Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

RUBY

R uby paced the length of the kitchen, her fingers dusted with flour from her latest attempt at staying busy. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air, but even the warmth of the kitchen couldn't ease the chill that had settled in her chest since Knox left. She’d tried everything she could think of to quiet her mind: baking, playing with the kids, even chatting with Coco, who, bless her heart, had tried to lighten Ruby’s mood with an endless stream of gossip. But nothing worked. The restlessness gnawed at her, persistent, insistent, as if some unseen force was tugging her toward a decision she didn’t fully understand.

It was the voice of the rogue shifter Knox had battled that wouldn’t leave her. His face and the way he had looked at her, demanding she tell him something she didn't even know. The memory of his words sent a shiver down her spine. He had stood so close, his eyes piercing as he’d insisted that she knew something about the silver treasure, but she didn’t. She hadn’t even known anything like that existed until Knox had mentioned it the other day, and when he’d hinted that her aunt might have been murdered for it, she hadn’t wanted to know. But there was something in that man’s desperation that had lingered, haunting her with its intensity.

She brushed her hands on her apron, looking around the kitchen, hoping something in the room could distract her. But her gaze drifted back toward the window, to the woods just beyond. Her aunt’s lodge, now hers, lay beyond those trees, tucked away like a secret. So many rooms she hadn’t yet explored, so many memories and objects left behind, pieces of her aunt’s life she hadn’t brought herself to look through yet. The thought sent a fresh wave of curiosity washing over her. What if that man wasn’t wrong? What if the answer to the mystery he seemed so desperate to uncover was hidden in her aunt’s old house?

A rational part of her argued that she was just feeding her own fears, letting herself get wrapped up in something that didn’t need to concern her. She had more important things to worry about. The lodge renovation, for starters. That was supposed to be her priority—she had guests to plan for, spaces to design, repairs to make. She looked down at her phone, thumb hovering over her notes app where she’d written the ever-expanding list of things that needed to be done. But the moment her eyes drifted back to that list, her mind pulled her back to the woods, to her aunt’s house and the questions that felt like they were waiting for her there.

What if there’s something in the house? Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, a thrill of excitement mingling with apprehension. What if there’s something hidden there that I need to see?

She wrestled with the idea, trying to convince herself it was silly, not to mention potentially dangerous. Going there alone was reckless. The memory of the man’s voice, his insistence that she had some key to a mystery he wanted to unlock, echoed in her mind. She could hear it like he was right next to her.

The lodge was supposed to be her sanctuary, her chance to build something for herself, but suddenly, she felt as though she were living in a place with walls made of paper, fragile and transparent. Everything felt exposed. Vulnerable.

The nervous energy bubbling up in her was unbearable now. She needed answers, or at the very least, some peace of mind. And the only way she’d get either was to check her aunt’s house herself.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she became. Yes, the man’s insistence had shaken her, but that didn’t mean there was anything to worry about—not really. She’d just go over there, look around, maybe find something that could give her a bit of closure, a reason to put all these crazy notions to rest. She’d lock the doors, make sure she was safe. She had the shotgun and ammo and knew how to use them. She’d text Knox later, once she was there and knew there was nothing to worry about. There was no need to bother him with this just yet.

The decision made, she moved quickly, as if she might lose her nerve if she paused to think about it. She pulled off her apron and grabbed her coat from the hook by the door. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slipped on her boots, her mind already racing with all the places she might look once she was there. Her aunt had always said that the house held secrets; now Ruby was ready to find them.

Grabbing Knox’s keys, she slipped out of his lodge and into his truck. Surely driving on the roads would be safer than walking. Besides, she had no desire to run into another of the rogues while alone in the woods. But even the quiet roads seemed darker, more watchful somehow. Her heart beat faster with each mile, but she told herself it was just her mind playing tricks. There was nothing here that could hurt her.

When she finally reached the bed and breakfast, Ruby stood on the porch for a moment, the silence feeling like some kind of shroud settling over her. The place seemed to breathe in the light, its old wooden boards creaking slightly underfoot as if in greeting. She’d always loved this place, but now, standing here alone, it felt different, almost like it was waiting for her.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her keys from her pocket as she trotted up the steps, turned the lock, and stepped inside. The air was cool and faintly dusty, carrying a hint of cedar and lavender from an old sachet her aunt had kept on the entry table. She let her gaze wander over the familiar space, feeling a mix of nostalgia and apprehension. This had been her aunt’s world, and even though she could see the progress she and Knox had made, it still felt like a stranger’s home in the fading light.

She made her way through the house, picking up the shotgun and pocketing the ammo as she did. Her footsteps were soft on the creaking floorboards as she moved from room to room, looking for anything that might explain why someone would believe she had some sort of knowledge about a hidden treasure. Each space felt as though it held its breath, the air thick with the weight of unspoken memories.

