Page 19 of What the Shadows Hide
I want to scream that it’s just a dream, that none of this is real.
But I can’t.
Not when he’s touching me.
When his hand leaves my breast and finds my jaw, tilting my chin, the world tilts with it.
“You can pretend you don’t want this.” His breath brushes my ear through the holes in the mask. “But we both know you do.”
My body burns—fear, want, and confusion tangling until I can’t tell one from the other.
I jerk awake,drenched in sweat and shaking, the feel of his hands burning my skin.
The TV is still playing. The laugh track loops softly, too bright for the darkness surrounding me.
I press my palms to my face, trying to breathe.
It was just a dream.Only a dream.
But the heat in my body says otherwise.
I lay on my pillow, staring at the ceiling.
Why the hell do I keep having dreams about a masked man?
Worse, why is it the best part of my life here?
I lay there for hours, contemplating those questions like a broken record, but don’t have any answers.
When the first rays of dawn break through my window, I force myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the water will wash it away.
By the time I come downstairs, the sun’s breaking over the ridge. The fog drifts low across the vines, gold tracing the edges.
I tell myself the worst is over. That I’m fine.
But when I glance out the window, I swear I see a tire track fresh in the mud near the edge of the property.
The wind blows, leaves shaking, swallowing the mark.
When it stills, the print is gone.
CHAPTER 10
Tristan
The sun hasn’t clearedthe ridge when I park near the old water line.
Mist drifts through the vines below, gold at the edges where the light catches it. From here, I can see the Voss house—windows glinting faintly, chimney still dark.
The world looks calm, but it isn’t.
I know because I didn’t sleep. Not even an hour.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Her defiance is burned into my brain. I keep replaying it, over and over again. The flash of lightning on her face when she stepped onto the porch. The way she stood her ground even when she should’ve run. The rain sliding over her bare arms until she looked half-drowned, half-holy.
I tell myself I came up here to make sure she’s safe—not struggling alone in that massive house with cracked windows, pipes older than she is, and a vineyard that hasn’t seen genuine care in decades.
