Xavier
Exhaustion is fucking with my head. Twice I’ve nearly fallen asleep, the vodka still swimming through my veins, but the pain in my stomach and back yanks me back into consciousness.
Yale is driving, Zayden is on and off the phone to Cleo while balancing a snoozing Bullet on his lap, and Silence hasn’t said anything.
We stop twice in four hours, for gas and snacks that none of us eat.
We’re quickly on the road again, and night is on us when I hear a sniff.
Glancing to her side of the car, I watch Silence’s reflection. Eyes shining. Tears clearly desperate to fall.
“Q,” I whisper, and she glances at me. Against my better judgement, I hold my arm out. For a few seconds, she watches me, as if unsure what I mean. She’s clearly uncertain, but unclips her belt, slides over, and cuddles into my side.
My walls are thick. They have to be. There have been too many drunken occasions over the years where I’ve almost slipped, where distance made it safe to want this, where alcohol made it rational to say words about my brother’s wife that should never be spoken into existence.
In nine years, I’ve resisted touching her like this.
I’ve hated her. Kept my distance. Pushed her buttons and made myself unbearable to be around.
And in seconds, my walls are torn down.
I close my eyes as she presses herself into my neck, crying softly. She’s small and trembling, and I wrap my arms around her and squeeze, burying my face in her hair and drinking up every second.
I’m in agony. My wounds ache, especially the fucker on my abdomen. I feel it split and warm blood flow, but she needs me, so I don’t let go.
When I open my eyes, Zayden is watching us. There’s no jealousy or concern in his expression, but there never would be.
It’s dark when we reach the gates of Brat’Ya Manor.
No lights line the walled gardens, and when this place is blanketed in fog, you could easily drive right into the property.
We only know we’re getting close because of the bend that leads to slightly denser gravel.
Yale slows then stops at the thick, towering wooden gates, typing a code into his phone, then scanning his thumb on a separate app.
A few seconds pass, and we’re granted entry.
The driveway is close to two miles long and leads to a manor sitting in the middle of a field, surrounded by yellowing knee-high grass.
It’s creepier than if the place were filled with twisted, dead trees, but it’s also one of the reasons we bought it.
We have clear lines of vision to the entire perimeter, meaning no one can approach without being incredibly fucking obvious.
The manor was probably pretty at one point.
Made of white stone, the front jutted out and held up by columns, it looks like something straight out of Greek mythology.
The stone is dirtied, heavy with moss and ivy brave enough to scale the walls of the two-story home.
The windows are black, encrusted with God knows what over time, or maybe ghosts have drawn the blinds.
I hug Silence a little closer, because why would my imagination even go there?
Fucking ghosts.
With only the headlights to guide us, we may as well be driving into a horror show.
“We need to sweep the place,” Zayden says as Yale pulls the car to a stop outside the property. “It’ll take a while. You okay to stay with her?”
I shift in place, shaking my head. “I can help.”
“I don’t want Silence waking up alone.”
“She’d probably prefer to be with Yale or you, anyway.”
Zayden unclips his belt. “You got stabbed. Twice. Take a break.”
They exit the car, Bullet following, and the interior lights dim and go out. Resting my head back against the seat, I close my eyes. My breathing slows, Silence sighs, and—
I blink myself awake, jerking my head up. Silence isn’t in my arms, and my heart slams into my ribcage until I realize she’s lying on the back seat, her feet on my lap.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, rubbing the heel of my palm into my chest. Silence shivers, and I realize the heat has gone off.
I have no idea how long I was asleep, but I can’t see any light inside the manor.
My side throbs as I shrug off my jacket and cover Silence.
She shudders, releasing a juddering breath.
“Cold,” she whispers.
I let out a groan. “Come here, then.”
She sits up, one eye closed, her hair disheveled. “Hm?”
Grunting against the pain, I pull her onto my lap. Sinking as low as the space allows, I hold Silence against me and cover her again with my coat. My T-shirt must have fused to the stab wound with my blood, so when I shift, it comes free and I grit my teeth.
“You okay?” Silence mumbles.
“Go to sleep.”
She hums, whispering something about me being rude, and then my eyes are closed, and sleep swallows me again.
A soft, rhythmic beep signals the car door is open, and a chill sweeps across me. I open an eye and lift my head, watching as Zayden brushes Silence’s hair from her face to wake her gently. She’s still nestled into my chest, her breath tickling my throat.
“Baby, wake up.”
She groans, stretching against me. “I’m cold.”
She’s right. It’s fucking freezing. The only parts of me that are remotely warm are where we’re connected and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around her.
“It’s warmer inside,” Zayden says, holding out his hand. She reaches for him, and in the dim light, red shines across her palm.
Shit.
My T-shirt is soaked in blood, and Silence’s eyes widen.
“Your stitches—” She goes to check, and I jerk back as far as the car seat will allow.
“It’s fine. Let’s go inside,” I snap. “Go.”
Silence frowns but climbs out. I bite my fist, trying not to shout out in pain as I heave myself out of the car.
The front door of the manor is open, a dim light glowing from inside, but the darkness is too thick to see the perimeter of the property.
It’s unnerving, as if anything could emerge from the shadows.
The foyer is a direct contrast to the white exterior.
The walls and floors are black, threads of gold weaving their way through the marble.