In her aunt’s study, she paused, running her fingers over the dusty spines of the books that lined the walls. This room had always fascinated her as a child. It was filled with mysterious artifacts, objects that appeared ancient, as though they held stories she could never fully understand. Every time she had asked about them, her aunt had merely smiled and said in time she would understand.

Ruby glanced at the desk, her hand reaching out to open one of the drawers. Inside, she found a bundle of letters tied with a faded ribbon, the paper yellowed with age. She picked them up, her heart pounding as she scanned the scrawled handwriting. They weren’t in English but in something that seemed ancient, unfamiliar. Her fingers traced the edges of the paper, feeling a faint pulse of recognition.

Could this be it? The idea filled her with a strange mixture of excitement and dread. She set the letters back, not quite ready to face whatever secrets they might hold just yet.

She moved to the parlor, her eyes drawn to a carved wooden box on the mantel. She picked it up, feeling the weight of it, the intricate carvings catching the light. She ran her fingers over the patterns, feeling an odd sense of familiarity. She was certain she’d come upon something like this before, maybe in one of the stories her aunt used to tell.

Her mind wandered to the conversation she’d had with Knox about the symbols he’d seen carved into some of the door frames over a few of the doors. She’d brushed it off at the time, but now, looking at the carvings, she felt a chill run down her spine. What if he was right? What if there’s something here that connects to the treasure that so many seemed to be looking for?

But before she could think it through, a noise outside jolted her from her thoughts. She froze, her heart hammering as she brought the shotgun up to bear, listening, her ears straining to catch any sound of movement. It was probably just the wind or an animal in the brush. But the unease crept back in, stronger now, clawing at her nerves.

Lowering the shotgun, her hand tightened on the box, her knuckles white against the dark wood as she glanced around the room, suddenly hyper-aware of how isolated she was. She’d told herself she would text Knox, but she hadn’t wanted to worry him over nothing. Well, that wasn’t completely true. She hadn’t wanted to piss him off and get into an argument with him. Now, standing here alone with her heart pounding, she wasn’t so sure coming here without telling anyone was the brightest idea she’d ever had.

Get a grip, Ruby, she chided herself. You’re just here to look around, that’s all.

But as she took a steadying breath, the weight of the box still in her hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something far bigger than she’d realized. She set the box back on the mantel, her fingers lingering on the carvings for a moment before she turned away, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

Each room she passed felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were watching her, holding secrets they weren’t yet ready to reveal. She tried to shake off the feeling, tried to tell herself she was imagining things. But as she moved through the house, her eyes scanning every shadow, she couldn’t deny the sense that something—or someone—was waiting, hidden in the corners of her aunt’s home.

By the time she reached the front door again, her nerves were frayed, her hands shaking. She had found nothing conclusive, nothing to explain the man’s desperation or his insistence that she knew something. But she had found enough to feel the gravity of her aunt’s legacy, a legacy she hadn’t fully understood before. And, deep down, she knew she’d only scratched the surface.

As she stepped back out into the evening air, she took one last look at the house, her mind whirling with unanswered questions. She would have to come back—this much she knew. But next time, she wouldn’t come alone.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over Knox’s name. She owed him an explanation. As much as she wanted to figure this out on her own, she was starting to realize that some things were too big to face alone.

With a sigh, she typed a quick message, her thumb hovering over the send button before she pressed it, feeling a mixture of relief and dread as the message went through. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but for now, she had done all she could.

She started to head down the steps, intending to get into Knox’s truck and head back to the compound. The attic, she thought. She hadn’t checked the attic. She knew her aunt had kept things up there. Maybe just a peek before I go. The darkness gathered around her as she headed back inside, the answers she sought still hidden in the shadows.

Just another quick look, she told herself. I’ll keep the doors locked, keep the shotgun with me and see if I can find what I need. I’ll be back before anyone notices I’m gone. She once again questioned her decision to come alone without telling anyone beforehand where she was planning to go.

Once inside, she took a deep breath, comforted by the familiar, faint smell of lavender and cedar—a leftover essence of her aunt. Ruby let out a breath, feeling a pang of nostalgia mixed with her rising unease. She had come here dozens of times as a child, but the place felt different now, heavy with the weight of what she might find.

She shook off the feeling and headed for the attic. The stairs creaked under her weight, each step feeling like a call out into the silent house, but she pressed on, gripping the railing with one hand as she cradled the shotgun with the other as she made her way to the top. The attic was even darker, and she flipped on the small overhead light, gladdened when it flickered before the dim light illuminated the shadows with an amber glow. She turned, closing and locking the door behind her.

Dust coated nearly everything in sight—old trunks, cracked mirrors, and faded tapestries that hung from the low beams. Boxes were stacked along the walls, many of them untouched since long before her aunt’s passing. Ruby’s hands shook slightly as she opened the first box, pushing back memories and focusing on the task at hand. She lifted out old photo albums, bits of jewelry, and a collection of leather-bound journals, their covers worn and weathered from age.

