Chapter 13 Penelope
PENELOPE
The morning sun slanted weakly through the tall windows of the study. Penelope sat across from Henry at the polished oak table, her hands folded neatly in her lap as he read through some papers. She had expected the day to be calm, orderly, and filled with instruction—her mind was anything but.
Elias had kissed her.
And she had enjoyed it? No—yearned for it. For him. For more. But just as soon as he had kissed her, he had left.
Her fingers lifted to her lips, tracing where he had touched her. That heat returned in full force, coursing through her like wildfire, blood rushing to her cheeks. The sin of it all made her pulse quicken. What would her father say? What would Henry say?
And what if…
What if Elias had not left? Would he have taken her… fucked her? Or… forced her with her leave? Taken her under the guise of false fear? Testing the boundaries of her consent?
Her breath hitched at the thought of the promise he had first made her.
If you prefer your surrender dressed up in the lie of being taken, I can give you that, too.
What would that feel like? To be hunted and taken by a vampire? Is that something she wanted?
Before her mind could wander further into her own dark imaginings, Henry cleared his throat. She jumped, her thoughts scattering like startled birds, and forced herself to meet his gaze once more, chastened and flushed.
Henry’s sharp gaze lingered on her a moment too long. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming against the surface of the table. “Penny,” he began, his voice low and measured, “you seem… distracted this morning. Is something the matter?”
She pressed her lips together, trying to summon a calm she did not feel. “N-no, Henry,” she stammered, though her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs with every stolen memory of Elias.
Henry’s brow furrowed, unconvinced. “You do not answer honestly. There is a weight upon you. You have grown quiet, hesitant… distant. I have always thought well of you, Penny, but women must not spend their days lost in thought, pondering things that cannot serve them. Do you understand?”
She shifted in her seat, a small sigh escaping her lips, though she masked it as best she could. “I… I am simply preoccupied with my fathers current policies. It is nothing more.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
“You must understand,” he said, “that a young lady’s mind should not dwell too freely on…
unsuitable thoughts. It is unbecoming, and a waste of your faculties.
You enjoy your piano, and the garden. You should focus on that. ”
Her cheeks burned hotter. She nodded quickly, forcing herself to sit straighter, yet every fiber of her being still ached for Elias’ touch. The memory of his lips, his hands, the hunger barely restrained—it pulsed beneath her skin, impossible to ignore.
Henry’s voice softened, almost kind, though no less firm.
“Concentration is required, Penny. Let your thoughts serve your purpose, serve me, not wander where they ought not. As your future husband, allow the thinking to be my duty, not yours. Else how will you have a clear mind to raise our children one day?”
She swallowed hard, knowing full well that her thoughts had already betrayed her—and that nothing Henry could say would reach the part of her mind still trembling from Elias’ kiss.
She clenched her hands, the nails pressing into her palms, steadying herself.
“I will take your warning to heart, Henry.”
Henry nodded, seemingly satisfied for the moment, but the faint line of his mouth betrayed that he would not forget, would not let this pass unchecked.
As he turned back to his papers, Penelope’s thoughts slipped, unbidden, to the dark warmth of Elias’ eyes and the memory of his lips.
She pressed her palms together in her lap, fighting the rush of desire, the ache of longing, and the silent acknowledgment that nothing about her world—or her heart—would remain untouched after that kiss.
After Henry had bid her goodnight, Penelope allowed herself to find comfort in her music. She could lose herself in her piano, the way the music bent to her touch as if it mourned with her.
But as she played, she could not ignore the faint groan from her roof.
Penelope gave a soft laugh as she pressed on the final notes. “Do you ever sleep?” she asked.
A shadow shifted at the edge of the moonlight streaming through her window, and then he was there—Elias, perched on her sill like a cat.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he murmured, voice low.
Her fingers lingered on the keys, still vibrating with the last echo of her music. “You ought to sleep. Or at the very least, let the cats sleep. I do think they might wish for some respite from your music.”
“Perhaps,” he said, stepping lightly onto the floor. “Or perhaps I knew you needed someone who does not sleep… to keep you company.” His gaze swept over her, soft but penetrating. He stalked towards her causing her breath to catch in her throat. “Or mayhap… you wish to escape.”
“Escape?”
“For just one night,” he said, kneeling near her bench, letting the warmth of his presence brush against her before catching her chin in his hand and claiming her lips in a whisper of a kiss.
“To leave the world outside this room. To leave the rules, the expectations, the weight of their eyes. To leave everything but this…” he kissed her again, this time deeper, more insistent, and her legs trembled as desire pooled low in her belly.
“If I ask, will you steal me away,” she breathed against his lips.
“Mhm,” he hummed, trailing kisses up her jaw until his fangs grazed her ear sending a shiver down her back that had her mouth open in a breathless whimper. “Only tonight, Lamb. I will only steal what you are willing to give.”
Before she could answer, Elias swept her up into his arms, her body fitting against his as if it had always belonged there.
Her breath hitched, heart hammering against her ribs as he moved towards the open window.
The moonlight caught the glint of his eyes, red and gleaming, and she felt a thrill of both fear and longing.
