CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I woke in darkness.

Not absolute, but enough to have me scrambling to the nightstand and the safety of the lamp. My fingers yanked on the chain. The momentum nearly tipped the light over, but it was on, and the world was a safe place once more.

I drew in a breath filled with mold and dust and allowed my eyes to close for only a moment before falling back against the pillows.

I was in my room.

I couldn't be sure how, but the canopy loomed over me, and the magnificent walls of books were gone. My disappointment was weighted as I tried to remember when I'd dragged myself upstairs.

I hadn't.

I was sure of that. The only other explanation was that Lacroix had carried me up. Again. He seemed to enjoy the process, though I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I definitely didn't hate it, which was suicidal. I was supposed to be finding ways to escape, not taking naps in his office. Although, it had been much more comfortable than I'd expected. And that was another problem — I was getting far too comfortable. Waltzing through a place crawling with strange men practically naked should have raised all manner of concerns, but not a single person had given me a second glance. I could have been part of the furniture for all the attention I was given by the guards who passed me in the corridors. I wasn't complaining even though I suspected Lacroix had something to do with that, too.

What an odd man.

The first night we met, he'd killed a man. I doubted it was his first time; he blew Tayen's hand almost clean off the wrist in the dark from almost two feet, yet he'd been incredibly gentle and kind with me.

He was friends with Jarrett, but he was nothing like Jarrett.

He was not a good man and still, he'd taken care of me.

If there was ever a walking contradiction, Lacroix was at the very top.

I scrubbed my face with both hands and reminded myself it was too early to be so deep in these thoughts. I needed sleep.

To force the process, I flopped onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut. I willed my thoughts to calm even as I found myself pulling up images of Lacroix in the office with his hair down and his face focused. He'd looked so handsome in the soft light. The jagged scars cutting the side of his cheek only intensified the rugged aura he gave off without trying. They may have bothered other women, but I was fascinated. If I had the nerve, I would ask him who had gotten that close to him. I would ask if they were dead.

I hoped so.

My second tumble back had me blinking rapidly to adjust my vision.

It was dark.

Again.

The smell of must and age collected in the air and settled over the hazy dream already fading from memory. My muffled brain reached for the tickle at the back of my mind, the itch you get when something isn't right.

The light was off.

I knew I had left it on.

I had flipped the switch.

I had seen the bulb flare on.

Had stared at the glow until sleep had retaken me.

Had it burned out?

The eerie stillness swaddled in a serrated chill prickled deep in my soul, a tugging that made my stomach seize.

Someone was in the dark with me.

I could feel their eyes fixed on my paralyzed form. Right between my shoulder blades.

I bit my lip and willed myself not to move. Whoever ... whatever it was, was waiting.

Waiting for my breathing to change.

For my eyes to open.

For my limbs to twitch.

I tried to remember the room, the layout of the bed. I tried to separate that moment from being left in the linen closet, but the two kept twisting together and I couldn't think.

I'm not in the box.

Mother isn't outside with the rod.

I haven't done anything to be punished.

I drew in a slow breath. Then another.

I'm in bed.

I'm at Lacroix House.

I'm not alone.

A new terror gripped me. I had never been afraid of monsters under my bed. My monster growing up had always been Mother. She had been the footsteps on the stairs, the cutting voice in my head, the violent backhand.

But she wasn't there now. It was something else.

A real monster.

I started to wish for Lacroix, but what if it was him getting ready to kill me and dispose of me in the swamps? No one knew where I was and if they did, no one would care.

Why would he save you just to kill you? a barely audible voice asked buried deep in the roar of my fears.

To kill me himself maybe?

Willing myself not to cry, I focused on the door. If I could get to it, I could run.

I could hide.

It the creature was on my left side, the door was on...

Something creaked under a shifting weight.

A floorboard.

Behind me.

All thoughts of rationality evaporated as I screamed and tore off the bed. I practically tumbled off the edge but didn't stop. I ran straight into the bathroom and slammed the door. The lock flipped clumsily under sweaty fingers but latched with a satisfying click.

Breathing in jagged pants, I slapped the light on and stumbled back just as the first bang erupted somewhere on the other side. A second later, a second bang shook the frame. This one on the door keeping me safe.

I screamed again, limbs trembling hard enough to nearly take me to the ground.

"Blue!" The banging repeated, harder, followed by someone yanking on the knob. "Open the door!"

Through the thundering of my heart between my ears, I registered that I knew that voice, but I didn't trust it.

"Why ... why are you in my room?" Even to my own ears, I didn't miss the sob in my voice.

There was a pause before he answered, "You screamed."

I shook my head even though he couldn't see it. "No, before ... before that."

"What are you talking about?"

I swallowed. "Someone was in my room."

The silence was longer followed by, "No one's here, love. Come out."

I couldn't decide if he was lying but a door wasn't going to stop him if he wanted me out.

Cautiously, I undid the lock and pulled the door open.

Lacroix stood before me in black and white checkered flannel and nothing else, a breathtaking display of hard, coiled muscles and a tapestry of ink carved into taut skin. It ran wild and unrestrained across his chest and down his arms. His jungle of hair fell all over his face but everything from the neck down made me momentarily forget why I'd been hiding.

"Blue."

"Hm?"

My gaze shot up to his golden ones watching me with slight amusement. Heat erupted beneath my skin and I hurriedly turned my attention to the room behind him.

"Someone was in my room." I turned to the bed left exactly how I'd abandoned it with the blankets thrown back. "I was asleep, and I heard the floorboards."

"It's an old house, love. It makes noises in the cold. You hear it more at night when it's quiet."

I considered that logic, but still shook my head. "Someone turned the light off. I had it on."

I hadn't seen the other man in the doorway until he stepped into the room, still fully dressed in cargo pants and a black t-shirt. Like Lacroix, his arms were a road map of colors as he reached over the lampshade and tapped the bulb.

It came on with a flicker and flicked out just as quickly.

"Bulb's loose."

He gave it a twist and it flared on and stayed on, highlighting the sharp lines of his face, the deep blue of his eyes.

Embarrassed, I faced the two watching me. Their expressions didn't seem annoyed, but they had to be.

"I thought ... I was so sure ... I'm sorry for waking you."

Lacroix swept a hand back through his hair and I caught the winding spiral of vines and roses painted up his forearm.

Five roses in vivid crimson.

"Go back to bed, Little Blue," he muttered, already turning away, giving me a full glimpse of his back and the continued swirl of art. They flexed with his movements to the door. "I won't let anything happen to you."

I looked away only to get caught by the other man, his expression knowing. Amused.

Mortified at getting caught twice in the span of minutes, I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor until the door closed behind them.

I didn't get back into bed right away. I stood on the spot and studied the room. I didn't know it very well so I couldn't tell if anything was different or moved. It all seemed normal.

Cautiously, I stepped to the other side of the bed and searched the area. I stepped on several of the boards to recreate the noise but none of them creaked.

Maybe I had imagined it.

Maybe it was just the house making noises.

I was so used to my house ... my parent's house and its familiar sounds, it was natural to get spooked by a new place.

That was what I told myself as I climbed into bed once more, leaving all the lights on.

But sleep didn't come quite so easily the second time.