Ahead of us is a wide staircase that splits at the top, leading to the two wings of the house, and endless bedrooms. A small, battery-powered lantern has been placed at the bottom of the stairs, but other than that, there’s no light, and by the way our breath fogs, no fucking heat, either.
“Holy fucking liar,” I say as Zayden closes the door behind us. “It’s freezing, you fucker.”
“I’ve lit a fire in the main bedroom,” he says. “We’ll all sleep in there tonight until we can get the heat running.”
Great. We get to stay in the creepiest building in North America with no heat or light. “And this is better than getting murdered?”
Silence is clinging to Zayden’s waist and glares at me. “Not funny.”
We take the stairs, and I tip my head back to admire the unlit chandelier hanging above us, the clear crystal heavy with dust.
“This is a place of nightmares,” Silence whispers.
I grunt. “That is something we agree on.”
As run-down as it looks, the previous owner had the place torn hollowed out and upgraded.
Beyond the dirtied walls and dusty walkways, the manor hides the latest in security and resources to lock yourself away for years.
It has a small medical wing, cinema, library, eight bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a tennis court, a wine cellar separate from the basement, a bar, and for some strange reason, a disco room, kitted out with DJ equipment, complete with a rotating dance floor.
The guy was a criminal, but he clearly knew how to party.
The feature that sealed the deal was the state-of-the-art security system within the home and along the grounds.
If anything bigger than a rabbit sets foot on our land, it sets off a silent alarm that links to an office in a large panic room.
Once you’re in that room and the door is shut, no one is getting in unless you let them.
Zayden tells all this to Silence, but she seems unconvinced, especially when a mouse scurries past us as we reach our room for the night.
The main bedroom is enormous, a large, covered bed set against a far wall and not much else.
Yale is tearing open packaging to new, thick duvet sets, along with pillows, all items kept in storage for emergency situations like this.
More battery lanterns are set up, and the fire is burning brightly on the opposite side of the room, the soft crack of dried wood filling the quiet.
Zayden was right: it’s far warmer in here, especially with the heavy drapes covering the windows.
Silence wraps her arms around herself. “Bathroom?”
“Over there.” Zayden nods to the far side of the room, and Silence goes to it, disappearing inside the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
“Shit, X. You’re bleeding,” Yale says, searching through one of the carry-all bags by the bed. He produces a first aid kit, and Zayden takes over making the bed. It can easily fit ten people, so maybe the Pakhan didn’t restrict the parties to the disco room.
“Do you need help with that?” Yale asks, handing me the kit. “Silence could—”
“No. I can do it myself.”
The en suite door opens and Silence appears. She throws her thumb over her shoulder. “There’s something living in the shower, but I figure if we name it, it might not kill us in our sleep.”
“I’ll go introduce myself then,” I say, edging by her and into the bathroom. Once the door is closed, I lean against the sink, unbutton my jeans, and peel them back. The blood is sticky, but it isn’t weeping heavily, so that’s a good sign. Tearing open a wipe with my teeth, I clean myself up.
“Motherfucking fuck,” I grit out. After going through a few wipes, I examine the stitches. They still look in place, so I must have just yanked the fuck out of one, but that doesn’t mean it won’t get infected. Taking the small bottle of alcohol out of the kit, I take a deep breath.
“Just fuckin’ do it,” I whisper to myself, then pour it over the wound.
Somehow, I don’t shout, but I bite the hell out of my bicep, breathing heavily through my nose. Once the stinging subsides, I dry it off, and my attention is drawn on the tattoo almost lost among the inked thorns across my hip.
The small Q.
Closing my eyes, I breathe through my annoyance that I even got it.
I assumed Silence would never see that part of me, but if this wound doesn’t heal, she might.
And it isn’t like I can pass it off as anything else; it’s the same style as the ones we all got, because I was drunk and decided that a romantic gesture for my brother’s wife was a stellar fucking idea.
For what reason? I don’t fucking know.
I tape a fresh bandage over the wound and wash my face with cold water. Hopefully the heat will be back on tomorrow, because I’d kill for a shower. I smell like a vodka-doused hospital ward.
Back in the bedroom, Silence and Yale are already in bed. He’s talking quietly to her, and she’s nodding, playing with her fingers. She’s changed out of the shirt I soaked with blood and is wearing one of Zayden’s.
“We’re all in the same bed?”
Everyone looks at me. Yale says, “Yeah. We need to share body heat.”
I gesture at the fire. “Flames. Heat.”
“You wanna stay up and keep that going all night?” Yale asks. “Be my guest. I’ve already called little spoon.”
Silence grins. “Weirdo. I’m not spooning you.”
“I’m talking about Bullet.”
The dog is already lying as close to the fire as possible and lifts his head at the mention of his name. He doesn’t move, though, and I wonder whether I should follow the dog’s lead and sleep closest to the warmth.
I shift my eyes to Zayden. He’s staring at Silence, as if he expects her to unravel any second. “You getting in, too?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m gonna keep watch until morning.”
Silence sits up. “All night? Why? I thought you said it was safe.”
“It is, but it’ll put my mind at rest. Bullet can keep me company.” He clicks his tongue, and the dog darts to his side. “Get some sleep. All of you.”
He leaves, and I stare at the bed like it has jaws.
The drive here didn’t quite kill me, but this might.