CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALLISON
The grandfather clock in the corner of the library chimes ominously. Once. Twice. Three times. A vestige of the past, and an integral part of Blackchapel Manor’s gothic atmosphere.
Despite the modern conveniences, an underlying hum of a bygone era emanates from the old brick and dark woods that characterize the manor.
If I wasn’t so fixated on my current circumstances, I’d explore its many rooms and halls, eager to stumble upon secret passages and hidden alcoves.
One. Two. Three.
3:00 P.M.
Hours since I scurried from Mathias’s bed to my own, then wandered around until I found this shelf-lined room. Camped out on a window seat, I’ve been staring at dormant garden hedges as if they hold the answers to my problems.
A stranger appeared on my doorstep and whisked me away to his den of danger. He fed me. Held me. And I reveled in his skilled touch this morning. Like we were more than a woman recovering from a near mental breakdown and a man who inexplicably chose to take her under his villainous wing.
“You don’t know that he’s a villain,” I mumble to myself in the ensuing quiet, the sonorous signals of the time resting until the next hour.
Except he and his brothers are targets of an entire criminal organization.
One Mathias is determined to burn to the ground after being trained to kill.
“There you are. Someone is here to see you.” Mathias strides into the library and offers his hand like a gentleman of old. From the tailored suit to his well-coiffed hair—strands of silver beginning to shine at the temples—a classic sort of charm limns his muscular form, belying the contemporary edge of danger that clings to him.
Reluctantly, I place my hand in his and follow him through a maze of corridors.
“I don’t know anyone in Boston.” Our footsteps are muffled by yards of carpet runners, yet I wonder if he heard me when there’s no response.
We stop in front of my bedroom, and Mathias knocks once before opening the door. An older woman stands alert and waiting by the heavy oak dresser. A large leather bag hangs from her gathered hands.
“Hello, you must be Allison. I’m Dr. Bellamy.”
Mathias gently pushes me forward when I stumble to a halt. “Dr. Bellamy is here for a health workup. She’ll also be administering your birth control.”
Birth control!
A million questions burst to life. How does he know I’m not already on something? Is this what he really wants from me? Sex? The idea seems laughable considering he’s attractive and wealthy enough to not have to import a woman from out of state to warm his bed.
And why a complete health workup?
Because he found you with a razor to your wrist, heard about your issues, and questioned the wisdom of his decision to keep you.
“I’ll be right across the hall if you need anything,” he says, then shoots a withering glare at the doctor. “You came highly recommended, Dr. Bellamy. It’d be a shame to cut such an illustrious career short if you harm Miss Fields.”
That growled warning should not be hot.
He just threatened the poor woman—a health professional who took an oath to literally do no harm. He’s psycho, even while draped in cool lethality.
The door clicks shut, and Dr. Bellamy and I share a wary look of commiseration.
“Shall we begin?” She forces a timorous smile and unzips her bag, grabbing a stethoscope before motioning for me to sit on the end of the bed.
I obey her soft requests.
I don’t make small talk.
And when it comes time for the birth control discussion, I opt for the shot. There’s no way I’m adding another freaking pill to my regimen.
“You’re all set.” She snaps a pocket on her bag closed—my vials of blood safely stored within for lab testing. “I’ll be back in twelve weeks for your next shot, but here’s my card if you need to reach me beforehand.”
A white rectangle with a local hospital address is placed in my hand, and I thank her. She’s gone above and beyond. Big city doctors don’t make house calls these days, and I know it’s because Mathias intimidated her. Probably threatened to ruin her career again… or worse.
Once she’s gone, Mathias reenters the room.
“How’d it go?” he asks, sitting so close beside me on the bed that his firm thigh warms my much softer one.
“Fine. She’s nice. No need to ruin her life.”
“Good to hear. My schedule’s already pretty booked.”
For a moment, I freeze, then an unexpected giggle surges from my throat. “Did you just make a joke?”
His hand lightly cups my neck over the vibrating sounds, and they immediately evaporate. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs. “I like your laugh, and that’s the first time you’ve smiled since yesterday.”
“Can you blame me?” My voice is low to match his. Like we’re whispering secrets. Like I’m not vulnerable beneath his callused fingers. “My life isn’t my own anymore.”
“That was true long before you met me, ma cherie .”
My shoulders slump at the matter-of-fact statement, and I unconsciously lean forward to feel the pressure of his large palm with every swallow.
My lashes flutter shut as a strange calm streams over doubts and fears like the ocean’s tide coasting along dips of ever shifting sand.
“You’re safe now. Free to smile and laugh as often as you want. If anyone tries to steal that away from you again, I’ll break their fucking neck.”
His hand reflexively tightens, but I’m not scared. Mathias won’t hurt me. For better or worse, I trust him.
I'm safe.
I'm not alone.