Page 5 of Bloodstained
Shaking off the thought, I grabbed my sketchpad and finished drawing, but just as the sun fully set, something tingled the back of my neck, and I glanced up, staring out into the thickly wooded forest that lined the guesthouse.
I blinked and saw a large shape right at the tree line. My heart raced. I sat up straighter, but when I blinked again, it was gone.
Had I imagined it? I shook my head, feeling like I was losing my mind. I looked at my sketch again and realized what I’d been drawing.
The forest, the setting sun…and an enormous figure hidden in the distance. I tossed the sketchpad aside and stood, pulling the curtains closed, and taking a step back.
I was locked away, but the longer I stared at those closed curtains, the more I felt something—or someone—was on the other side, looking right through them at me.
CHAPTER THREE
CLARA
The village felt different with Laszlo here, and I didn’t like it. Having him here, in this place that felt special and strange in the best ways, was like something shifted in the wrong direction. Laszlo’s presence changed the air.
At first, I thought it was just me overanalyzing the situation, but as we walked the cobbled streets hand-in-hand, I couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on me.
It wasn’t just the growing awkwardness between us—something that I’d felt long before leaving home. It was something else. Something I couldn’t name.
“This place is...quaint,” Laszlo said, glancing around as we passed a row of flower-covered balconies. The tone of his voice said he didn’t like it. He was one of those people who thrived in a bustling city where everyone was shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to rush to get to wherever the hell they were going.
He didn’t sound impressed in the least, not even in awe at the incredible beauty of the thick forests and massive mountains peaking in the distance. But I didn’t comment. Quaint wasn’t a bad thing in the slightest. It was quiet. Peaceful.
At least, it had been until now.
“Quaint is part of its charm,” I finally said softly, offering a small smile even though I was the one feeling irritated now. “It’s not London, but it’s special in its own way.”
He shrugged, his hand tightening around mine in a way that made my skin prickle, and on instinct, I tugged it away and tucked my hands in my pockets.
“I guess. Just seems like there’s not much to do here.”
I held in my smartass response after he spoke. “Try living in the moment,” I offered, hoping to lighten the mood. I didn't want to be pissy while he was here. That sounded miserable.
But even as I said it, I knew it went in one ear and out the other. He clearly wasn’t open to anything positive I had to say.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end again, like someone was watching us. I turned my head slightly, scanning the nearby buildings, but the street was empty.
The sun had already set, the streetlights on and illuminating the road and people passing by. But I noticed, for the first time, the villagers seemed hurried. They rushed past as if there was a fire lit under their asses.
“You okay?” Laszlo asked, stopping when he noticed me looking distracted.
“Yeah,” I lied quickly. “I’m fine.”
His brow furrowed, but he let it go, taking my hand again and tugging me forward. “Let's stop for a drink.” I didn't have time to respond before he led us toward a little tavern.
The interior was cozy inside with the warm glow of lanterns reflecting off the wood-paneled walls and lumber beams above us. The smell of roasted meat and ale filled the air along with the sound of cheerful chatter from the patrons. And for a moment, I let myself relax.
We took our place at a little two-seater table, and Laszlo ordered us drinks, his fingers brushing my arm as he leaned closer to say in my ear, “This is nice, isn’t it? Just you and me?”
I nodded, forcing a smile just as our drinks arrived. I once again kept my comments to myself regarding I was a grown ass woman and could order my own drink. I picked up my glass of wine and took a long sip.
We didn’t speak for a moment, and the longer we stayed silent, the more I felt uncomfortable. Every time Laszlo touched me, a strange unease crept over me as if the surrounding air had grown heavier, colder.
It wasn’t just unease—it was dread, the kind that made my chest tighten and my pulse race. It was such an intense sensation and feeling to have that I knew this just wasn't going to work out.
I couldn’t be with him anymore.
But here and now wasn’t the time. I sipped my wine as Laszlo talked about his travel again. I let him ramble on about his plans to take me back to London after my internship, and how he’d “missed me too much to stay away.”
