Page 29 of When Bones Whisper
“Why do they hate you so much?”
“There are many reasons,” he said vaguely, and added, “but the most recent being I killed a couple of their own after their elders sent their daughters to spy on me. It was their fault for sending them here, but they will not see it that way.”
Charlotte shook her head and scoffed. How wonderful it was to be immortal and never have to take accountability for anything. She watched him closely, his smirk curving his plump lips far too enticingly for her to look away.
“Like something you see, little lamb?” he asked, lifting his brows and making her stomach knot in ways she hadn’t felt before. A surge of butterflies swarmed into her stomach when he moved closer, his scent utterly intoxicating her senses.
It was that vampire charm. It had to be.
“No,” she stated too quickly. “I was just curious about your fangs.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, and her chest heaved. “What about them?”
“Does your whole mouth shift or…”
“Our jaws dislocate,” he explained, but looked away from her. “We have three sets of fangs.”
“I don’t see them now.”
He tapped the space above his upper lip. “They retract.”
“What about your eyes? They changed just now.”
His shoulders tensed. “Yes. The shape allows for sharper visuals, for more precise strikes.”
Unconsciously, she bit down on her bottom lip, and with a brush of his thumb on her clavicle, he inhaled sharply, groaning when he pulled back. “If that is all, I will bid you a good evening, Miss Lovett,” he said in a strained voice, his palm twitching.
With another grunt, he pulled back and walked out the room.
After a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and peeled herself away from the ancient stone. She could still smell his scent on her.
Closing her eyes in a soft blink, she breathed him in before walking to the piano. She had to think of something, anything else. On top of the wood, where music sheets sat dusty, she spotted a piece of stationery in the shape of a rectangle. On it, the word prey was written in red ink. At least, she hoped it was ink.
She turned it over in her palm and winced on seeing the blood splatter over the information printed on the back, detailing something called The Hunt. It was three days ago at midnight, one day exactly before he had come for her, and the location was the grand salon, the very room she was standing in.
Chapter Eight
A deep sluggishness eclipsed her every thought. She’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep, yet again, since arriving at Sallow Manor. Every time she tried to rest, the house would groan in protest. Floorboards creaked and the windows rattled. When she did eventually collapse from exhaustion in the early evening, the nightmares would plague her, sometimes bleeding into her wakefulness and paralyzing her body.
Despite the tiredness wearying her bones and the ache in her lower back that was slowly getting worse, she still refused to climb back into bed. Nathaniel left a note earlier that evening outside her door saying he was leaving to find her cat and grimoires. Ever since then, she’d waited by the window in her bedroom, watching the night darken into twilight.
She pressed her back against the stone arch surrounding the tall glass panes and stretched her legs out along the ledge, the rainhammering against the glass. Heavy droplets raced down the lead inlays, and she traced her fingertips over the intricate tracery, wondering if Duke was out in the storm. What if he didn’t return to the manor after her absence? Her stomach dipped. Her poor baby probably thought she had abandoned him, just like his previous owners had.
Every muscle in her body tensed. What if Duke had gone looking for her in the manor, and then someone had done something to him? Without her there, he had no one to advocate for him.
Stop!She pressed her palms to the sides of her head. The thoughts spiraled with visuals of Duke hurt or worse.
No, she wouldn’t think of it. Duke had to be okay, and Nathaniel would find him. He had to. Duke was the only family Charlotte had left, and if something had happened to him too, then she’d just give up. She pressed her forehead against the glass, trying to distract herself from the stream of panicked thoughts.
There was something about rainy nights that calmed her soul. Even from inside the manor, she could smell the deep, earthy fragrance of the rain hitting the ground through the cracks. At least the plants outside were well-watered, not that she’d been able to see the gardens yet except from her window. Much like the rest of the manor, everything was well tended.
A low growl resounded from her stomach. Her fingers flew to her stomach as a hollow ache deepened in her core. Suddenly, for the first time since her sister’s passing, she was ravenous. She could almost taste her mother’s mutton stew, followed by a large helping of layered sponge cake.
Another growl gurgled in her stomach, deeper this time.
She grabbed the candle from her bedside table by the gold-plated handle and walked out of her bedroom and into the narrow, quiet corridor. The kitchen had to be down from the foyer. She wished she’d asked Alexander for a map.
An icy chill enveloped her as she slowly made her way down the hallway, the plum-colored carpet muffling her footsteps. Shadows flickered against the large oil paintings hanging on the walls above the ornate paneling, all framed with antique gold.
