Chapter 8

I t was cozy in the kitchen, warm from where the stove and oven had been on, and the smells were divine. It was the perfect place to get a little space from the Tepes men without having to be alone in my bedroom.

Ingrid offered me sweet scones with cream and jam to make up for my missing dessert on my date, but I wasn’t feeling it. I settled for a cup of tea while she bustled about cleaning the countertops and stacking plates. She faded in and out, humming a lilting melody that tugged at something deep within me.

I swallowed my mouthful. “What’s that you’re singing?”

She stopped humming and smiled. “It’s an old lullaby. I used to sing it to my daughter.”

“You have a daughter? Is she…is she here too?”

“No dear. She’s long gone.” Her smile remained, but her eyes were sad.

I didn’t like that I’d made her sad. “It’s a beautiful tune. Can you sing the words?”

Her brow furrowed. “I wish I could remember, but it’s been so long…Time has stolen them from me.”

Time.

Centuries of it. Not just for her, but for the other specters who inhabited the halls of this castle.

“I hate that you’re stuck here like this. You should be free, all of you.” Did she know about the curse? Wait, was she trapped here because of it?

“It’s not so bad.” She set down her mop and stood hands on hips. “And now that you’ve agreed to help the master find his humanity, there is hope for us all.”

“You know about that?”

“Yes, dear, I know about the curse, and Master Ordell informed me that you’d be helping.”

“You’re all trapped here because of it, aren’t you?”

“There are those of us who chose to stay, and on the most part, we do not regret it. But some could not endure and lost their minds.”

“The lost are in the west wing?”

She nodded. “I fear that with enough time, we may all become lost. But with your help, Master Ezekiel may finally find his heart once more.”

“Yeah…” I dropped my gaze to my plate, my insides twisting with conflict because as much as I wanted to stop Loviator and free the specters, as much as my brain knew that it was essential that Ezekiel find his humanity, my heart wasn’t on board.

I could never forgive him for the horrors he’d chosen to inflict. He killed not to survive but for pleasure, and in my book, that made him a monster.

“I’d like to show you something,” Ingrid said. “I think it might help you to understand.”

I followed her out of the kitchen and through the winding nighttime corridors into a part of the castle I’d never been before, where cobwebs and dust reigned and the air was dry and musty.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

I trusted Ingrid, but I couldn’t help the flashback of when Daisy, the crazy ghost, had lured me into danger a few days ago.

Ingrid slowed and glanced back as if sensing my concern. “I would never harm you, Orina. I hope you trust that you’re safe with me.”

“I do.”

“Good because we’re here.”

She led the way up a narrow flight of steps and unlocked a battered-looking wooden door into a room lit by moonlight and home to a gathering of shadows. The candles fixed to the wall lit up with a whoosh, banishing the darkness and illuminating a space filled with books, paintings, and all manner of knickknacks.

There was no floor space aside from a narrow path that wound its way between the stacks of boxes. “What is all of this?”

“I call it the memory room,” Ingrid said. “Books, letters, paintings, and portraits from the time before. If you want to know who Master Ezekiel really is, then you may find him amongst these things. His things.”

“Does he…Does he know about this place?”

“Oh yes, dear. There was a time he would spend hours in this room. A time when we hoped, but he has not set foot in this part of the castle for four centuries.” She pressed the iron key into my palm. “Take your time to look around and feel free to visit as often as you like. I doubt he will come here again.”

She crossed to the exit. “When you’re done, blow out the candles, and I’ll return to escort you back to your room.” She slipped away, leaving me with a trove of memories belonging to the man Ezekiel had once been.

Now where should I start? I claimed the seat at the desk laden with piles of books. Volumes of poetry and classical literature penned in Latin, philosophy, and oooh, what was this? A sketch book?

I flipped it open to find pencil sketches of landscapes, then a rabbit, a fox, a field of cattle, and a sparrow. All beautifully rendered. I flipped the pages and stopped on the profile of a woman. Her face was hidden by the shadow of her bonnet, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. There followed another sketch of a woman on her knees by a flowerbed, her body turned away from the observer so that her face wasn’t fully visible. Several more drawings followed of what I assumed was the same woman.

