Page 23

EMMA

I awaken in the middle of the night.

The wind is howling outside, rattling the windows with its force. The whole mansion seems like it’s creaking and awake. I cautiously sit up in bed.

The strangest sensation creeps up my spine.

Something woke me up.

I look around in the dark, even though I don’t know what I’m searching for. All of my senses are on alert.

That’s when I hear the footsteps.

My spine straightens as I watch a dark shadow appear outside my door. Someone is standing on the other side.

My mind immediately takes me to dark places.

My breath rattles in my lungs as I try to find a plausible explanation. It can’t be what I fear it is.

I’m safe here. Nothing can hurt me.

“Who is it?” I call out.

The shadow disappears. Once again, I hear the soft footsteps against the wooden floorboards.

I stare at the sliver of light below the closed door, waiting for the shadow to reappear. But it doesn’t. The footsteps also fade, leaving me wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

Before my nerves can get the best of me, I get out of bed.

I reach for the silk robe slung over a chair and wear it over my black nightgown.

A few months ago, I promised myself that I would never be afraid of anything ever again. I’d never live in fear again.

So even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I walk toward the door.

My hand shakes as I place it over the doorknob. The door creaks loudly as I open it. I glance down the corridor, but nothing is there.

I catch a faint hint of perfume—vanilla and nutmeg.

It takes me back to the abandoned room where I found the diary. In my head, I seethe portrait of Seraphina Sinclair. I see the blue-gray eyes that seemed to track my every move.

I don’t know if I’m losing my mind right now, but I can swear that something is watching me from the shadows.

The mansion is all moonlight and long shadows. It feels like the walls are trying to speak to me, on the cusp of revealing long-forgotten secrets.

I’m almost near the staircase when I hear a blood-curdling scream.

I whip my head around.

I’d recognize the voice anywhere. There’s zero hesitation in my limbs as I run toward Mr. Sinclair’s room.

I turn the handle. To my surprise, I find that it’s open.

The shadows are heavier here, seeming to swallow up all the light. I leave the door open as I walk inside. Klaus thrashes in his bed, fighting off some invisible demon.

“Mr. Sinclair?” I say.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he screams. “You can kill me if you want, but I’m not going to give you anything.”

I stop at the edge of the bed, unsure how to proceed.

There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes are closed, and his face is deathly pale. My eyes briefly flick down to the scars and tattoos on his bare torso.

“Klaus?” I try again.

He screams again like he’s in deep agony. He’s trapped in the claws of his nightmare.

A gust of wind slams the door shut behind me, startling me.Instinctually, I move closer toward Klaus. His face is contorted in pain that’s imaginary but also very real.

I need to wake him up. Calling his name isn’t enough.

I gingerly reach for his shoulder. The second I make contact with his skin, his hand shoots out toward me like a hidden serpent. It wraps around my wrist and tugs me closer until the momentum makes me fall on top of him. He flips me around until I’m flat on my back.

The weight of his body presses into me, pinning me to the bed.

“You didn’t think I would be able to get free, did you?” he asks.

He’s still in a dream state. His eyes are closed as his hand moves to my throat. He squeezes down on it, immediately making me see stars.

He’s going to kill me in his sleep.

If I don’t wake him up right now, this will be the end of my existence.

His grip on my throat tightens.

I don’t understand why this violent act makes me all achy between my thighs. My lips part as his hips dig into mine. My vision swims in and out.

I try to tap his hand, but it’s no use. He’s too far gone.

I need to do something else to drag him out of the darkest recess of his mind. I need to remind him that I’m not his enemy. I’m not whoever he’s trying to kill.

My robe comes undone as I shift underneath his weight. I widen my thighs, letting him settle against me properly.

I did not think this through because the contact only makes me even more breathless.

His hips drag against my exposed flesh. My nightgown is gathered around my waist now. The lacy material covering my breasts rasps against my sensitive nipples. When I feel his cock hardening against my body, a moan tumbles from my lips.

Klaus’s eyes shoot open.

He blinks as he takes me in. I tap my hand against his, telling him to ease his grip on my throat.

“What are you doing in my bed, Emma?” he says, relaxing the hold enough to let me speak.

I gasp as sweet air fills my lungs again.

“I heard you screaming. I thought you needed help,” I whisper, licking my lips.

His gaze drops to my lips. I wait for him to free me, but his hand remains on my throat. He glances down at it, like he’s surprised that he’s still holding me.

“I could have killed you,” he says.

And he almost did.

“You shouldn’t have come into my room, Emma,” he says, dragging his gaze down my body. His eyes darken as he takes in my breasts and waist.He hisses through his teeth when he sees the thin panties molded to my sex.

“You needed help,” I say.

“So you decide to crawl into my bed dressed in nothing but lace and silk?” he asks. “Do I look like an honorable man to you, Emma?”

The way he keeps saying my name makes me hungry for something I never had.

The darkness in his eyes beckons to me. His body makes promises of reckless violence.

“Answer my question,” he says. “Do I look like a good man to you?”

There’s good in him. I know that. I don’t know why he tries so hard to keep everyone at arm’s length, though. I don’t know what he’s afraid of.

“I think you’re one of the good ones,” I reply truthfully.

He gives me a wicked smile.

“Sweet Emma. Would a good man be taking advantage of his hot little nanny? Would he be rubbing his hard cock against her young pussy when all she wanted was to help him?”

He drags the length of his cock against my slit, making me shiver.

