Page 61 of A Heart So Haunted
“Thank God,” I breathed. I started to straighten. Then I glanced up. My heart somersaulted straight up my throat.
A razor-sharp silhouette reflected in the breakfast nook window in front of me. I wasn’t alone in the kitchen.
I jumped with a yelp—and dropped the pickle jar. It shattered all over the kitchen floor in a wet, sticky spray, over the bottom of the opened cabinets, my feet, and the dishwasher. The lid rolled the opposite way, toward the living room.
At least I’d left all of Aunt Denny’s items on the island top instead of the floor as I’d found them.
I clutched my chest with both hands, frozen, as the silhouette steppedoutof the wall behind me, almost as if from the pantry.
“The jar never stood a chance,” Hadrian said, low and slow, like he’d only just woken from a deep sleep. My first instinct was to lookat the clock—it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet—but my attention latched onto our reflections in the window. He moved with languid grace, and before I realized it, he was behind me. I started to face him, but without hesitation, he dropped to a crouch and splayed a large hand against the tile. I’d have been lying if I said a part of me wasn’t relieved to see him.
“Don’t touch the glass,” I blurted.
“Never you mind. Your feet would get cut. Step here.” His voice remained matter-of-fact, gritty, and almost too placid. I didn’t notice I was staring until he looked up from under his brows. “Do I need to enunciate? Step on the back of my hand.”
My forehead creased. “Step on your hand?”
His jaw worked. “So you do not cut your feet.”
I searched the sharp points of his cheeks, the tendons of his neck, the way he hunched as if it weren’t just out of habit, but to keep a bit of distance between the two of us.
Did he find me repulsive in some way? Or was he scared to touch me?
A dead, shriveled part of my heart unraveled. Stretched a bit, and I didn’t know why.
I obliged, careful to move quickly and not put too much pressure on the ball of my foot, but teetered at the last second. I grabbed his horn without thinking, near the base of his skull. An unnatural stillness came over his shoulders. I tried to ignore the ridges of the horn, how cold it was to the touch, or how his head wasright there.
I stepped over. Hadrian’s hand felt no different from stepping on a garden stone. There was no give. A catch of breath—but not from me.
I moved closer to the refrigerator corner. He stood without a word, his eyes not leaving the floor, slowly traveling up to the breakfast nook, then over the cabinets I’d left open.
“Quite an organizational process you have here.”
“Where have you been?” I asked, ignoring his comment. I crossed my arms over my chest and gathered a bit of snark. Really, it wasn’t tostart something, but more to cover the fumbling heartbeat in my ears. If he’d heard it before, could he hear it now?
“You miss me already? I’m flattered.” He tore his attention away from the window with a pointed grin, then drifted between me and the island and into the hallway. Like his reflection bothered him.
“I don’t like having a guest in the house I can’t see.”
“You see me now.”
“After you vanished into thin air.” I inched forward. “How do I know you aren’t off doing something weird, like counting the dust bunnies under my bed or snooping in my closet?”
“So youdowant me to hide in your room instead. I will do my best to keep that in mind.”
“I didn’t say—”
Upstairs, a door opened. I paused.
Emma—she would have heard me drop the jar.
Sure enough, there was a long, soft pause with the shuffle of sock feet, and then, “Are you okay? I heard something.”
“I’m fine, just dropped a jar. I’ve got it.”
Hadrian tilted his head to keep his horns from hitting the ceiling. Even in the nearly pitch-black hall, his chest glimmered where his sternum opened. I watched his heart flutter as blood oozed from the inside out then evaporated when it fell down his midsection.
Emma’s only departure was the shuffling of her feet and the gentle click of her bedroom door.
