My feet are silent against the gravel as I take small, careful steps towards the back door.
This is fine. It’s all going to be fine.
Silas will be irritated as hell, but he did tell me to run. I just… took him at his word. And if I spent the day climbing trees and wading in the icy cold stream, can he really tell me off if I was just doing exactly what he told me to do?
I bite my lip. I did hear him – or I thought I did – once. But he sounded so angry still that I figured it was best to climb up a little higher and wait.
Except then I fell asleep, full of apples and fresh air that went straight to my head. And now… it’s late. Possibly very late, judging from the position of the moon above my head.
Oh, God. This is not going to be fine.
Bracing myself for uproar, my hand twists the handle quietly, and I slip into the dark house.
My clothes are soaked, and I drop my shoes to the floor quietly. I’m not looking ahead, so when the shadow detaches from the doorway and warm hands land on my face, I let out a startled squeak before I can stop myself.
“Jesus Christ,” Kit chokes. He stares down into my face, his eyes travelling down to my soaked clothing. “Where have you been?”
Swallowing, I purse my lips. “Silas told me to run. So I ran. I just… forgot about the time.”
Kit scans me, as if making sure that I’m in one piece before he responds, his voice wry. “I should have known. Silas is not in the best of moods, you know.”
When I wince, amusement flits across his face, dampening the worry. “He searched for you all day. He looks almost as muddy as you do.”
My hands reach up to cover his, soaking in his warmth as I start to shiver. “You are not helping my anxiety here.”
He looked for me all day.
Probably with the chains in one hand, ready to lock me back up again.
He laughs, low and gruff, and his thumb rubs across my cheek. He pulls it back, showing me the dark smudge. “And why are you so wet?”
“Ah…” I glance down. I’m worse than when I first arrived, my hair full of leaves and twigs. But I feel alive. Like I needed today, needed the air and the water to feel like myself again, like Stasi, and not just the Anastasia everyone keeps telling me I am.
“I slipped,” I admit sheepishly. “On the bank of the stream.”
“Of course you did.” He reaches behind him, and my eyes light up when he hands me a large towel. “Here, you wild thing.”
My grin stretches slowly across my face. “So, really. How much trouble am I in?”
Kit purses his lips. “He’s waiting for you upstairs. I’ll come with you.”
The offer warms my stomach, even as I wrap the towel around my shoulders. But I shake my head in refusal. “No. I’ll speak to him.”
Kit crosses his arms. “Anastasia.”
“Kit.” I mimic his position, before I drop my hands. “I… it’s fine. I can take it.”
I’m not scared of Silas. He won’t hurt me. At least, not physically.
But his tongue is fucking sharp. And I don’t want Kit to see that, don’t want him to feel like he has to take sides, like he has to choose between me and his brother.
And maybe… maybe he wouldn’t choose me anyway.
He blows out a breath, and I let out one of my own as he leans forward, wrapping me in his arms. “I’m filthy.”
“I don’t care,” he says roughly. “You don’t trust me yet. Do you?”
I freeze, my body hardening against him. “What?”
“I get it,” he says in a low voice. His hands rub up and down my back, and I close my eyes. “When you spend so long on your own, it’s hard to rely on anyone else. And I haven’t exactly given you any reason to believe that you can lean on me.”
He steps back, and I glance down to where he holds my hand securely in his. Following it up, to where deep, dark violet eyes watch me closely.
“I told you I would wait forever for you,” he says quietly. His thumb rubs over my skin, slow, comforting strokes. “And if it takes forever to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere, then I’ll spend every day showing you, Stasi. You are not on your own. Not anymore.”
My breath catches, as I watch him. My heart squeezing, my throat tightening up. With want.
Because I want what he’s offering. Desperately.
But the good things that happen to me have a real habit of not lasting.
I’m not sure I could cope if it happened again.
“Come on,” he says, his eyes tracing my face. “I won’t stay, not if you don’t want me to. But I’ll take you in. And when you’re done, come up and use my shower.”
I swallow. “I have a bathroom now.”
“I know,” he says mildly. He leads me out of the kitchen, up the steps and towards the study that used to belong to William. When he knocks, heavy, angry-sounding footsteps echo.
Trepidation makes me stand a little taller, and Kit chooses that exact moment to lean down and whisper in my ear. “But I want you to stay with me.”
The color floods my face as the door swings open. Silas ignores his brother completely, his blue eyes travelling over me. Assessing my soggy state, my chaotic nest of hair. The mud.
He looks like he’s had more than a few falls himself today. The dark jeans he’s wearing look a little damp, muddy patches at the knees, but his shirt clings wetly to him, covered in dirt and leaves.
I blink. He looks like he’s only just walked back in through the door.
Kit sighs, and I jolt as he lifts up my hand. His lips press directly across the pulse in my wrist, and Silas scowls, but he doesn’t say anything as Kit steps back.
“I’ll see you later,” Kit’s words are pointed as he lets go of my hand, and I nod timidly, shifting from foot to foot as Silas steps back.
I slip past him, careful to leave a distance between us, and pad to the center of the room as Kit and Silas have a hissed conversation at the door. When it slams shut, I jump a mile.
Silas stalks over to me, and I shrink back as he leans over me with a snarl.
“Where were you?” he snaps. His hands land on my shoulders. “Fucking Christ, Stasi. Something could have happened to you, you idiot. Running off through the fucking woods like that.”
I blink, taken off guard by the concern threaded through his words. “I thought you’d be angry.”
The color in his face deepens to almost purple. “Do I not look fucking furious enough to you?”
I take a step back, frowning. “Not… not really, no.”
I mean, he looks angry, but it’s not the cold anger, the seething hatred that I’m almost used to seeing in his eyes. This is… worry. Worry like he wore when he carried me to his bed.
No, this anger is… heated.
He takes another step, crowding me until my back meets the wall. His head drops until our mouths are barely an inch apart, our harsh breathing mingling in the small amount of space that he allows me.
He glances down. Even our bodies are pressed together, the damp clothing doing nothing at all to stop the heat from his chest burning against me.
“Silas,” I breathe. I’m not sure why I say it, why it sounds like a fucking plea. But he watches me, and I suck in a breath as warm fingers slip around my wrists.
He pulls them up, slowly, until he’s pushing my hands up above my head and against the wall, my chest pushing out towards him. “W-what are you doing?”
“Do you even realize what you do to me, Anastasia?” he rasps. I blink, slowly, as his face drops. Shiver, as his dark stubble brushes against the delicate skin of my neck.
“You defy me,” his mouth brushes my ear, “at every fucking turn. You seem intent on fucking tormenting me. And all I want to do is punish you for it.”
I wet my dry lips. “What would you call our present situation, exactly?”
When he pulls back and shakes his head, his lips brush against mine. I swallow, as one hand keeps my wrists above my head. The other slowly drops. Until he’s curling it around my throat, his touch soft as the brush of silk even as his fingers close to a loose grip.
“Not that kind of punishment,” he whispers into my mouth. “What I have in mind is much more… physical. Perhaps this one will actually get the message across.”
My knees actually shake, my body tilting until he presses back against me.
And fuck, I can feel him. Heavy, and hot, and hard against my stomach.
And something… swoops. Low in my stomach.
Something needy. Wanting.
As if my body wants the man in front of me, the Tate brother who holds me in his hands like treasure but watches me like I’m poison.
This… this will not solve anything. Because he’ll probably hate himself afterwards. And maybe I’ll hate myself, too. For giving in to this… this need.
But maybe I’ll regret it more if I don’t. If I push him away now, if I see that cold look come over his face again.
Yes, I would regret it.
So I whisper the words.
“Do it.”