“Fuck, you’re actually wet for it,” he says, resting his hand on the pillow. His dominant hand drags down my throat. My breath hitches when his palm travels down my sternum and over my belly button. He rests it there for a while, watching me squirm underneath him.

Something clicks into place between the two of us.

A dynamic forms as naturally as the turn of seasons. He becomes the one who dominates, and I become the one who releases all control.

In this moment, my body submits to his, becoming completely his to do with as he pleases.

His hand drags lower down my body. He cups my pussy with his calloused palm and squeezes it possessively. My back bows off the bed. He buries his head against the crook of my neck.

The bond between us cements, intertwining our fates.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” he growls against me, baring his teeth against my neck. “Good enough to eat.”

I buck against him, seeking the friction of his hard body against mine. I feel so completely delirious in this moment. I don’t know what I’m searching for, but I know only he can give it to me.

“So fucking wet for me.” His thumb presses against my clit as he plays with it.

His eyes hold dark promises.

I want to give in to it completely. I want to give in to him.

My thighs open wider for him—an invitation. He hisses under his breath and pushes his middle finger inside me. There’s a pinch of discomfort because of the sheer size of his finger, but I’m wet enough to handle it.

The heat of his body envelops mine. His masculine scent becomes my instant addiction.

“Still think I’m a good man, Emma?” he asks.

I open my mouth to speak, but he pushes his finger all the way to his knuckle. A moan tumbles from my lips.

“You’re so tight and wet for me. It’s like you want to be railed by someone who has no business lusting after you.” He pulls his finger out and shoves it back inside me.

I feel something tear inside me. He freezes on top of me and then looks down between us.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Are you a virgin?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak right now.

“Leave,” he says.

He’s still pinning me in place with his large body. He doesn’t move to get off me. I don’t move to escape him.

Both of us stay right where we are.

Our eyes lock.

And once again, I get the strangest feeling that we’ve done this a thousand times before. The connection we share feels far deeper than the few days we’ve spent in each other’s company.

It doesn’t make any sense in my mind, but it makes complete sense to the rest of me.

“I want it,” I say. “I want you.”

He pulls his finger out. There’s a tinge of pink from where he partially ripped through my virginity. He stares at my parted flesh for a few seconds before dragging his eyes up to my face.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, girl,” he says. “Get out of my room. Now.”

Heat rises up my cheeks. He lifts his body off mine, balancing himself on one arm and allowing me to roll out of bed.

I don’t want to leave, though. A yearning has formed deep inside me, and it demands to be satiated.

I place my fingertips against the center of his chest.

There are so many things I want to ask him. I want to ask what his nightmare was about. I want to know what haunts his head. I want to know what his skin tastes like.

“ Get the hell out ,” he screams.

I tie my robe around my waist and jump to my feet. I sneak a glance back at him, but he’s not watching me. For some inexplicable reason, the sight of him in bed tugs on my heartstrings.

I get the feeling that he needs someone more than ever right now.

He shoots me a withering glare.

“Don’t ever come back in here again,” he says. “No matter what you hear, don’t leave your room again at night. Lock the door and keep yourself safe.”

He ignited this fire inside me tonight. And I don’t know how to put it out.

“Do you understand?” he asks through gritted teeth.

I nod.

“I want to hear you say it,” he says.

“I understand,” I whisper.

“Good. We shall never speak of this again,” he says.

Message received.

I quickly leave the room and close the door behind me. The air in the corridor is sobering, bringing me back to reality. I can’t believe how desperate I was for his touch.

I’m still aching between my thighs.

My body feels like it’s slowly being scorched from the inside out.

I really need that glass of water now.

An eerie feeling wraps around my spine as I walk down the staircase. As I head to the kitchen, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I fill a glass with cold water. Instead of drinking it, I press it to my cheek. The coldness of it feels good against my fevered skin.

The kitchen door slams open. The glass slips from my hand, but I catch it before it can shatter on the floor.

A figure stands in the doorway. Their face is covered by a giant umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” It’s Helena.

I press my hand against my chest, where I can feel my heart racing. I don’t know how I’m ever going to fall asleep now. This is all too much for one night.

“Helena, you scared me,” I force a laugh, but it’s too loud. It echoes against the high ceilings, breaking the unnatural silence of the night.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says. “Why did you leave your room?”

“Um, I came to get some water.” I lift the glass in my hand.

She closes the umbrella and puts it aside. A gust of wind follows her into the kitchen, making mist sprinkle on my face. I didn’t realize that it was raining outside.

She closes the door behind her.

“Isn’t there a carafe by your bed?” she asks.

I remain quiet.

“The rules at Sinclair mansion exist for a reason,” she says. “You’re not a child, so I don’t understand why I need to keep repeating myself to you.”

“It won’t happen again.” I drink my water quickly and then rinse the glass in the sink.

I glance over at Helena.

She looks tired to the bone. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her shoulders are slouched like they’re carrying some invisible burden nobody else can see.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Where did you go in the middle of the night?”

She looks away.

“I had some housekeeping things to take care of,” she says.

She’s being vague on purpose. Whatever she was up to tonight, she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s entitled to her privacy, of course, but there’s one more thing I want to ask her.

“Was it you?” I ask.

“Pardon?”

“I heard footsteps outside my room tonight,” I say. “I came out to investigate but didn’t see anyone.”

She stares at me for a beat.

“Do you lock your room at night?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She turns her back to me as she rifles through the cabinets.

She’s done speaking to me.

As I head back to my room, I get the same suspicion again—everyone here knows something I don’t.