Without a word, he leapt out the window, the cool night air rushing past them as they tumbled into darkness.
The town below became a blur of shadow and silver, and for a heartbeat, Penelope felt weightless—suspended between terror and the exquisite freedom of being taken from the world she knew.
And for that still moment with him, she did not fret over the possibility of being discovered. Even as she held him tight as they raced towards the forest, the only thing she could summon was excitement.
She was not just a future wife and mother, she was his. And he was hers. Even if they could not have that forever, they had it in that moment.
It took what felt like mere moments before they arrived at a small, quaint log cottage.
Elias set her down gently in the field, extending his hand to her.
Glancing up at him, she saw some sort of knowing gaze in his eyes, as he was holding back a smile.
“What are you up to?”
Elias lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on her fingers. “I suppose you will have to trust me, Lamb.”
Penelope’s brows furrowed as they walked towards the cottage.
In front, there was a small garden growing various fruits and vegetables. A black horse drank from a trough.
“Elias, what are we doing here?”
The answer never came. The door burst open, and Penelope’s heart jumped to her throat. She froze, until her eyes found the figure rushing toward her.
“Eleanor!” Penelope exclaimed, already feeling the prick of tears in her eyes as she rushed forward, slamming into her dear friend as they embraced.
“Penny!” Eleanor said, wrapping her arms tightly around Penelope.
“I have missed you so much!” Pulling away from her, Eleanor grabbed Penelope’s shoulders.
“We have so much to catch up on. But first,” her voice trailed off as a shadow shifted in the distance.
“I want you to meet my husband.” Her voice was almost cautious as she backed away.
Without any time to answer, Penelope’s stomach dropped as the Headless Horseman stepped from the threshold, his jack-o’-lantern head blazing with wild, impossible fire. He loomed tall and terrible, the night bending around him.
Penelope staggered back, colliding hard into Elias’s chest.
“It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair, low and steady, though his arm tightened protectively around her. “He is my friend. He’s the one who helped me escape my maker’s hold.”
“Penny,” Eleanor broke in softly, her hand resting with startling tenderness on the Horseman’s broad back. “This is Osiris.”
Penelope’s breath faltered. Her lips parted, closed, parted again, in a soundless loop of motions.
The Horseman—Osiris—moved forward, his great form illuminated by the blaze of his jack-o’-lantern head, fire licking within its hollow.
And yet… when he extended his hand toward her, it was with a courtliness she had not expected.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he offered. His voice was gentle—far gentler than she ever would have imagined. “My Symphony oft speaks of you, thank you for being such a kind friend to her.”
For a moment she could only stare, trepidation clawing up her throat.
But Eleanor’s smile—soft, transformed—was there, steadying her.
Penelope swallowed hard, forcing her hand forward until her fingers met his.
“P-pardon my ill manners,” she stammered, shaking his hand.
“I-I had no idea, but I must say, Eleanor looks much happier than when I knew her. I suppose I have you to thank for this?”
Osiris inclined his head, the firelight within him burning steady. “I love her more than life itself,” he said, low and unwavering. “I breathe for her. Her joy is my own.”
This—this was the Headless Horseman. The monster from her father’s warnings, the creature who’d haunted her childhood tales, the reason she’d been locked away like some fragile trinket.
And yet standing here, she didn’t see a nightmare, or a killer, or anything remotely resembling the beast she’d been told to fear.
She saw a man. A man in love. A man who would set himself aflame before letting her friend go cold. A man who had chosen devotion over destruction, tenderness over tyranny.
And the ground shifted beneath her. Everything she’d been taught—every sermon, every caution, every cruel justification—splintered. How many others had been condemned, hated, hunted… simply because her people refused to see them as anything but monsters?
Her throat tightened, words clawing their way free. “Everything we know about you is… wrong,” she whispered. Not just about him. About all of them. About everything.
“Actually,” Eleanor interjected, “that is another reason why I asked Elias to sneak you away. I know of Henry’s arrival and I thought you should meet more of us. That, perhaps, you could help us in our efforts.”
“Help? How am I supposed to help? My father would never hear of—” she gestured between Eleanor and Osiris “—any of this. Much less the notion that any of them might be equal to even one of us.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, shame and fury tangling together in her throat. Choking on the guilt of it all. On everything her father had built, everything she had supported.
Eleanor only looked at her—steady and unflinching, her eyes softer than Penelope remembered, but carrying something stronger too. Something unshakable. Then, with a small, aching smile, she reached out and wrapped Penelope’s hand in her own.
“Well,” Eleanor murmured, her thumb brushing over Penelope’s knuckles, “why don’t we speak, just us?” She gave a gentle tug, drawing her away from the cottage, away from the heat of flames and Elias’ watchful gaze.
Across the field, a stone fire pit waited, its edges rough and hand-hewn, the ground around it worn by use.
“I have missed you,” Eleanor said simply, her voice breaking with both joy and sorrow as she led Penelope toward it. “Tell me everything I have missed.”
Penelope’s throat tightened. She blinked hard against the blur of tears, forcing a smile through the ache in her chest. “I would like that,” she whispered.