Was this Ezekiel’s wife? Had he drawn these? They were simple ink sketches, and yet there was a fluidity about them that made them feel almost alive, as if the woman on her knees by the flowerbed was a fraction of a second away from turning her head to look at me.

If Ezekiel had drawn these, then he was very talented.

I set the book down and pulled open a drawer, empty except for a small ring box and another sketch. I pulled out the box first. There was a silver band inside, thick enough to carry an engraved message. I had to carry it to the candlelight to read it. In aeternum. For eternity. Whose ring was this? It was small, so not Ezekiel’s. His wife’s maybe?

The sketch, an almost photographic style, was done in various shades of ink, and I was certain it was by a different artist to the one who’d owned the sketchbook. It was a portrait of a man and woman. I recognized Ezekiel straight away. The artist had captured his arrogantly handsome features perfectly. He was dressed in clothes from another era: hose and a shirt beneath a doublet. The woman wore a pretty headdress and a flowing white gown. It was difficult to tell the color of her hair from the inked portrait, but it wasn’t dark, and her face was slim and almost stern, her mouth unsmiling just as Ezekiel’s was.

This was his wife? It had to be. This was a wedding picture; that much was obvious. I flipped it over to find the date and beneath it Me and Mary on our wedding day .

Mary…Mary Tepes. Okay…

She didn’t look too happy to be married to him. But what did I know about the style of portraits in that time—almost, what…eight hundred years ago?

I tucked it back into the drawer. So far, all I’d learned about Ezekiel was that he was moody in his wedding portrait and liked to draw…wait…the woman in the sketches…

I pulled out the drawings again and flipped to the first drawing of the woman in the bonnet. Her hair was dark, and the curve of her cheek was a sweeping oval, nothing like the angular lines of his wife’s face.

This was a different woman.

He’d been drawing her…a lot.

But who was she? A lover? An obsession from before he married Mary? Hemlock had said that Ezekiel’s wife died in childbirth, so maybe he fell for someone else after that?

I sat back and surveyed the room. There had to be more clues in here somewhere, but I was tired. The snooping would have to wait for another day.

I blew out the candles and headed for the exit to wait for Ingrid to take me back to my room.

I had the weekend off, and now I knew where I’d be spending my day.

By the time I was done, Ezekiel wouldn’t be such a mystery to me any longer, and hopefully I’d be able to summon the desire to save him.

I’d just finished getting ready for bed when there was a knock on my door. Ordell stood outside clutching a plate with a huge slice of chocolate cake on it. He was dressed in the gray joggers and cream tee that I’d come to recognize as his loungewear which meant he was ready to turn in too. Would he strip it all off and sleep in the nude? Nope. Not going there. But I bet he did. And what was with the cake? A snack before?—

“For you.” He held out the plate.

I stared at it. “Um…why?”

“You didn’t have dessert. I checked with Ingrid.”

“O-kay.” I looked from the cake up to him. “And that bothers you…why?”

He rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, his gaze not meeting mine. “Do you want it or not?” There was a slight growl underlying his tone that sent a strange prickling up my spine.

“I mean, I’ve already brushed my teeth.”

“You can brush them again later.”

Good point. “It’s a huge piece. I won’t be able to finish it…”

He exhaled. “I’ll help you.”

“You want to share a slice of cake with me?”

His chest rumbled in exasperation. “Orina…”

I stepped aside to let him into my room and was hit by a spike of his sweet evergreen scent. My stomach flipped, and I breathed through my mouth to avoid another hit of his aroma.

He stopped by my bed, his chest rising and falling deeply. “Let’s go on the balcony.” His tone was thicker, his words almost a plea.

My gut warned me not to question him even as my mind urged me to demand what the hell was going on here.

My gut won, and I led the way to the balcony doors, unlocking them to let us out into the cool, crisp air. My skin was instantly pebbled with goosebumps, and I was about to duck back inside to grab a sweater when Ordell’s heat hit me, spreading over me in a phantom hug. The next moment, his taut chest pressed to my back and his arms folded around me, bringing the plate and cake with them.

This was bliss, and I wanted to stay here. “I thought we had to keep away from each other?”

“We do. We are.” His breath ruffled the top of my head. “We will. But let’s eat cake together now. Please.”

