Page 49 of Black Castle

He veers away from the window, his eyes falling on her. The shadow obscuring them moments before starts to move, unveiling the radiant, fiery light she glimpses in her dreams. It’s a slow and steady transformation, like dawn pushing back the night.

His jaw relaxes, a smile almost forms on his lips, but then fades before it fully materializes.

“I didn’t like it.” His voice is quiet, but the weight of it settles deep in her bones. His gaze drops to his hands, and for the briefest moment, she catches a tremor in his left one. But before she can process it, he quickly covers it with his right hand.

“You, um,” she brushes a strand of hair off her lip and looks back at his face, a sensation of tension gripping her chest. “You didn’t like what?”

“When he touched you.” The words are raw, barely restrained. His breath sharpens, chest expanding with a force of something he can’t quite explain.

“And considering it further, the thought of seeing that again doesn’t sit well with me.” After a pause and hesitation, he locks eyes with her, his gaze intense as if seeking to etch the next word into her very being. “I don’t want another man to touch you.”

Her heart skips. It’s not the words that steal her breath. It’s the way he says them so carelessly, as if they hold no significance at all.

But they do.

“Why?” The word slips out, fragile and laced with something dangerously close to hope.

His brow furrows. “Do you need a reason?”

“Yes, actually. I do.”

He leans back in the leather chair, exhales, and studies her with such intensity that she feels a prickling heat on her skin. “When I figure out the reason, I’ll tell you.”

She might spend a really long time waiting for this reason. Because this is probably new to him. Maybe he has never really liked someone before. But she desperately needs him to understand what he’s feeling. She needs him to be able to define exactly this thing that lingers between them.

And most of all, she needs him to accept it. Accept her. Just like Ian Griswyk did…or at least, something close.

“So, why did you come here?” she asks, pushing away the thought that gnaws at the edge of her mind.

“You wanted to see me,” he replies.

She smiles, her eyes taking him in with a fresh, new perspective. His white hair is pulled into the usual half-bun, a few loose strands falling over his sharp profile.

The soft glow from the car’s lamp casts a delicate shadow over him, accentuating the dark beauty of his features.

She wants to touch his face, feel the silkiness of his skin against her fingertips.

“What’s that?” Her gaze drops to the sketchpad she has noticed on his lap since, but only paying attention to now.

“You didn’t tell me about this hobby.” A quiet accusation lingers in her voice as she lifts the book to her hand.

She flips to the first page and her breath catches.

From the meticulously sketched paper, a girl’s gaze meets hers. A cotton top, arm warmers, and a tote bag hanging off her shoulder.

Her hair is in a French braid, a few loose curls framing her face.

Her.

Her fingers tremble as they trace the graphite lines, the delicate shading of her face.

She swallows hard, lifting her gaze. And he is already watching her.

“It’s beautiful,” she beams. “Thank you.”

Returning her gaze to the book, she turns to the next page.

Her again.

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