Page 73 of Liars and Liaisons

No wonder Grayson never mentioned it.

He tsks, removing himself from me so suddenly that it causes a wave of nausea to bubble up in my stomach.

“Should’ve known you were nothing but a money-hungry whore. My dad tried to warn me about you, about Sydney, but I didn’t want to listen.” Shaking his head, he pushes my head back, making it smack against the concrete column. “In any case, I’m not done playing here yet. With how mad he was when you showed up earlier, I think I’m gonna let him watch while I fuck you, strangle you, and then kill him so he gets over this weird revenge nonsense.”

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Nate moves away, keeping his gaze locked on mine. I have half a mind to bolt, but self-preservation tells me he’ll see that as a threat, so I stay put. My fingers tremble, aching to maim him, and I tuck them behind me. The concrete chips my nails.

A weird, sadistic little smile appears on his mouth. Like he can read my thoughts and finds them amusing. “Don’t even think about giving him a heads-up,” he says, pure malice dripping from each word. “Or maybe your father’s debt collectors will find their way to North Carolina and that cute little family of yours sooner than planned.”

24

If ghosts livein the James estate, I think the raucous tunes bleeding from the walls should have chased them out.

That’s why I throw these fucking parties; as a thirty-six-year-old man, what other reason is there? Aside from living out youthful glory days that I wasn’t interested in fifteen years ago, much less now.

The specters tonight appear more present than usual though. Vases have fallen over and shattered with no apparent interference, everything I’ve eaten tastes like poison, and the music is gone.

Gone, like a goddamn thief in the night.

Upbeat tunes play from the various speakers set up in the mansion, drowning out the cheer and excitement from attendees in their drug-induced hazes. Even that horrifying melody in my head sticks to the walls of my skull like cobwebs, tormenting me, as though I don’t have enough on my plate.

But the song in my soul, the one I’ve resurrected with a recent creative spurt, it’s gone. Vanished into thin air, like it never existed in the first place. I scour the interface on my computer, trying different rifts and harmonies, plucking chords and shifting keys, but nothing works.

It’s gone, and it can’t be recaptured, and I’m trying not to blame the fact that my muse has been noticeably absent since she shoved her way between Nate and me, but it’s difficult. My brain understands the logistics, even tries to believe that she has no bearing on my creative state, but my heart knows different.

Whatever pieces of my soul remain are somehow tethered to the soft, beautiful creature who lives in my home. And she’s been reclaimed by my brother, who wouldn’t deserve her even if he was responsible for bringing the sun up every morning.

My mind reverses time, back to when she stepped into the dining room and swore her allegiance to him. I suppose the fault is my own; a few stolen, intimate moments and my utter obsession don’t change what she came to do.

I’m not sure why I thought they might. Perhaps that was the idealist in me—the dreamer, once thought dead, who used to find beauty in anything and was able to turn it into melodies.

Now, I’m left with the certainty that I’ve been tricked by the little vixen. That every word wasn’t her own, but the parroted echoes of whatever lines my brother was feeding her in order to get closer to me.

With them together under my roof, my only goal is total annihilation. One part for Sydney, the other part for me alone.

Patience is no longer a virtue I’m willing to expend my energy on.

I’m not entirely surprised to find her at the lake, staring at the foggy night sky. Despite the fact that I’ve made it clear she’s supposed to be locked in her room during these parties, I know Micah and Willow—and even Arsen, the silent softy—have a habit of letting her roam the grounds anyway. The only reason I’ve allowed it to continue is because it keeps her from the chaos inside.

And because I like the way she looks among nature. Like a mountain nymph, totally in her element.

Her hands are clasped tight in her lap, and she toys with the lace sleeve of a ruffled burgundy dress that reaches mid-calf. A slit in the thigh reminds me of the night we met, and the sliver of pale flesh exposed practically shimmers in the midnight moonlight.

She’s positively ethereal, standing there, her obsidian-colored hair tied in two braids while her chin juts up at the stars.

I wonder if she’s naive enough to wish on them.

I did—once. Look where that got me.

One of my feet catches the end of a fallen branch, and it splits with a loud snap. Her head whips to the side, seeking the source of the sound, but I’m hidden among the trees. The goat mask from the fundraiser, the one that’s been in my family for decades, obscures my identity, though I’m certain she’ll remember it when I make my presence known.

Goose bumps scatter along my arms at the thought. Of the delicious confusion I anticipate flashing in her eyes. Like she wants to be concerned about the mask, about the person beneath it, but can’t find it in her to fully care.

The mask frees her from the role she plays in real life. It opens up the opportunity for her to explore, and I can’t help wondering why my asinine brother never thought of doing that in the first place.

An image of her biting my hand, drawing blood and licking it from my skin, heats my face. I remember the surprise in her features at the fact that she seemed to like it.

How little Nathaniel must really know her, if she’s only just now discovering what I’ve always known. There is a goddess of darkness within her, waiting to be tapped into.

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