Chapter 11

PEN

Pen lurched upright as someone banged their fists against her door. Her cheeks were flushed, her underwear sticky, and Pen was alarmed to realize she'd been rudely woken from an incredibly hot dream.

As she stretched and yawned, arching her back with a shiver, she was certain she could still feel the leather of books digging into her back and the dragging of nails down her thigh as long fingers dug into bare skin and her leg was lifted aside for easy access, fingers squeezing almost painfully. The person in the dream had hefted her up against one of the bookcases in the study, pressing her into the shelves as books fell around them, clattering to the floor. Their bodies had clashed against one another, heartbeat against ragged heartbeat.

Pen could practically taste the burn of whiskey down her throat as someone kissed her deep, tongue dipping and tangling with hers, their teeth scraping her bottom lip. But already the dream's clarity was fading, and Pen couldn't make out the face of the man who'd devoured her.

Much to her dismay.

"Wake up! We have places to be, things to do!" Laszlo called.

The sound of her friend's voice pushed her thoughts of the dream away. For now. She'd have to revisit it later. For… reasons.

A piece of paper was slipped under Pen's door, and she pulled on her glasses before stumbling out of bed, hitting the floor face-first as she twisted in her sheets, legs tangled together. Grumbling, she reached out and snatched it up, squinting. Pen struggled out of the blankets and stood, pulling open her door and nearly mowing down Laszlo in the process.

"What's this?" Pen demanded, holding it up.

Laszlo raised a brow and looked from the paper to Pen. "It's an itinerary."

She blanched. "It's a writing retreat, not a boot camp, Laszlo."

Laszlo opened his mouth to respond, but Storm's door opened across the way, and both Pen and Laszlo turned to survey him. He was freshly showered, water dripping down his curls and soaking his shirt. And something about the sight of him in that button-up, the water making the forest-green fabric cling to his chest, made her mouth go dry.

"You look like shit," Laszlo observed.

"Thank you," Storm said. "I didn't sleep much last night."

There was a question in Storm's heated stare. She thought of last night, the way he'd looked at her like she could fix it all. And then she recalled her dream and the faceless man grinding into her, kissing her, and she shuddered, hand wrinkling the itinerary in her palms.

"Did anyone sleep last night?" Laszlo muttered, turning to go. "I'll see you two downstairs in the kitchen by nine!"

Pen watched her friend go, a small smile curling her lips. She'd follow Lazlo's schedule, sure, but Pen had forgotten how strict he was. Though if there was a time in her life when she needed it most, it was now.

"Is he for real?" Storm asked, holding up an identical itinerary. She squirmed as he glanced up from the itinerary to survey her. His eyes dipped down to her chest, and he blushed. She followed his gaze and quickly wrapped her arms around herself. Damn it, she should have put on a bra. She could poke an eye out with one of her nipples.

"I'm going to shower…" she said, trailing off as she took a step backward into her room.

He frowned. "Um, enjoy?"

Without meaning to, Pen recalled the remnants of her dream, a hand clawing her thighs hungrily, and heat gathered once more between her legs as he stared blankly at her. She slammed her door shut and leaned her forehead against it. Um, enjoy? Who told you to enjoy a shower? And what the hell was wrong with her? A week was too long in this damned castle. If she was this irrational after a single night, how would she be after a week?

She undressed, peeling away her sticky underwear before stepping into the shower. She relished the hot water beading over her neck and shoulders. Her whole body was stiff, her muscles tight and exhausted. She hadn't slept much, and though she would never admit it to his face, Pen had spent four hours of her night reading through most of Storm's manuscript.

It was good. Fuck, it was more than good.

It deserved to be published.

Screw whoever had told him otherwise. For What Savages May Be had been pulled from the bones of whatever its parent had been. And Pen finally understood why he was the way he was, why he'd struggled to say no, to step out of his little safety box.

She almost pitied him.

Though Pen had finally fallen asleep, she had drifted in and out of wakefulness, remembering the glowing eyes down in the cellar. And the way Storm had looked at her when she opened the document on the flash drive.

How she managed to fit a sex dream into the mix was anyone's guess.

On shaky legs, Pen straightened and lathered her hair with shampoo. Head thrown back as she rinsed, she heard the loud squeal of a door opening and felt a gush of cold air through the bathroom.

Pen paused, shuddering as she peeled open one eye. "Hello?"

Nothing.

Nerves buzzing, she rinsed out the last of the shampoo before shutting off the water. She peered around the shower curtain; her room was empty. "Hello?" she called again as she climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself.

The cold draft hit her, and she shivered, water dripping from her hair and down her front, soaking her towel. She stopped before the fireplace, the tapestry to its left sticking out strangely. Lifting it, she found the secret door ajar. She tugged it closed, turning the lock once again and pushing against it. The door held.

"Weird."

But weird didn't even begin to describe it.

Jumping at every creak of the floorboard, at every miniscule sound, Pen dried her hair, braiding it before slipping on jeans and another sweater. She grabbed her laptop and hurried out of her room.

She wanted to spend as little time alone in this castle as humanly possible.

"You're late!" Laszlo called as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Daniela was nursing a steaming mug of coffee, and dark purple bags were stark beneath her eyes. She muttered something under her breath as Pen walked past her chair.

Storm stood at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee, then sipping it with a sigh. He cradled it in his large hands, eyes closed. So, Neil Storm liked his coffee black. It didn't surprise Pen in the least. He seemed like the kind of man to prefer the bitter stuff as a necessity to begin his mornings. He wasn't the kind of person to relish things.

Because tea was soft and calming. Tea was familiar, warm, and knowing. She knew what tea tasted like, and coffee was always unreliable.

Like Storm.

She watched him quietly as he took another long drink of the black liquid. He did not savor the taste and made no expression to indicate if the coffee offered him any sense of pleasure.

