1. Camryn

ONE

CAMRYN

A sense of foreboding wraps around me as I exit the backseat of the car.

Up ahead, a Victorian-style mansion framed by dead, gnarly trees appears, menacing and imposing, with peeling blue paint, boarded-up windows, and wilted rose bushes. It has seen better days.

Mom shuts the car door and quickly wipes the look of weariness from her face. Not only has she lost her husband in the last year, but also the house. Now she's ladened with me and my stepbrother, Dominic, our golden retriever, and a derelict house that is, according to her, all we can afford.

As I stare at the property, I can understand why.

It's a shithole.

A warm breeze feathers through the overgrown grass as Dominic exits the vehicle, slams the door shut, then opens the trunk and hauls the suitcases outside. His gray T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders when he walks past me in a cloud of citrus and leather, dragging his suitcase behind him. I let my gaze wander over his muscled back and light blue jeans, which hug his ass.

The material of his T-shirt sticks to a streak of sweat between his shoulder blades, somehow making him even more attractive. It doesn't matter that he's an asshole or that he hates me; I can't keep my eyes off him.

Our dog, Bruno, sniffs the dried lawn as he follows Dominic, his tail wagging.

The heat from the sun beats down on my head, and when I step forward, the smell of something rotten drifts to my nose.

I look down at the ground and pause at the sight of a decomposing rat surrounded by a swarm of flies.

Saliva fills my mouth as my stomach turns.

"That's a creepy tree," Mom mumbles, staring at a large oak tree outside the house. "Are you coming?" she asks me, grabbing hold of the handle of her suitcase.

Tearing my gaze away from the dead rat, I shake off the feeling of foreboding that refuses to let go, clinging to my skin like the sheen of sweat at my nape.

I follow her to the porch and haul my heavy suitcase up the steps. Dominic is already inside, no doubt picking his bedroom before I can get a chance at dibs.

As I enter the house, a shiver runs through me, and I fight the urge to tuck tail and run. There's something in the air. Something… dark. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. I can sense it.

I pause, waiting and listening.

"I know it's in a state of disrepair," Mom says, sweeping her eyes over the large hallway. "But as you can see, it still has its original Victorian detailing."

She flashes me a hopeful smile, and I smile back as I walk past her, not wanting to make this even harder. But I can't ignore my unease.

Overhead, a massive chandelier covered in dust and cobwebs gives me the creeps.

"It has one in every room."

Well, that's reassuring…

Swallowing thickly, I gaze away and enter the spacious living room. Standing in the middle of the space, I take in the dusty sheets on the furniture, peeling wallpaper, the chandelier overhead with broken strings of crystals, and ripped curtains.

Mom points out the positives. "Look at the handcrafted built-in bookshelves and millwork. I think it'll be perfect for us once we've cleaned this place up." She walks up to the large, antique-looking fireplace and runs her hand over the dusty top. "Every bedroom has one, too, which will be useful in winter."

The soft patter of claws on the wooden floor announces Bruno's arrival as he enters the room, wagging his tail and sniffing the floor.

Dominic sucks the air out of the room as he swamps the doorway with his towering build, his brown eyes sweeping over the gaps in the floorboards and old portraits on the walls.

"Couldn't have found us a nicer place, Mom ," he sneers in that condescending tone of his that always puts me on edge.

"This was all we could afford, Dominic," she replies tiredly, pleading with her eyes for him not to make this harder than it already is.

She lost her husband.

He lost his father and twin brother.

With a disgusted snort, he spins around and then exits the room. Mom blows out a breath, eyes glassy with tears, and scratches Bruno behind the ear.

I don't like how rude Dominic is to Mom when all she's done is give him a home and stability after his father died. She didn't have to do that. Dominic isn't her son, but she refuses to drop him because he is the son of the man she loves and has no other family. Responsibility runs deeper than death.

As silence settles over the house for a moment, it dawns on me how cold it is—much colder than outside. I rub my arms to ward off the chill, suppressing another shiver when something shifts in my periphery.

A darting shadow.

There and gone.

A trick of the eye.

"Let's explore upstairs," Mom says as she moves past me.

It takes me a long time to haul my suitcase up the warped stairs. Dominic is nowhere around to help, but as I near the top, rock music blasts from one of the bedrooms.

"You okay?" Mom asks, out of breath, a small smile gracing her lips. "We know to pack lighter for next time."

Huffing a laugh, I head toward the sound of music.

"That's your bedroom, I think," Mom says, pointing out the one across from Dominic's.