I sighed and leaned back into him, eyes fluttering closed because, damn, I’d missed our closeness.

He shaved off a piece of cake with the fork and held it to my lips, offering to feed me. The intimacy of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I should say something, but I was loath to interrupt the moment, to ruin it in any way. So I accepted the sliver, and the next, and the next, until over half the cake was gone.

“Hey, you need to have the rest. I’m full.”

He chuckled against my ear. “Are you sure you can’t take any more?” The way he said it, the thick deep tone, set the pulse between my thighs throbbing.

I gently extricated the fork from his hand and turned in his arms to feed him. His beautiful lips parted to accept my offering, but when he was done, an errant bit of chocolate clung to the corner of his mouth. Before I could check myself, I’d pushed up on tiptoes and claimed it with a flick of my tongue. He went as still as stone, and I froze. I should back away. I should?—

His mouth claimed mine, swallowing my gasp. All good intentions melted beneath the rasp of his tongue, chocolate, vanilla and heat, and fuck…I raked my fingers through his hair, climbing him like a tree. Something smashed, the sound distant and insignificant, and I was crushed against taut, hard muscle.

He cradled my head with one large hand, angling me to deepen the kiss while his other hand gripped and kneaded my ass. Our groans mingled as we fell back against the doors, into the room, and onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

He was all over me. Everywhere at once, lips and hands, and the vibration of his primal growls. My clothes were too tight, my sleep tee straining and rubbing against my breasts, abrasive and unwanted while the fabric against my pussy was a wet constriction that I needed gone.

He tore my shirt with a swipe of his large hand and clamped down on my nipple. I cried out and arched against his mouth, writhing beneath him as he sucked hard enough to draw sobs of need up my throat.

He tore at my shorts next, fingers diving beneath the fabric and sliding into the pulsing heat that waited there.

My eyes rolled, vision whiting out as he touched me.

“Need.” His voice was deep and animalistic.

A spike of ice penetrated the fog of desire clouding my mind, but then his fingers pushed inside me, and I lost all coherence, moving my hips against him, hungry, wanton, chasing release. Please. Please. Oh please.

His fingers retreated, replaced by something huge, thick and hot.

I wanted it.

I should stop.

I needed to stop.

But I fucking wanted it.

A wave of heat washed over me, stealing my words and disrupting my thoughts. All that mattered was having him inside me.

An icy hand squeezed my arm, and pain flared up across my chest, shattering the fog of need and yanking me back to reality.

What was I doing?

I couldn’t let this happen no matter how much I wanted it.

“Stop!” I shoved at his hips, wriggling to get away but succeeding only in rubbing against him.

Oh fuck…That felt?—

Ordell flew off me and slammed into the wall by the dresser.

“Dammit, Ordell!” Hemlock threw a sheet over me then stormed over to his brother. “Put your cock away and go.”

Oh…my…He was huge.

Ordell growled and took a step toward me.

Hemlock shoved him back. “Dammit, Orina. Cover yourself.”

Shit. I pulled the sheets over myself with trembling hands.

Ordell’s gaze burned a path over me, as if he could see me bare and wanton through the barrier of sheets, as if he could smell me. His scent spiked, and my head grew fuzzy.

“Ordell…” Hemlock stepped between us, partially blocking me from Ordell’s view.

Long seconds passed, and Ordell’s shoulders relaxed. He tucked himself away. “I’m sorry,” he rasped before hurrying from the room.

Hemlock raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

My face was on fire. “I…I don’t…We were eating cake and then?—”

“Cake?” His tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

“Yeah, he brought me some cake.”

Hemlock cursed again. “I’ll get my things.”

“What?”

“I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Ordell wouldn’t hurt me?”

“No. He wouldn’t, but his beast will, and it seems it’s closer to the surface than we thought, and he seems to have taken a liking to you. So unless you want to fuck him, you better let me stay here.”

I nodded mutely. “Get your things.”

He retreated, closing the door behind him, and I hurried into the bathroom to wash up. I was slick and sticky, my skin feverish and sensitized, and in that moment, I knew that if Hemlock hadn’t shown up when he had, I would have let Ordell have me.