23. VERENA GRAVENHURST
TWENTY-THREE
VERENA GRAVENHURST
We pull up into the driveway, the manor illuminated through the dense fog and downpour.
Reed hasn’t spoken a word to me the entire drive, dampening my mood after the thrilling night we’ve just had.
I reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out the scroll, as I watch Reed’s eyes widen in shock.
“Thank you for being honest with me. You dropped this before we got into the car. I just wanted to know that I could trust you.”
I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but he just nods, and says, “Thank you,” and sets his eyes straight out the front window, his face expressionless, as if he’s freezing me out again.
I sigh, not knowing how to move next. I open the door and step out into the rain, closing the door tightly behind me.
I beeline to the door, seeking shelter. Making my way into the manor, a flash of movement catches my attention from the top of the stairs.
My heart skips a beat at the thought of it being another intruder.
But the panic doesn’t come, and I’m overwhelmingly aware of the person who just wandered into the left wing.
My soul knows him; it’s drawn to him, like gravity remembering its pull.
Standing there for a moment, I think about Reed, about the way his eyes spoke the words he didn’t dare say to my face.
The way his disappointment was apparent with the way I reacted to his secret.
No longer wanting to feel the sting of someone else’s upset, I look to the top of the stairs, deciding to follow where my heart wants to guide me.
Removing my shoes, I dust myself off, flicking droplets of water onto the marble floor.
As if they have a mind of their own, my feet begin to move, leading me to him before my brain has the ability to catch up.
My palm slides over the wooden railing as I ascend the left staircase, my socks near silent on the steps as I hurtle myself up them.
I wander into the forbidden wing, tiptoeing, in fear he’ll disappear like he had the other night if he hears me coming.
I haven’t seen him since, and my eyes, maybe even my heart, are eager to lay sight on him.
Just to make sure for myself that he was unharmed, of course.
Moving quickly through the hallway, as quiet as a mouse, I catch a glimpse of unruly black hair just as it disappears into a room at the end of the hall.
Stalking towards it, I notice it’s the small library I discovered when I had first arrived at the manor.
It sits untouched, a thin layer of dust coating the top of the piano.
A chill runs through me as I take a single step inside, slowly scanning the room, looking for a familiar set of cobalt irises, my vision adjusting to the darkness.
The room is near silent, except for the steady sound of rain tapping against the large window.
I usually find solace on rainy nights; something about it calms my nerves, but tonight the air is unsettling, causing goosebumps to spread like wildfire down my arms.
“Loxen?” I whisper into the void.
I’m not sure what compelled me to adventure deeper into the library, but I did, nonetheless.
Fear gives way to curiosity as I realize the depth of the room is further than I originally thought.
At the far end, there are three large rows of shelves, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, and a rolling, wooden ladder in the furthest corner.
I saunter past each row, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear while drinking in the various shades and sizes of bound literature stacking the decorative shelves.
“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?” a dulcet voice cuts through the silence.
I spin on my heel, my hand flying to my chest on a silent gasp.
Loxen stands before me, looking like the storm itself.
Lightning splits through the sky, illuminating the room in a quick flash.
Admittedly, I noticed quite a few things in that brief moment.
The way his hands flexed at his sides. The faint scar above his eyebrow, peeking through his midnight hair that’s now plastered to his forehead, curling around his chiselled cheekbones, and dripping the remnants of rain onto the hardwood floor.
I noticed the water pooling around his boots as he stands entirely too close to me, the puddle creeping towards my socks, seeping into them.
The steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his black t-shirt, now soaked from the storm, clings to every hard line of his body, stealing the air from my lungs.
And his eyes, God, his eyes. Like the depths of the ocean calling me home, begging me to drown within them.
Loxen slowly cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Following me again, are we? Bad habits die hard, it seems.”
Thunder follows the strike, the sound so loud it knocks the sense back into me. I shake my head, a futile attempt to clear it, and stand taller, raising my chin to him. “And if I was?”
Loxen’s eyes heat at the challenge, his gaze falling to the floor. He takes a step forward. I take a step back.
His eyes slowly drag up the length of my body, my bare thighs to my exposed neck, until his attention finally returns to my eyes. Heat crawls into my cheeks.
He steps forward.
I step back.
Forwards.
Backwards.
Forwards.
My back hits the bookshelf.
He smirks, and my traitorous heart stutters.
Knock it off, would you? I silently order the useless organ that should only be favouring Reed.
Loxen takes another step forward, directly into my personal space like it never existed in the first place, and the cursed thing practically stops dead in my chest.
Loxen grips the shelf behind me, caging me in. The muscles in his arm bulge, and when his eyes capture mine, his jaw flexes.
“Well, you have my attention, little crow.” His gaze flicks to my mouth. “What will you do with it?”
I’m lost in his stare, fixated on the slight tilt of his lips.
“It isn’t your attention that I want,” I say after a long moment, but it’s a lie. And Loxen seems to know it too.
“Oh?” He tilts his head. A curious, hungry gaze roams over his face. “What is it you want then?” Loxen asks, his voice lowering as he dips closer to me. The heat simmering behind his otherwise icy eyes convinces me he might grant me anything I ask for.
“I-I just—” I stumble over my words, unable to think with the way he’s looking at me.
“Cat got your tongue, little crow?” he teases, with a smug grin, throwing my words back in my face.
Tension weighs heavy in the air, so thick I could cut it with a knife. I clear my throat.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay after the other night,” I admit, looking down at the floor to avoid the intensity of his stare.
“I heard a loud noise, and when I came to find you, you were gone. I thought maybe you were hurt, but it seems like you’re right back to your usual asshole self.” I try to keep my voice steady, but with his face so close to mine, it comes out weaker than I’d hoped.
Loxen lets me slip past him, our bodies nearly touching as I do.
“Verena.” His voice drops into a low, deliberate drawl, and my steps falter at the door as if it were a command.
I stay quiet, but peer over my shoulder so he knows I’m listening.
“You know,” he continues, voice laced with danger. “You broke my promise.”
I quirk a brow, as if to say, and what are you going to do about it?
“Next time I won’t be so forgiving.” A devastating smile curls at the corner of his mouth, and I feel heat lick at my core.
I raise my hand slowly, playing it cool, and give him the most innocent flip-off imaginable, offering him a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Noted.”
Loxen’s laughter follows me out of the library.
I make it back to my room in less than a minute, strip out of my clothing in exchange for a cozy pyjama set, and toss the wet fabric into the laundry bin.
I flop into my warm bed, wrapping the blankets around myself like a worm, burying its way into the dirt.
A cheeky grin that refuses to fade pulls at my lips, and I drift into sleep effortlessly, with the sound of rain pulling me under.