Page 14 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Thirteen

I feel like a schoolgirl harboring a baseless crush on her aloof yet charming professor.

Part of me chides myself, feeling too old for such silly antics, yet another part wonders why age should dictate my heart's whims. I refuse to let the shadows of bitterness from previous relationships dim this moment and stifle my infatuation. What is so wrong with desire? With embracing the thrill of attraction? We have next to nothing in common, and yet, that’s exactly what fascinates me about him.

Thoughts of the haunting portrait and the nightmares slip away, eclipsed by the exhilarating anticipation of our future plans. While nothing is set in stone, I can’t help but be drawn to the tantalizing possibilities that lie ahead, each one more tempting than the last.

Not even Manu's persistent grouchiness can dull the glow of my spirits the following morning.

“Good morning!” I chirp loudly as I push open the kitchen door, basking in the warm embrace of sunlight that floods the room.

It spills through the window above the sink, illuminating the kitchen in a golden hue, the colors reflecting off the pots and pans like a brilliant rainbow dancing with my jubilant mood.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his gaze glued to the newspaper, but it’s a small acknowledgment nonetheless.

I can’t help but feel a flicker of triumph; perhaps I’m finally breaking through his cold exterior.

“Good morning, Amara!” I respond to myself in a gruff tone that mocks Manu as I retrieve a mug from the cabinet. “What’s got you in such a good?—”

The words die on my tongue as I catch sight of Tristan outside, his bare torso glistening as he hoses down a surfboard.

My thumb glides over the cool surface of the mug, each stroke echoing the cadence of my heartbeat as I watch the muscles in his back flex and contract, a rhythmic performance under the light.

I walk closer to the window, as though I’m pulled by a magnet.

Part of me is instantly slightly relieved to see he at least doesn’t spend all his time studying. The rest of me—well, I can’t help staring.

His fingers trace the board with an intimate touch, wiping away grains of sand, as if cleansing it of secrets left from the ocean. I find myself mesmerized, my lips parting slightly as I swallow against a sudden dryness in my throat.

“You never seen a man hose down a surfboard before?”

I jump at the sound of Manu’s voice suddenly beside me, tearing me from my fantasy.

“I—uh—well, I don’t surf,” I stammer, scrambling for a defense.

“You don’t get this pale in Hawai’i by going to the beach.

” I steal one last glance at the droplets splashing against Tristan's chest before turning away from the sink to pour myself a cup of coffee, letting the memory linger. “If we were meant to be in the ocean, we’d have fins and gills.” I glance back at Manu and gesture toward my neck as I waggle my fingers.

“As you can see, I have neither. Besides, I wouldn’t want sharks coming into my home.

I imagine they feel the same towards us. ”

“You fancy him.” The words mock me, and suddenly, the brightness of the kitchen seems muted as a chill creeps through my bones.

“ Fancy ?” I scoff, the sound escaping like a startled breath, as if the very idea is ridiculous. I glance back at him over my shoulder. “How old are you?”

His laughter, rough and mocking, fills the room with a troublesome energy, making the light itself recoil. I’ve never heard Manu laugh before this moment, and I’m swift to conclude that it deeply disturbs me.

“I don’t fancy him,” I declare, feeling like I have to defend myself, my voice breaking the uncomfortable tension between us.

I turn back to my coffee, carrying the mug to the table, where I carefully open the glass jar and let sugar cubes tumble into my drink with the small metal tongs.

“But I’m not blind either. Anyone with eyes can see he—” The sentence crumbles, lodged in my throat as Tristan steps in through the side door.

I tighten my jaw to keep the words trapped in my mouth.

“Can see that who what?” he asks, his hand gliding over his muscular and newly sunkissed chest. Warmth floods my cheeks, my ears burning with bashfulness as I start to stir my coffee. His smile flickers like candle light as he glances down at my mug. “Do you need a spoon?”

I glance down, horror washing over me as I see my finger resting in the dark liquid. A jolt of embarrassment rushes through me, and I yank it out.

“Oh, no, this is just how…I prefer to taste it,” I murmur, a nervous laugh escaping me just before I pop my finger into my mouth. The bitterness of the coffee lingers on my tongue.

I can sense Manu’s scrutinizing eyes boring into the side of my head, but I refuse to meet his gaze as I quickly slip my finger out of my mouth.

“How was the beach?” I ask Tristan as he crosses the kitchen, hoping to distract him from my moment of mortifying awkwardness as I wrap my hands around the mug.

“Good,” he replies, effortlessly tugging the refrigerator door open. I make a conscious effort to keep my gaze fixed on his face . “Do you surf?” he inquires, glancing back at me. Manu’s laughter cuts through the air like a knife. I ignore his blatant mockery.

“Oh, no. I’m…not much of a beach person,” I say, tapping my fingers nervously against the ceramic of my mug.

“Oh?” Tristan raises an eyebrow as he retrieves the water pitcher and his protein powder. His brow furrows slightly, a hint of concern in his expression. “Why not?”

“I-I mean, the ocean is pretty and all, but I don’t like the sand,” I admit. “Or-or the sun.”

“We’ll have to get you a canopy then, and a big blanket. Hm?” he suggests with a playful smile.

My heart skips a beat.

Sometimes, I think I’m crazy, reading too much into everything he says…and then he says stuff like that , and what am I supposed to think?

Why is he like this? Why am I like this?

As Tristan converses with Manu about the estate’s grounds and the wild yard, I sink into the embrace of the table, nursing my finger-stirred coffee.

My gaze drifts to Tristan, watching him mix his protein drink, his movements fluid and assured.

The sunlight streaming from the kitchen window dances around him, contouring his muscular physique perfectly.

The words of their discussion float around me—something about a sickly tree lurking behind the house—but the conversation feels as distant and mysterious as the intricacies of his studies.

“Oh, Amara?” The warmth of his voice pulls me from my daydream.

“Yes?”

He’s peering at his phone, a flicker of intent in his hazel eyes. “You wanted to spend some time together—how about tomorrow, late afternoon?” He glances up, and his gaze meets mine. “I know it’s a little short notice…”

“That’s perfect,” I blurt, as if the very moment might vanish if I hesitate, like a shadow slipping away at dawn.

Tristan slips his phone into his pocket, casting a nod in our direction before disappearing through the swinging door, his protein shaker in tow—a ritual of sorts before his workout, I imagine.

I exhale slowly, a smile blooming on my lips as my eyes linger on the door, its gentle sway suggesting he has left a trace of himself behind, the kitchen still lingering with the scent of the ocean.

“You don’t fancy him? Right .”

Manu's words cut through my reverie, and I scowl at him, rising from my seat.

“I’m just trying to be a good employee,” I retort, hastily retreating to the safety of my room, eager to escape his scrutiny.