Page 69 of Black Castle

It’s 12 midnight and Vivienne is still awake working on a commission she received right after her exams finished. It has been pending because the owner hasn’t paid the deposit. But earlier this evening, right after the chaotic dinner, the deposit finally dropped in her PayPal.

Being in a strange place, she found it hard to sleep. Instead of staring at the ceiling, she decided to work on the art.

She drags her stylus across the screen, attempting the perfect arch for the dragon’s claws. Then a knock comes on the door, puncturing the silence.

The stylus pauses mid-stroke.

“Come in,” she calls, assuming it’s Kenji.

She doesn’t bother turning around. “Let me guess, you can’t sleep because it’s not your room, right?” A teasing lilt colors her voice as the door creaks open, splitting the still air with a breath of something dense and unspoken. “Me too.”

But the reply that follows isn’t Kenji’s. “Is that why you can’t sleep too?”

Her spine locks, every nerve in her body snapping to attention. The timbre of his voice, low and rich with something that feels like both sin and salvation, has her pulse skidding. A chill ripples through her, but it isn’t fear. It’s something else, something dark.

His scent sweeps over her, thick with sandalwood and rose, so intoxicating she can almost feel the taste on her tongue.

She turns to look at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands buried in his pockets, his head tilted just enough to make her stomach fold into itself. Shadows cling to him, stretching over his sharp jaw, pooling in his iridescent eyes.

“Hi,” she whispers, placing her stylus atop her tablet.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and shuts the door gently behind him.

He takes a step further in and her heart races faster, his scent thickening, becoming the air she breathes. And the closer he gets, the more his presence weighs against her skin like something tangible, something intoxicating.

He comes and sits sideways on the dresser in front of her, his leg brushing against her knee with a weight so light, she wants to throw herself into his arms, the way she wanted to at the airport, to make up for the lost days, the silence, the sleepless night. She wants to grip him tight enough to hurt.

But she doesn’t. Because she’s a coward. Because part of her is expecting his rejection again.

“Why are you still awake?”

She shrugs, feigning indifference. “Couldn’t sleep.”

A low breath escapes his lips. His eyes scan the room, then return to the dresser where her tablet is placed.

“What’s that?”

She follows his gaze to the dimly lit screen. “Falkor.” A smile tugs at her lips. “He’s a dragon from Children of No Gods. I doubt you have read the book yet.”

“I haven’t.” His voice is low, though layered with something she can’t quite explain.

She returns her gaze to him, and her smile gently falters. He is watching her. His eyes are tired, exhaustion evident in the bags under them. Yet something lurks in that gaze, something unreadable, wild, making her inside coil and her breath catch.

“You didn’t come for dinner,” she says, softer than intended. “Your sister and nephew were very interesting characters.”

“I was busy,” he says in a way that makes it obvious it’s an excuse, not a fact. “And I feel like I’m supposed to have told you about Matteo and Aiko.”

“Yeah, you should,” she says, her voice quiet, she doubts he heard her.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She waves a dismissive hand.

Her eyes drift over him. He’s wearing the usual white dress shirt and black pants. But unlike the many times she has seen him physically, his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing tattoos she doesn’t recognize.

Something about them is unsettlingly beautiful.

Without thinking, she reaches out, fingertips tracing the inked lines and curves, connecting dots and edges. A slight tremor ripples through him. And she hears it, a sound—a barely there erratic hum.

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