Page 12 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Eleven

I recline on the chaise lounge I’ve claimed as my own, enveloped in the warmth of the sunlight while Tristan toils at the desk in the library.

My attention drifts to him, captivated by how his hand glides effortlessly over the pages of his notebook, listening to him scratch his pen against the paper.

The lecture from his laptop spills forth—scientific jargon that remains just beyond my comprehension—but I find myself lost in the mesmerizing rhythm of his focus.

His hazel eyes, deep and intense, are fixed on his notes, glancing only occasionally at the screen, like a hunter surveying his surroundings.

I watch as the muscles in his jaw flex, a subtle tension that sends a thrill through me.

My breath catches as his Adam's apple dips and rises with each deliberate swallow.

In the library, an inexplicable calm washes over me, mingling with a fluttering excitement just beneath my skin.

It’s as if the world outside has faded, leaving only the two of us in this intimate cocoon of quiet concentration, where his presence weaves an irresistible spell drawing me closer with each passing moment.

My eyes flicker toward the laptop, and there’s a tug within me that wants to ask him to explain the lecture, but I don’t want to interrupt his studies.

Instead, I sit, I wait, and I watch.

I try to focus on the book in my hands, but the words seem to blur together.

I think back on the portrait I saw last night, trying to distinguish whether I had really seen it, or if it had been a far too realistic dream.

The way he is now, completely enraptured by his studies, I can’t imagine him as any sort of beast .

I can’t imagine him as anything but this kind, withdrawn man simply preoccupied with science.

“What are you reading?” His voice breaks the spell of my thoughts, pulling me back to the present in the library.

I glance at the cover of the book, suddenly blanking on the title.

“Oh, just a bit of fantasy romance,” I reply, setting it on the table beside me. As he rises from his desk chair to stretch, the hem of his sweatshirt lifts, revealing the chiseled curve of his Adonis belt nestled at his hips. My breath catches, and I can’t help but part my lips at the sight.

“Enjoying yourself?” he teases, noticing where my gaze lingers as he playfully lifts the front of his shirt to expose his abs.

I bite my bottom lip in surprise as I avert my eyes, my cheeks undoubtedly turning scarlet. “I’m sorry,” I say, inhaling sharply, trying to compose myself. “That was…inappropriate of me.”

I’m sorry, but not really. I’m sorry I got caught.

He tugs his shirt down, yet a devilish smile remains carved into his face, a hint of mischief in the depths of his hazel eyes.

“Don’t be,” he replies, narrowing the space between us with sudden confidence I didn’t know he possessed.

“It isn’t as though I’ve been oblivious to the way you look at me, Miss Amara, even when you think I’m not paying attention.

” He scales the lounge chair, settling over me just as I recline, my heart pounding with a fierce intensity, his face only a few inches from mine.

“Is this what you’re hoping for?” he asks me, his lips lingering near mine. “To be near me?”

I close my eyes and nod. I want to pull him down, against me, to feel his body press up against mine. As I move toward him, my lashes flutter, my gaze settling on his face.

He opens his mouth, but no words escape. His face contorts, twisting into a monstrous visage created from the depths of my nightmares, a creature woven from threads of my darkest fears. A scream rips through the silence, raw and desperate, clawing its way out of my throat.

I jolt awake, sitting upright in my bed, heart pounding like a war drum echoing in the silence of the night. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down the sides of my face, chilling me as the remnants of the delusion cling to my mind.

It was only a dream.

I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes, my fingers trembling slightly, and wipe the sweat from my brow, trying to shake off the lingering fear reluctant to let me go.

I reach for my phone, dreading the sight of the time.

I let out a groan as the screen comes to life, revealing the mocking hour of four in the morning.

Kicking the silk sheets from my body, I slip out of bed, the floor ice cold to my bare feet as I head for the door, convinced it will be for the best to just start my day early.

The door leads to utter darkness, and a cool breeze engulfs me.

I step out of my room, and my breath hitches at the sight of movement.

A dark figure looms at the end of the hall, obscured by suffocating shadows that twist and writhe like living things all on their own.

He stands tall, a formidable silhouette that feels both familiar and terrifying.

It sends a chill creeping up my spine, instinct urging me to flee.

“Tristan?” I call out, my voice weak, echoing softly against the cold stone walls.

He takes an imposing step toward me before suddenly changing course and heading to the east wing through the foyer. I place my hand against the base of my throat, collapsing back against the corridor wall as I try to steady my beating heart.

Perhaps I am still partially asleep , I tell myself, my fingers rubbing my collarbone in a soothing manner. Perhaps the terrors from my dream are now haunting me in my wake .

Without giving it another thought, I dash into the bathroom, flicking on the light as I shut the door behind me, seeking refuge from the shadows before another dark figure can frighten me.

I slide down against the wood, where I will remain in the sanctuary until the sun peeks through the grimey glass of the window.