33

My head was throbbing when I woke up, crushed up against the wall in my room. It’s where the house put me when I tried to leave.

The main reason I had stopped pushing for them to leave was because there was a possibility that they could find the answers I had been searching for. Clay was determined to figure it out, no matter how much Wesley was against it. Koen- well he had an undeniable interest in me that was surely becoming more dangerous to us both by the day.

With one pitiful attempt, I pushed from the floor but could feel the pain that shot through my shoulder. It had been dislocated and hung limp at my side. I groaned and climbed to my feet, stumbling toward the bed, and crawled across the mattress. A shaky exhale left my lips as I settled against the pillow. I was silently grateful that I had chosen a front closure stay that morning and undid the busk with less effort than a regular corset would have been. As I became free, I could finally catch my breath, inhale as deeply as possible, and fully expand my chest, filling my lungs with air. My skirts and shoes were covered in dirt, and blood seeped through the fabric from a nasty cut on my knee that stung fiercely.

The mattress welcomed me as I sunk deeply into it with a groan. I would heal after some time, the cuts would close, and the shoulder would roll back into place. It always did. The Manor almost apologizing for trapping me here, it would always take care of me after the punishment came down on my head.

Another shaky exhale was followed by the prayer to fall asleep.

I closed my eyes and willed my body into darkness.

“Florence?” Koen’s knock on the door woke me from my sleep. The cuts on my knee had stopped stinging and, by the grace of a high power, the throb in my shoulder had ceased.

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” His voice was full of both concern and relief as he crossed the room and dropped to the side of the bed, reaching a hand out to me.

I gasped at the state of his skin, and he pulled back.

His hands were cleaned and healing but there were tiny cuts that maimed his palms and the skin of his arms. The house had hurt him, and my stomach flipped. His jaw had a small cut and his green eyes were so wide with concern that tears welled in my own.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Me?” he laughed, pushing over the bed toward me. “I thought you were gone! It’s been three days, I…”

He stopped, flustered and upset.

Three days. I had been asleep that long. I peered into the room’s darkness and cursed myself internally. Of course the Manor would have hidden me away from them for so long, as far as it could tell, I had let Koen convince me to try and leave. It was his fault I had been hurt by the barrier.

Safe.

The Manor seemed to whisper through the gentle rustling of the curtains, it was protecting me.

“The house changes,” I said. “It's not your fault you couldn’t find me.”

Each man was defiant and unafraid of the goings on of the Manor. Koen stared at me unblinking and swallowed tightly before his eyes drifted down over my throat to my state of dress. The blouse I wore did nothing to conceal my body, and his brows furrowed as he took in the small pools of dried blood on my skirt.

“Are you bleeding?” He looked back up at me.

“Not anymore.”

“But you were?” Koen licked his plump bottom lip as his fingers played with the hem of my skirt. “Can I check?” He asked quietly and I nodded, the skin on my calf warming as his fingertips brushed me. He tugged the skirt up and over my knees, careful not to risk my modesty, and ghosted his thumb over the pristine skin of my knees.

“See?” I forced a smile to my lips.

Koen’s eyes flickered over my face with disbelief. “Your smile is cute even when it’s fake,” he sighed and sat at the end of the bed. After a long moment, opening his mouth a few times to speak but closing it again, he asked, “is it always like that?”

“Always.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He leaned forward, pulled my skirts back over my knees, and rested them neatly around my ankles.

“Would you have believed me if I did?” I asked.

“As someone who knows that skinwalkers and the Loch Ness monster exist,” he scoffed, “yes.”

He was right. I should have warned him but the fear of what he would see gripped me tightly. In the end, I still ended up with his sad, confused, evergreen eyes staring back at me like I had betrayed him.

“It’s the property line,” I explained. “I knew the chances of stepping through the gate were non-existent, but something about you gave me the courage to try.”

Koen’s brow raised, and his gaze danced across my face.

“No more secrets,” he said. “Even if you’re scared. I think I’ve proven that I don’t care what you are, I just know that you aren’t dangerous and I want to help.”

