Page 14 of The Darkness Within Us

My body goes rigid as a blast of fear shoots up my spine. I do aquick survey of my bathroom before my eyes land on my toothbrush. The handle is made out of silver, and the end comes to a slight point.

Holding my feeble weapon behind my back, I exit the washroom.

Only to find a man, one who is most assuredlynotSandros, sitting on my now-rumpled bed.

CHAPTER 4

At my intake of breath, the intruder turns, as though I were the one who startled him, and draws two weapons simultaneously. The movement is so fast I can barely follow it. One moment, his hands are bare; in the next, he holds a revolver in his right hand and a wicked, serrated dagger in his left.

My back hits the wall near the open washroom door, as that knife is raised to my neck while the gun presses to my temple.

I don’t move; I don’t speak. I can barely breathe, for fear of the steel against my skin. He looms over me, his figure terrifyingly muscular. I can feel every hard angle of his body pressed against me. Too much of him, really, since I’m wearing so little.

His expression is dangerous, murderous, and there’s something about it that I recognize in myself. A determination to do what it takes to get what he wants.

“Who the hell are you?” the stranger bites out, his voice impatient and violent, yet wearied somehow as well.

“Me?” I choke out, outraged. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom? Unhand me at once or I shall scream for the servants!”

Wherearemy servants? How did he get past the entire staff?

My right hand is pinned between me and the wall. I try to wiggle it free.

“Yourbedroom?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes,mybedroom.” My manor. My safe space. Invaded.

Since he’s armed, and I still can’t access my weapon, I try a tactful approach. “If you’re looking for a handout, you can go to the kitchens, where the staff can find some food for you.” And Kyros can give him a boot to the ass on his way out the door.

Finally, my hand comes free, and I rotate my arm, bringing the pointed tip into contact with his body.

The man looks down, where I’ve got silver pressed against his manhood. Hopefully he can’t tell it’s not actually a knife from his viewpoint. Still, I could do some damage with it.

“Back away from me now,” I snap at him.

The man scoffs, as though he finds me a trifling insect, but he releases me. He takes five steps backward, though he doesn’t lower the revolver. It’s still pointing right at my head.

Now that I’ve finally gained some distance, I’m able to appraise him properly. I don’t recognize his face. It’s… stern, tanned. Handsome, even. His eyes are like daggers with sharpened edges. His lips are much too full to be reasonable. He has a round chin that cuts to a sharp jaw in a way that manages to look both boyish and manly. Hooded eyes rest beneath ragged tawny-brown hair. He looks my age, though he’s taller and definitely stronger.

“Do I look like I’m in need of handouts?” he asks, his voice deep enough to negate anything boyish about him at all.

I lower my eyes to take in his soiled, worn clothing—though atop it all is an impressive, floor-length black leather jacket. Then I dart back up to note the dirt streaks on his cheeks, the wild, rumpled hair, and reply, “Yes!”

The man rolls his eyes. “I’ve been traveling. It took months to gethere, which means I’m short on patience. Now, whoever you are, get the hell out of my house.”

“I beg your pardon! I am Lady Chrysantha Demos, Duchess of Pholios, and you cannot order me to leave my own home!”

At that, the man jerks up straight and does a sweep of my body. “You’rethe dowager duchess? You can’t be older than…”

“Nineteen,” I say.

He opens and shuts his mouth a few times but finally reholsters both weapons. “They told me the old man left a widow, but I didn’t think you’d be so… young. What are you doing in the master suite?”

That isit! “You do not get to barge into my manor and threaten me with weapons. You don’t get to ask me questions as though I’m some suspect when you’re the criminal. Who do you think you are?”

The man cocks his head to the side. “Vander didn’t tell you?”

“Tell. Me. What?” The words come through gritted teeth. If I have to pay another visit to that dreadful man, I swear I will ruin him.

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