She takes a right and walks down the opposite hallway, and I roll my eyes, seeing it for what it is. She wants me to stay close to Dominic, hoping we will finally learn to get along.

It won't happen any time soon.

Dominic has hated me from day one.

At first, because he didn't want our parents to marry, and now because he blames me for the car crash that took his dad.

My chest tightens, but I shake off the thoughts and push open the bedroom door.

The room is small and has a double bed covered in a white sheet to keep the dust off, a wooden desk, a chair, and a large mahogany wardrobe. Torn curtains in a shade of deep green frame the large, cloudy windows overlooking the forest at the back of the property. I step up to the window seat and inhale the scent of musty upholstery and stale air. Outside, thick clouds roll in to suffocate the natural sunlight as a subtle breeze moves through the naked trees.

I wonder what I look like to an outsider as I stare out from the bedroom window, like a haunted silhouette?—

The floorboards creak behind me, and I whirl around to see Dominic leaning against the doorframe, ankles and arms crossed. His gaze falls down my body and then back up just as fast before he pushes off and leaves the room.

I try to swallow even as my dry throat constricts, hating how suffocated I feel around him. How he unnerves me with his heated looks of hatred and rage, as though he wants to peel the skin off my bones and feed me to the dog.

My gaze drifts back to the window and the thicket of trees outside. Something about the woods calls to me, urging me to explore, to disappear into its depths, to get lost.

Turning my back on the windows, I unpack my suitcase and put my clothes away. I don't own much, and the rest of our belongings are in storage for now, so it doesn't take long.

As long as I have the precious, tattered copy of Wuthering Heights that my grandma gifted me before she passed away, I'm fine.

Deciding to leave my room to help Mom clean up, I enter the hallway but stop short. Dominic's door is open.

I shouldn't invade his privacy. More importantly, I shouldn't be this curious about him.

Glancing left and right, I worry my bottom lip. Then I cross the hallway and enter his room, careful not to let the noisy floorboards announce my presence.

His space is much larger than mine, with a four-poster king-size bed framed by heavy curtains, like something from medieval times.

Something for royalty.

I turn in a slow circle as I sweep my gaze over the chest of drawers, a mahogany desk—similar to the one in my room, stacked with a pile of his Vinyls—an armoire, and a large armchair by the window.

The stale air already smells of him—citrus, leather, and all things forbidden. It feels wrong to be in here without his knowledge and to inhale his scent deep into my lungs, but like an addict, I can't help myself.

Just one more breath?—

"Camryn." Mom's voice drifts through the floorboards beneath my feet.

Torn from my thoughts, I leave Dominic's room and hurry downstairs, cursing my own weakness where my stepbrother is concerned.

Mom exits the living room with a sweeping brush in her hand, cheeks flushed and covered in dust. She holds the brush out and smiles. "Let's clean this place up."

I wake with a start, trapped in the hazy remnants of a nightmare. Sweat clings to my forehead, and I swipe damp strands of hair from my brow before glancing at the window, where the shutters rattle on the outside.

The wind whistling through the old house adds to the creepy sensation slithering over my skin. It is still dark outside.

I look at the alarm clock and breathe in deeply. It has only just passed four in the morning.

After lying down and turning on my side, I pull the quilt to my chin. Dread twists my stomach and sweat beads on my neck. There's something in the corner of the room, beside the door. Something is watching me, something that chills me to the bone. Something evil.

Shadows thicken and swirl like mist on a forest floor, and my nostrils fill with the scent of sulfur as the taste of ash fills my mouth. Outside, the wind picks up, slamming the shutters against the window in time with the erratic beat of my heart.

As I lift my head off the pillow, I see what looks like a hooded man coated in shadows and cruel intent. But I can't make out his face—only the outline of him.

A gasp flees my lips before I shoot upright in bed, fumbling to switch on the lamp on my bedside table. Light floods the room, almost instantly chasing away the shadows and the scent of sulfur.

I clutch the quilt to my chest as I stare at the empty corner and the closed door.

My gown hangs from a hook.

A gown that looks like a man in the dark.

It was just my imagination.

Relieved, I flop back down and run my hand over my face, feeling stupid. I'm on edge and easily spooked. I turn back over on my side, snuggling deeper into my pillow as I glance back at the door. Now that my mind isn't playing tricks on me, I can see the gown clearly in the darkness.

My eyes drift shut and I inhale deeply, relaxing every muscle. If I fall back asleep now, I can get a few more hours of rest.