So sweet and well meaning, and so naive. I might not have been dangerous, but the house swelled with hostility at his words. The bedclothes wrapped tightly against my legs, a flimsy yet visible barrier between us.

“Wes is making dinner.” He smiled at me, that adorable dimple appearing on the left side that kicked up the butterflies in my chest. “Will you come downstairs?”

“Is he going to shoot me if I do?” I stared at Koen.

“What? Afraid of a little shrapnel, Blossom?” He teased, his accent thick as the nickname washed a warm blush over my cheeks. Consider me convinced.

“Let me change first?” I looked down at the discarded corset and crumpled, bloody skirts.

“Don’t disappear,” he said, backing off the bed. “I’ll wait outside for you. ”

He slipped from the room, giving me the privacy to change from the dirty clothes into something nice. I reached around, only to be met by a sharp pain that radiated from my shoulder. I looked down at it. There was no bruising but it certainly wasn’t fully healed. “Curious,” I whispered to myself. I tried briefly to lace the corset with my sore arm before realizing it wouldn’t be possible. I debated looking for a different set of stays, but did not want to make them wait. So I called out to him. “Koen, will you help?”

Without hesitation, the door popped back open.

“What can I do?” He asked from the door, his eyes on the thin fabric of my chemise that barely covered my back.

A brief surge of bashfulness bloomed warmly up my chest. I nodded to the problem through the mirror and he walked towards me, looking dubiously to where the corset laces hung limp against my back. He gave me a soft smile as he started tugging them. The delicate, warm feeling flooded lower as a piece of his wavy blonde hair fell gently across his furrowed brow. His concentration was palpable as he worked the laces with his fingers.

“Which one?” he asked, looking up at me over my shoulder in the mirror. The dim light from the wall sconce glimmered across his gaze.

I nodded my head toward the hurt shoulder. Our eyes held a soft gaze as he slowly pulled my hair back and away to the other side of my neck, and he leaned cautiously—eyes never leaving mine—as if asking my permission for what happened next. I exhaled shakily as his lips pressed to my skin, pausing tenderly, his eyes closed over as though it might knock him off his feet. The small gesture rushed over my sore body and blanketed it with warmth, and longing .

He whispered against my skin. “Does it usually heal that slowly? It’s been days.”

“No.” My response was breathy and even I could hear the wantonness. “It usually heals within hours.”

Koen’s eyes, dark and confused, flashed open and looked at me through thick lashes for a beat before he finished lacing the corset.

“Dinner. You can explain to Clay, and before you argue,” he laughed, taking note of my mouth popping open. “He needs to know so he can help. Do you trust me?”

Did I? I paused, unsure. I wanted to.

But trusting came with stipulations and conditions.

Trusting him meant he was in danger. It meant sharing the fear I felt every day with someone who didn’t quite understand why. But the look on his face spoke volumes. He wasn’t afraid of anything within these walls, and that included me.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me when I say…” He brushed a thumb across my cheek, causing my eyelids to flutter from his touch. It had been a long time since anyone had done that. Even before I had been trapped. A slight, playful smirk formed on his lips. “...Clay just wants to help, but keeping secrets from him prevents him from doing what he’s good at.”

“Research.” I nodded.

“Exactly, and research leads to answers,” Koen confirmed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He blew out a breath from the side of his lips that caused the boyish curls to bounce off his forehead. “If we’re late for dinner, Wes will start yelling.”

“I have an inkling he will do that regardless of our tardiness, Koen.”

“What the hell is it doing down here?” Wesley turned with a pot in his hands. Whatever was inside smelled amazing.

“ Florence. ” Koen rolled his eyes and wandered behind me to pull a chair for me. “Came for dinner, now be nice.”

“Over my dead body. Do you know how hard it was to get this cooked before it started to rot?” Wesley quipped, locks of golden blonde hair curling around the collar of his plaid shirt. He stared me down, shifting on his boots, and set the pot on the table. I looked over it and found a plump-looking chicken nestled into a bed of seasoned rice with roasted carrots.