She settled onto the floor, cross-legged, and opened the first journal, running her fingers over the faded handwriting. Her aunt’s script was delicate, flowing across the page in long, looping letters, but the words were written with a gravity that Ruby had never known her aunt to carry in life. She remembered her aunt as lighthearted, a woman with a mischievous smile who never seemed to take things too seriously. But this—these words were written with purpose, intent.

The first few pages were mundane, detailing daily life, but then Ruby’s breath caught as she turned a page and saw her own name written there in bold letters, followed by a passage that sent a chill down her spine.

‘Ruby will be the one to find it, if she chooses to. The signs from a language long dead will protect the secret and show her what lies beyond.’

Her fingers traced the words, her heart racing as she read the cryptic message again. The carvings above the doors. She remembered seeing them, intricate patterns etched into the wood, that she had only thought of peripherally. Yet here, in her aunt’s own handwriting, was a direct connection to the treasure Knox had told her about, the very treasure that had drawn strangers to her with questions and demands she couldn’t answer.

The next few pages alluded to something powerful, something ancient and dangerous. Her aunt had written about a line of protection, a spell woven through the house to keep whatever it was hidden. Ruby skimmed through the entries, catching fragmented details—a map, a key, a warning about the darkness that sought to claim what was hidden. Her mind was spinning, trying to piece it all together and make sense of what she was reading, when she heard it.

A noise below.

Ruby froze, her pulse spiking as she held her breath, straining to hear through the silence. The noise had been faint, almost like the soft scrape of a shoe against the floor. She told herself it was nothing, just the house settling, but the silence that followed felt wrong, almost too still, as if it, too, were waiting and watching.

She glanced around the attic, her heart racing as she weighed her options. She could wait, see if the noise came again, or she could head downstairs, confront whatever—or whoever—might be there. Part of her wanted to follow up her text to Knox, to let him know she wasn’t alone, but two things stopped her: one, she should be able to handle this—whatever it was—alone, and two, she’d left her phone downstairs.

Her hands trembled as she set down the journal and got to her feet. Moving as quietly as she could, she crept toward the attic door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She listened again, but the house had fallen silent once more, the faint hum of the encroaching night pressing in from outside. Her grip on the knob tightened, and she steeled herself, slowly turning it and easing the door open.

She slipped out, each step careful and slow as she made her way back down the narrow staircase. Her pulse thudded in her ears, her mind racing with what could be waiting below. She had locked the door; she was sure of it. No one could have gotten in. And yet, the sensation of not being alone clung to her, a sharp reminder of the dangers she might be inviting by being here.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, her eyes sweeping the room. Nothing looked out of place; the door was still locked, the windows shut tight. But that didn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She took a step toward the living room, her body tense, every instinct on high alert.

And then she heard it again—a faint rustling, this time from the kitchen. She edged closer, peering around the corner, but the room was empty, bathed in the soft glow of the single lamp she’d left on. She let out a shaky breath, a part of her relieved, yet her unease only grew as she remembered the words she’d read in the journal. If her aunt had been hiding something here, protecting it from forces unknown, was she endangering herself simply by being here?

Suddenly, a shadow flickered in the corner of her eye. She whipped around, leveling the shotgun at some unknown intruder, her heart lurching as she scanned the room, but saw nothing. The dim light cast long shadows across the walls, making everything seem distorted, unfamiliar.

Ruby’s breaths came faster, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of it all. She wanted to bolt for the door, to get out before whatever was hiding in the dark made its move, but another part of her, the stubborn, determined part, wouldn’t let her leave.

The silence stretched, and Ruby took another step forward, fighting the urge to flee. She reminded herself that this was her home, her sanctuary. No shadows or noises would drive her out. With a final steadying breath, she picked up her phone and turned back to the attic, deciding that whatever she needed to find, it was upstairs, in the journals and boxes her aunt had left behind.

As she ascended the stairs, every creak and groan of the wood beneath her feet felt magnified, each sound pressing against her nerves. When she reached the attic, she closed and locked the door behind her, hoping it would keep whatever was downstairs at bay. She crossed to the box of journals, determination flaring to life within her as she resumed her search.

The journals were dense, full of cryptic details and whispered warnings, and as she read, a picture began to form—a story of a treasure bound to the house, of guardians and seekers, of a power her aunt had tried to hide. Ruby’s fingers trembled as she turned each page, her eyes scanning the faded ink, trying to understand the gravity of what she was reading.

And then she heard the sound again, louder this time—this time the unmistakable sound of footsteps, deliberate and slow, moving through the rooms below her. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she clutched the journal, feeling the weight of her aunt’s legacy settle on her shoulders. She knew now that whatever was in this house, it wasn’t something she could face alone.

For the first time, she felt the full weight of the danger surrounding her, the reality of the forces that Knox had warned her about, the very ones her aunt had tried to keep at bay. Taking a last look at the journals, feeling their secrets burning like embers, she felt like the situation was ready to ignite into something she could no longer control.