deep thunder rumble low outside. “Do you have it here?”

“No,” she responded.

I frowned, my hands clenching on the desk. “You fucking told me to come get it today.”

“I said it’s here,” she corrected, tone maddeningly casual. “Just not here. It’s in the archives. At the back.”

I blinked at her, staring, waiting for her to drag herself to the archive room and bring the book. But Amelia didn’t move. She just stared back at me with that fixed, unnerving look, like she was stalling for a reason she wouldn’t say out loud.

When I looked over my shoulder, I caught sight of Merton striding towards us, his expression blank. I faced her again.

She smiled—too sweetly—stepping out from behind her desk as she dusted her skirt. “The book is very high and I can’t reach it without my brother’s help.”

Merton stopped beside me, not sparing me a glance as Amelia came to stand on my other side. “Can you watch the desk for a bit? We’ll be back soon,” she said.

I nodded and slipped behind the desk.

My fingers drummed lightly on the counter as I watched them retreat into the rows of shelves, their heads dipping together in quiet conversation until they disappeared near the door at the back, one I’d seen before but had never been beyond.

The library was busier than usual. Even students in uniforms sat around with books, doing things I could only assume were their homework or project.

Others browsed the shelves with their arms full of books. The air buzzed faintly with the low hum of whispering voices, rustling pages, and the occasional squeak of a chair leg against the tiled floor.

After two minutes of waiting for them, the door opened, and three elderly men walked in, each carrying a stack of bound books tied neatly with twine.

They looked exactly like the kind of men who volunteered in libraries—cardigans buttoned to their chins, silver hair brushed back, library badges clipped to their breast pockets.

One even had those thin reading glasses hanging on a chain around his neck.

They nodded politely to me before heading further inside, walking like they already knew their way around.

I sat back, eyes flicking to the shelves again. Still no sign of Amelia or Merton.

Sighing, I leaned forward, propping my chin on my palm, idly scanning the neat stacks of papers, pens, and sticky notes Amelia kept lined up like soldiers.

To pass the time, I considered poking around her desk, but she was the kind of psycho who probably had traps set if anyone dared to touch her things.

The library continued to hum with the usual rhythm for a while. Then, like a dropped stitch, something snagged in the silence.

A scent.

Faint. Sweet. Cloying.

Like cheap incense or one of those knockoff scented candles people burned until the whole room felt suffocating. My brows drew together. Was that even allowed in here?

Even if they were, Amelia wasn’t here to light anything. My gaze darted from table to table, hunting for the culprit who had smuggled it in.

But there was nothing.

It was then a sharp cough snapped the steady hum of the library from somewhere in the back.

I looked towards the sound, half-expecting it to fade, but another followed, then another, disrupting the quiet space.

I straightened behind the desk as students abandoned their tables, frowning, coughing into sleeves as they pushed past one another.

I tilted my head up. At first, it was just a ghostly curl of smoke, pale against the lights. Then it thickened, tendrils bleeding into one another, unfurling above the shelves and seeping lower, spreading like fog over the room.

The fire alarm wailed, shrill and jarring, and people stampeded for the main doors, coughing, hacking, waving their hands against the air.

I pressed my sleeve to my nose, but the smoke still slid through the fabric, burning the back of my throat. My head buzzed, vision pricking at the edges.

“Amelia?” I called, forcing the word out through a cough. My voice was swallowed by the alarm.

No answer.

I pushed away from the desk, weaving between fleeing people. My lungs heaved as the smoke clung heavier with each step, wrapping tighter around me. My eyes watered so fiercely I had to blink through the blur.

The further I went, the worse it became. The back shelves were swallowed in thick fog, and as I neared the narrow door at the far end, I realised it was smudged in grey, barely visible now.

“Amelia!” I called again, coughing. “Are you in there?”

That was when a hand touched my shoulder.

Gentle and steady.

I turned, chest heaving, to find one of the old volunteers standing behind me, trying to lead me out.

I shook my head, pointing at the door covered in thick smoke. “Wait—Amelia? Did she—”

“There’s an emergency door at the back,” he said softly, voice too even for the chaos around us. “She’s already gone through it. I’ll take you.”

Relief washed through me for half a second. Then doubt crawled in.

Why wasn’t he coughing? Why weren’t his eyes watering like everyone else’s?

Swallowing and nearly choking, I nodded as the smoke clawed down my throat, my legs wobbled, and all I wanted was air. I let him guide me, steps faltering towards the exit as I coughed.

Everyone had evacuated the library, and we were the last people going out. But then, I hadn’t seen the other two volunteers heading to the door.

My phone buzzed where I clutched it tight in my palm, and with shaking hands, I flipped it over.

Thrax

Leave the library and run

back home. Right now.

What?

The words blurred as my eyes stung, but they made me stop, my chest tightening.

That was when a scream sliced through the air behind us, shooting through my chest like lightning.

“Sanora!”

Amelia.

“Run!”

My stomach plummeted.

She was still inside. She hadn’t gone anywhere.

Slowly, I looked up at the man holding me. His face was calm, but too calm. His fingers pressed into me harder than before, not guiding anymore, but holding. Like I was his hostage.

The haze cleared, making me realise his eyes weren’t exactly the cloudy eyes of an old volunteer. They were sharp, dark, and assessing.

My blood went cold.

“You—”

His face hardened, the kindly mask breaking.

A cloth came over my mouth before I could finish. The chemical burn of it shot down my throat, acrid and bitter.

I thrashed, panic detonating in my chest. The phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor as my nails tore at his sleeve uselessly, my body jerking against his grip as I fought him.

But as time passed, I inhaled more, my lungs coated in poison, head spinning, vision warping.

Through the ringing alarm, through the blur of smoke, the world tilted sideways. Another figure appeared, walking through the door, strong arms lifting me out of the library and into what I assumed was a car.

And just before the sleep dragged me under, in the car, I saw him.

Winifred.

The last thing I felt before the dark closed in wasn’t the old men around me or their arms on me. It was the horror blooming in my chest.

If he was here, none of this was random.

They hadn’t come for the library.

They’d come for me.