Pleasure. Why had that word come to mind when she looked at him? She squeezed her thighs together, butterflies flitting in her stomach. For fuck's sake, what was wrong with her?

"There's tea in the cupboard," Laszlo said, motioning to the one above the stove. "And the water is boiled and waiting for you."

Pen smiled warmly and crossed to the cupboard. "Thank you."

"We take our caffeine seriously," Laszlo said with a curt nod.

Snorting, Pen turned and pulled down the box of tea and a mug. It was a morning ritual, pouring in the water, mixing in a splash of milk, and stirring in a small spoonful of sugar before steeping two tea bags. Although everyone else here was drinking coffee, and it seemed to be the mascot for writers, Pen would never be swayed.

Steaming mug in hand, she settled into the seat across from Storm. He didn't look up, although he seemed aware of her presence. She leaned forward and blew on her tea as she watched him.

"That coffee is as black as your soul," she said, taking a scalding sip.

He raised a brow and gulped down a mouthful of coffee, eyes never leaving hers even as he swallowed. Pen watched the way his throat bobbed, her eyes flicking from the scrape of stubble along his jaw and down his neck before she returned her attention to his eyes. He smacked his lips, making a satisfied sound in his throat as he stared quietly on. She could feel that sound buzzing a pathway all the way down to her toes, and she blushed as she glared down at her tea, lips clamping together to keep from talking.

She was all sorts of flustered today.

"So, have you seen anything yet?" Daniela asked, leaning in. "Well, besides that fake shit in the cellar yesterday."

Fake shit? Pen thought. Did no one believe her? She recalled Storm's words the night before, the way he'd guided her up the stairs, away from the darkness and back to her room, the strange, comfortable energy humming between them as they'd stopped in the space between their doors.

"I saw what I saw," Pen insisted.

"Haven't seen anything," Laszlo said, ignoring her.

They all turned to Storm, who simply shrugged. Pen eyed him. She'd seen the way he'd flung himself into her room, the way he couldn't bring himself to open her door and go back to his. Had he seen the woman in black? Was there something he wasn't telling them?

"Okay!" Laszlo called, breaking the awkward silence. "We have a lot of work to do, so why don't we get started with writing sprints?"

Pen turned to survey Daniela and Storm. Laszlo's brows pinched together as he took them in. Everyone looked ragged, exhausted. Not fit for writing.

"This is precisely why I told you all to take it easy last night."

"Sorry we're not all grannies, " Daniela sneered.

"I just didn't sleep well. New places," Storm said with a shrug.

Daniela snorted and set aside her coffee. "I fell asleep by the fire. Finally made my way up to bed around five."

That explains a lot, Pen thought, taking a sip of her tea. She could have sworn she'd heard someone stumble up the stairs earlier. Not that she'd wanted to look. Pen had decided curiosity was her enemy in this castle.

Laszlo picked up his itinerary and read down the list. "Well, we're supposed to be doing word sprints next, but no pressure." He surveyed their group. "Maybe I can move around the schedule and change what's up next instead?" He looked pointedly across the table at Daniela. "If that works better for you."

"Anything that doesn't require me to think," Daniela said into her cup.

"That shouldn't be too hard," Laszlo whispered.

"I'm sorry, did you just sass me?"

"I think I did." Laszlo motioned farther down the paper, ignoring them. "We'll swap tomorrow morning's exercise with this afternoon's reading, then."

Storm lifted his coffee, cradling the blue mug in his hands. Pen's vision narrowed on his soft brown fingers, and flashes of this morning's dream came to mind unbidden, making her flush. She squirmed in her seat, the buzz between her legs almost painful.

"Pen, are you okay?" Laszlo asked, reaching out for her.

She nodded as she turned to her friend. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Raising a brow, he called out, "Okay, ten-minute interval word sprints."

Opening her laptop, Pen met Storm's scrutiny over her screen. "What?" she asked, fingers hesitating over the keys.

"Nothing."

She took a long drink of tea, ignoring his pointed stare as Laszlo tapped the button on his phone. "Go!"

Dread coiled in Pen's stomach, but she reached out, put her fingers to the keys, and tried her damnedest.

Alas, her damnedest was not good enough. In the first interval, Pen wrote:

I like cheese. Cheese comes in all kinds of forms. We like cheese very much. Do you like cheese? Mice like cheese. Cheese likes cheese.

Cheese wins all.

Why she'd suddenly become obsessed with cheese was anyone's guess. She held down the backspace button and deleted the entire selection before she could stop herself.

In the second interval, Pen caught Storm watching her, his expression inscrutable.

He is a storm, and I wish he would just go hide in a corner so I can stop looking at his pretty face.

Pretty faces, corners, stormy men. There was one person crowding her thoughts, and Pen would never willingly admit that he was taking up every inch of space in her mind. She held down the backspace button again, teeth grinding. Pen caught him smirking over his coffee, and she turned to glower at him.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

She wished writing didn't make her so damn angry, but it did. Maybe that was her problem, the anger that she used to fuel her craft. Clearly, whatever she was doing was not working. Maybe she needed happiness and comfort. Something soft and warm instead of cold and stony.

"Why don't you sit this one out?" Laszlo offered, tapping the back of her hand.

"Love you, Laszlo, but I've got this."

Daniela shot Laszlo a look over Pen's head, but Pen ignored it. She could do this. She could write something . Anything.

Her eyes met Storm's once more, and his brows pinched together in… what was that, concern? Damn it, now she really needed to succeed. She couldn't let him see her fail. Her career was riding on this. Half her savings had been spent on the airfare to get here, and Pen wasn't willing to give in and fail just yet.

She was so sick of the pity, of the way everyone avoided her. Pen would prove them all wrong.

She had so much worth fighting for.