Chapter 2 #2
“As I said, Master Troy is away on business. No one else is on the island.”
She pauses and studies me. “You’ll do well to remember, Miss Lovett, that this is an old house.
At night, things may seem one way, but they are not.
The pipes, for instance, can sometimes make the most terrifying noises.
I promise you there’s probably a reasonable explanation.
There definitely aren’t ghosts, despite the local stories, but try not to go wandering in the dark to check. ”
I stare at her, unsure of what to say to that. “I’ll stay in my room.”
With a sigh of what sounds like relief, she closes the door. Eventually, the sound of her footsteps fades away. I hurry over to the door, lock it, and then lean against it. My breath is tight. My heart beats a frantic rhythm.
Honestly, it’s not ghosts I’m afraid of.
What was it outside, watching me?
I glance at the window, but thankfully, the shutters are closed. I clutch the key in my fist, staring at it until my pulse slows. Tension seeps from my shoulders.
Slowly, I make my way over to the bed and then lie down on top of the comforter, too drained to care if I make the sheets damp. I do nothing but stare at the ornate coving on the ceiling for a long time, occasionally glancing around the room to double-check that I am, indeed, all alone.
When I can muster the energy, I take the silky pajamas she gave me, which oddly still have a price tag on them, into the bathroom and treat myself to a long, hot, much overdue shower.
It’s only later, when I’m fresh and clean, albeit still damp, that I explore every inch of the room, running my hands over the rich, pristine fabrics and peeking into the empty drawers.
Magnolia-painted walls, speckled with tiny blue flowers.
Crisp sheets draped in royal blue chenille throws and pillows.
Dark wood floors polished to perfection.
A carved dressing table glows softly under lamplight.
Plush sheepskin rugs hug the floor. And a vase of fresh carnations blooms on the sideboard, filling the air with the scent of a garden after rain.
It’s also too neat. Too feminine. Too untouched.
This isn’t a man’s room.
There are no clothes in the walk-in closet. Only a set of unopened men’s toiletries sits beside the basin in the bathroom. And on the wall peg, a royal blue cotton dressing gown hangs, the tags still attached.
This suite feels like a guest room—sterile, untouched, a perfect illusion. It also looks like a memory or feels familiar, as if I’m stepping back in time.
If Troy Severin hardly ever stays here, that suits me just fine. For tonight, even if I can’t sleep, at least I can pretend, with no personal traces of him. Only the shadows in the corners, watching.
I would say lovely silence, too.
Except….
Outside, the wind continues to howl through the trees, making branches scrape against the estate wall, so that my mind conjures up bony fingers tapping to be let in.
I hate my brain sometimes.
Keeping the lamp on, I pad over to the vast bed in the dim light, and then crawl under the covers and try to sleep. But the trees keep rapping on the window, and every time I close my eyes, the memory of that dark, bloody figure watching me is burned into the back of my eyelids.
Something isn’t right.
It’s the feeling that wakes me first. The slow creep of awareness that I’m not alone, like the weight of someone’s gaze is pressed against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. My first thought is that my sister’s ghost is standing over me, breathing like she can’t drag air into her lungs, tracing my skin with her cold, dead fingers.
Until my eyes snap open.
And I see a shadow of a figure towering over me, a silhouette in the eerie darkness.
There’s someone in my room.
I barely have time to comprehend it. The scream dies in my throat as he grabs me, his callused hand closing around my windpipe.
“Who are you?” His voice is low and harsh. When I don’t immediately answer, he squeezes hard. “I asked you a simple question. Answer me.”
I open my mouth to beg. For what, I don’t know; nothing comes out anyway. Fear surges in my veins, an icy cold rush, as my lungs spasm and burn.
Suddenly, he hisses. “Nell?”
“N-no. Her sister.” I gasp.
“Her sister?” Disbelief sounds in his voice. “You’re lying. You have thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn’t throw you out the damn window.”
My vision starts to blur at the edges, his features swimming in and out of focus. I stare into my assailant’s green eyes…the only part of him I can see in the pitch black.
Then lightning flashes, lighting up his face, making my breath catch. Forest-green eyes glare at me under a swathe of dark brown hair. With strong, angular jaw and cheekbones that look chiseled in place, I’ve seen him before.
It’s him.
Troy Severin.
Thunder bellows, and I manage to choke out, “Please. I can’t…breathe.”
He releases me slightly, enough for me to take in some air. The world shifts back into focus, and I’m hyperaware that he has me pinned to the bed, able to close off my air supply again at any moment.
“Now, tell me who the hell you are. And don’t even think about lying.”
“I’m not lying…I’m Nell’s sister. Sage. Sage Lovett.” I almost let out a sob.
He gives me an incredulous look. “Nell didn’t have a sister.”
“Our father…you have a deal with him. We’re getting married.” My words spill without making much sense.
“Married?” He snarls as it clicks into place. “I told your father not to send you.”
“But he said you were expecting me!”
“Expecting you in my bed? Did your father put you up to this?”
“No. That’s not–”
“Did he tell you to sneak in and try to seduce me?”
“No!”
“Do you think this is a game?” His grip tightens.
“No, I don’t. Of course not!” I try again. “Please let me go. You’re hurting me.”
After a moment, he does, but instead seizes my wrists, the anger coursing through his body hardening his iron grip as he hauls my arms above my head. I feel even more exposed. My first instinct is to thrash against him and try to wrench myself free.
“Stop struggling. Or I really will throw you out the window.”
Something in his voice makes me stop.
Is that what you did to Nell? The words tumble in my head. But I don’t dare say it out loud. Having the life squeezed out of me has made me brave, but not stupid.
“Lumen,” he adds gruffly, when I’m no longer fighting him.
Instantly, the lamp beside the bed glows.
Tears burn the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away to see. I can’t cry. I refuse to. Not in front of this monster.
Panting hard, I stare up at him as he glares down at me. I can see his face more clearly now that it’s visible in the soft light. He’s devastatingly beautiful…and utterly terrifying, with his eyes dragging over me like hot coals as though he can see right through me.
But the heat from his gaze is unexpected.
For a heartbeat, something electric passes between us as he slowly, almost languidly, takes in every curve beneath my silk pajamas, seemingly committing me to memory.
As lightning flashes again, illuminating him for a heartbeat longer, I’m struck by green his eyes are.
The very few photos of Troy Severin that I might have looked at obsessively before I came here didn’t do his eyes justice at all.
They are striking, beautiful…like two fractured emeralds.
Remember who this man is.
Beautiful or not, he’s the monster from my nightmares, right here in front of me, holding me down on his bed. The media portrays him as untouchable, alluring, and yet so very dangerous. The kind of red flag women run toward. The type born to ruin girls like me.
And Nell.
But as his thumb unconsciously brushes against my pulse point.
And the storm outside flashes.
His scratched-out words catch me off guard, sinking in like a serrated knife. “You look just like her.”
With no warning at all, he kisses me.