Briony
arm around the Manor as he shows me the grounds.
Eyes are on us everywhere we go, silent whispers of conversations floating around, weaving their webs of suspicion and gossip.
“Being the only son in the family has left me to take on the role of carrying the Westwood name into the church,” he explains, pointing towards the fountain to direct me where we’re headed.
“Is this a role you feel you’ve fallen into or chosen?”
He turns his head down to look at me, a lopsided grin in place.
“Smart, Briony. You’re smart.” He chuckles before his face drops in seriousness. “But I’ve chosen this. I want it. There’s nothing I’d like more than to bring a bishop title to the family name. But it’s not simply the title that has me passionate, it’s becoming the vessel in which to spread the word. What’s more honorable than that?”
I continue walking alongside him, absorbing his words, until we approach the fountain. The water bubbles over the enormous sculpture of an angel in the moonlight; the darkness pulls my eyes down, making the pool at the bottom seem somewhat eerie in its black abyss.
“I’m glad you sought me out tonight,” he says, turning to face me as he grabs my hands in his before us. “I’ve been hoping for the opportunity to talk alone. It’s time I put the childishness aside.”
My breath hitches as his thumbs gently caress the grooves of my knuckles.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you,” he continues, staring at me with sympathetic eyes.
He moves in closer, placing our hands together against the firm mounds of his pecs beneath his collared dress shirt as he gazes down at me.
“You’ve really grown up these last couple of years.” He swallows, straightening his spine, as his eyes trail down my form to my heels and back. “Sorry it took me so long to catch up.”
Baret was right.
My chest feels tight as his thumbs continue their gentle strokes, his direct eye contact, making the world around us hazy. Heat is building somewhere in the pit of my gut, threatening to cripple me of my control, and I need an escape.
“Restroom?” I ask, closing my eyes tightly, breaking that contact, and clearing my throat. His brow is cocked when I finally reopen my eyes. “I’m sorry. Can you tell me where the restroom is?”
I have to get out of here.
I drop his hands, creating some distance between us as I take a few steps backwards, practically stumbling over my heels as I do.
“Down the corridor, second door on the left,” he calls out after me with a nod, looking perplexed.
I practically race back into the house through the rush of people at the party, avoiding eyes and conversations, until I find the bathroom. The door, second on the left, is unfortunately occupied, so I continue down the corridor until I find the next available open room.
I just need a second to breathe, away from the awkward exchange, and away from the hustle and bustle of people marketing and networking themselves to the higher-ups of our small community.
Finding what appears to be an empty spare bedroom, I shut the door behind me, leaning back against it in the dimly lit space.
Was Baret seriously right? It’d be the first time. Maybe Saint really did have underlying feelings for me that he pushed away with his immaturity. The look in his eyes tonight is unlike anything I’d ever seen from him. Serious. Almost needy. Dark.
Something had changed, and I needed to be careful to navigate it correctly.
It scared me. That feeling when our hands met. Something awoke in me, and the thought of those hands on my body, touching me beneath my dress, came to mind. The devil’s work. I needed to steer clear of these temptations, the sudden lust threatening my control, especially with my name now under the spotlight.
I roll along the door, leaning my forehead against it as my hands brace me against the cool surface, needing time to rid myself of these vile thoughts and distractions before returning to the party.
“Oh, little doll.” I hear the deep voice of a man behind me, and my spine stiffens. Before I even have the chance to turn around, a body seals against my back, pinning me to the wooden surface. “You think so hard when you’re alone,” he says, his dark tone causing the hair at the back of my neck to stand on end.
I attempt to turn my head to face whoever he is, but the breath is literally taken from my lungs in fear as he presses me further into the door with his body.
“Shh,” he whispers against my neck, the scent of leather and sulfur hitting my nostrils. “Don’t scream,” his deep voice rumbles through his chest into mine as his hair tickles the side of my neck. “I’d hate to break my new favorite toy.”
Hands adorned in various rings and a plethora of scars slide their way up my arms against the door until they find mine. His fingers slowly push through the crevices of mine until he interlocks our fingers with his strong, veiny hands. Quick breaths fall from my lips as I study the rings, all silver and black, focusing on one in particular that stands out from the rest. It’s silver, with a large black stone on his index finger. Inside the stone sits an image of an upside-down crucifix.
“Who are you?” I ask breathlessly.
He doesn’t answer me as I feel his face run along the back of my neck. Heat spreads across the exposed skin between my shoulder blades and I shudder at the sensation. He nuzzles into me, running his nose up into my hair. He inhales my scent, his face rubbing over the back of my head as if deriving some sort of sick pleasure from the smell of my hair alone. Lips trail back to my ear, and fear practically cripples my quivering body.
It’s him.
“Say it,” he demands against the shell of my ear, drawing in another deep inhale against the side of my head.
My mind swirls with panic as his words wrap around my weak little form like a serpent, so sure of the demise of its prey.
“Say it!” he says again, and I jump, gasping for air as I close my eyes tightly, withholding my scream.
He wants me to tell him who he is? No, he needs to hear me say his name.
“Aero,” I whisper shakily.
He hums his approval against the flesh of my neck, his stone-like body encapsulating mine as he continues to press into me.
“If you want to get out alive,” he whispers against my skin, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin, “run for your life.”
I swallow before a terror-filled whimper leaves my throat.
Those large, ring-covered hands keep their grip on mine, pressing against the door, before all of his weight lifts off me entirely and he hits the switch next to the door, turning off the remaining light in the room to leave me in complete darkness again.
I turn around swiftly, my pulse quickening at the unknown and my back against the door as clumsy hands scale the wooden surface for the handle. I find it and twist it open abruptly, allowing the sliver of light pouring in from the hallway to illuminate the room.
But just as I expected, it’s now void of anyone.
I walk back among the party-goers, finally spotting Baret in one corner and Mia along the wall of the other. I approach Mia, quickly pulling her away from her conversation.
“You ready to go?” I ask, my eyes darting around the open space.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously before she leans in, whispering, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She scans me with her gaze before her focus falls to my neck.
“What’s this?” Her hand comes up to touch the side of my neck as she wipes her fingers there before showing them to me. They’re black.
I touch the area where he was nuzzling into me, and my eyes widen as I look at the fingers that are now covered in what appears to be some sort of black paint. My confusion must have Mia worried enough because she immediately races over to Baret.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I scour the faces of the people in attendance, suspicion coursing through my veins. Faces of evil are everywhere you look, covered in their own paint, putting on the show of a civilized organization.
Back near the opened doors to the terrace, my heart drops to my stomach as my eyes connect with his.
Half of a face, watching me from behind the pillar. A hooded man, barely illuminated by the moonlight with an eerie mask of black and white face paint to resemble a skeleton, and black locks hanging down across his forehead and into his eyes.
He turns, vanishing into the darkness just as quickly as he appeared in that room behind me. Silently and with intent.
What I’ve yet to decipher is his overall message. It could be one of two things.
A threat or a warning.