“Rotten? It smells fine to me,” Koen said, his brows furrowed as he leaned forward and stuck his nose in the food.

I stared between the two of them quietly, the Manor shaking loose its petty behavior toward Wesley in the form of rotting food. It was a newer trick, one I hadn’t seen before, but Koen seemed unaffected by the entire situation.

Clay wandered in, interrupting whatever rude thing was about to leave Wesley’s mouth. His gray dress shirt rolled up around his forearms, and his glasses tangled into his dark, wavy hair.

“Has anyone seen my…” he started but quieted when I reached over and plucked the glasses from his soft hair to show him. “Thank you, Florence.” He cleared his throat, his chest expanding under the confines of the cozy-looking sweater vest he wore, and set down the books in his arms on the table before sliding his glasses on his nose.

He paused to take me in, eyes roaming over my skirts and chest, making me warm but not uncomfortable.

“You look nice.” He nodded and awkwardly looked from Koen to Wesley, mumbling under his breath. “This will be fun.”

“About as much fun as a nest of vampires.” Koen helped me into my chair and found his own.

Clay stifled a laugh and looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “Where have you been?” he asked in that husky tone that curls my toes.

“Sleeping?” I offered, unsure how to explain.

“That’s right,” Wesley interjected. “Koen has been tearing this place apart looking for sleeping beauty.”

“I’m sorry I don’t…” I was confused by the term, like most of the terms they seemed to throw around; certain phrases were lost to me due to my lack of exposure to the outside world.

“It’s a film from the fifties,” Clay said as he scooped food. “About a princess who pricks her finger on a spindle and falls asleep until a prince saves her with a kiss.”

“A film?” My brows furrowed.

“Uh.” Clay’s eyes softened as he smiled at me and tilted his head to the back, looking for the words to help explain. “Moving pictures on a little box that people watch.”

“Like a computer?”

“Sort of. You can watch movies on computers now,” Koen said, taking his plate of food as Wesley continued to watch me, his hand white-knuckling the knife beside his plate as they discussed.

“And the prince saves the girl with a kiss?” I asked, still bewildered over the idea.

“He does.” Clay nodded. “It was also a book, you’ve never read it?”

I shook my head no.

“I’ll add it to the list of books you need to read. Do you want some?” He pointed to the spoon.

I stared at the food, knowing that I would have to explain myself at some point. They had been inviting me for meals and I had been making excuses for a week, but when Koen called me Blossom all rational thought left my head, and I had stumbled into a predicament of my own making.

No more secrets.

Secrets have kept me safe. I argued with myself briefly.

I didn’t want to be safe. I wanted to be free .

Koen watched me as if to remind me of our deal.

“I don’t really eat.” I finally decided on the words.

“Of course you don’t,” Wesley huffed. “What does that even mean?” He snarled, the fire flaring behind his eyes.

Clay turned in his seat to look at me, waiting with a little less hostility for an answer.

“It would be a waste,” I said. “I haven’t really experienced hunger since being here. I can eat, but more as just a thing to do than for sustenance or enjoyment. Food has never really tasted… right here.” I paused, frustrated, this wasn’t coming out the way I had intended. “The last real meal I had to eat was the morning I was trapped here. Porridge with fresh cut apples.” I swallowed tightly, waiting for Wesley to lose his control.

“You’re saying you haven’t had to eat anything to survive?” Clay whipped open his book and started to write notes.

“So what sustains you then?” Wesley sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Nothing can go that long without eating.”

“Wes, come on,” Koen groaned.

“No!” He slammed his hand on the table. “It could be sucking the life from us this second, and both of you are too distracted to notice. It could be anything, but I know one thing for sure, it’s dangerous.”

“Stop!” Koen stood in a rush, throwing his hands in the air and staring Wesley down. “Stop calling her an it. Her name is Florence.”

“Okay, Koen, go ahead. Name your pet. But when it bites you, don’t come running to me for help.” Wesley threw his napkin against the table and stormed out of the kitchen.