Page 121 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“Well,” he said, managing a remarkable composure, “sleep well, Winslow. See you in the morning.”
He didn’t miss the frustrated exhale as he walked out the door, unwilling to look back at her, knowing that his self-control was woefully fragile.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Amelia was surprised that sleep had found her.
She wasn’t surprised, however, by the dream that had pulled her from it, eyes snapping open in the fresh light of dawn, heart thudding, skin flushed with heat. She could still feel the phantom trace of lips against her throat, the lingering echo of his voice in her mind.
Low, reverent…sinful.
His words had wrapped around her long after Silas had left her room at midnight, a coil of yearning and restraint. She understood why he hadn’t stayed. She even respected it. But that didn’t stop the ache in her chest, the hollow sense of absence.
She longed for some illusion of control. Over their fates, over time, over the pull that dragged them towards one another even as the world around them cracked at the seams.
The emotions were relentless and confusing, swinging between exhilarating highs and the kind of lows that scraped the soul raw.
How was it possible to feel so safe with someone and so afraid of losing them at the same time? To want him in a way that took her breath away, and yet fearing what that might cost her.
She washed and dressed, before stepping out into the modest common room of Brinkley’s home. The sight that greeted her made her pause, lips twitching in amusement.
Silas was sprawled across the too-small sofa, one arm draped over the edge, so his fingertips brushed the carpet, snoring softly. A thick blanket had been thrown over him, rising and falling gently with his breath.
Brinkley sat in an armchair donning a forest green robe, a book open in his lap and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he quietly read. He glanced up as Amelia entered, catching her gaze over the top of his frames. With a conspiratorial wink, he lifted a finger to his lips and gestured towards the slumbering Silas.
Amelia tried and failed to suppress a smile.
Silas looked content. His face was relaxed in his sleep, a few pale strands of hair falling across one eye. Something about him in that moment, the peacefulness and vulnerability, tightened a knot low in her chest.
She wanted to cross the room, kneel at his side, and brush the hair from his brow. Maybe even slip onto the sofa beside him and curl into the quiet strength of his body, just to be held by him. Just to feel, for a little while, like they were safe.
Brinkley closed his book and set it aside, rising from the armchair and motioning wordlessly for her to follow him.
She was led down another small corridor until he was closing the door softly behind her.
She glanced around at the familiar space of his bedroom, loaded with books and knick-knacks that were so veryBrinkley. Amelia sank onto the end of his bed, facing him.
“Thank you for letting us stay here,” she said again, hoping to convey her gratitude at having a place to land when trouble found her. “I know it’s not exactly convenient having…” Amelia gestured towards the door, in Silas’ direction. “…Someone in your common room, and another in your guest room.”
Brinkley raised a brow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Arms folding over his robed chest, he studied her with bemused affection. “Lia, I’ve told you a hundred times, my home is your home. Though, I must admit, while I didn’t expectyou, I certainly didn’t ever expect you to arrive with…him.”
Amelia grimaced. “Yes, I know…”
Brinkley stepped forwards, eyes glinting with mischief and voice dropping low. “I mean, youhatethat guy.”
She let out a quiet breath. “That’s a bit strong, Brink.”
He snorted. “Is it? Because, if I remember correctly, and I think I do…our last conversation about two months ago went something like…” He lifted his hands, mimicking quotation marks. “‘Finley has been up my ass about this expedition, insisting on four junior scholars when we’ve only been approved for two each…he’s so infuriating, I can’t stand him!’ Or something to that effect.” His imitation of her voice was so uncannily smug, she scowled instinctively, though there was no real heat behind it.
“Can’t stand and hate are a bit different,” she muttered.
“Mm, fairly certain those are synonyms,” Brinkley said, waving his hand dismissively. “Anyway, tell me how this happened? Why are you with him, and what exactly are you two hiding from?”
Amelia hesitated, her fingers twitching as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “We ran into some complications on the expedition,” she began slowly, meeting his eyes. “The kind that means we need to stick together for now. We…found something. And that something is, um, being hunted. So are we.”
Brinkley’s expression darkened. “You’re not just in trouble, are you? This is real danger? Like last time?”
Amelia looked away, jaw tight.
