Page 20 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Nineteen

I hate this feeling.

I am torn between my intrigue, my empathy, and my overwhelming frustrations.

Though while I suppose it’s been easier to focus on work when I am not conjuring up fantasies about him, whenever I have free time and I sit in front of my computer, trying to figure out something to write, my mind drifts—and it drifts to the worst possible scenarios my brain can torment me with.

My mind crosses to him, and I sit in a downward spiral of unanswered questions and unavoidable sadness settling in my heart.

He thinks I am annoying, or ugly, or a bother, and wants as little to do with me as possible.

I worry that, in two months, I’ll be out of a job all over again and back at my father’s house.

But I’m sure my father would be happy about that. Not that I got let go, but that I was home again, somewhere he knew I was safe. He wasn’t too happy about me taking a job for which I had to live on someone else’s property to begin with, particularly someone I never met.

Even now, someone I barely know.

I glance at the rose, surprised yet delighted it hasn’t lost any of its petals.

Though it wilts, I still find beauty in its decay.

Part of me is surprised it has lasted this long.

I wonder if it’s the house, the way it zaps the life from its inhabitants.

Perhaps it slows it for the flora and fauna in the manor and on the grounds.

Impossible, but a curious and imaginative thought nonetheless, especially with the way the walls seem to pulse with life.

I glance up at the wallpaper and stare at the design as the candlelight flickers and casts, dancing shadows like a show in front of me.

A door slams, and I sit up quickly, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. I push away from the writing desk and sprint to my windowsill. Pushing the heavy drapes aside, I look out and see Tristan stalking down the pathway toward the dark woods. My breath quickens as I head for my door.

I know I’m not supposed to leave my room so late at night, but I can’t help myself. I haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Part of me feels like a creep, peering at him through my window and now racing to the kitchen to try to catch him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I just need to talk to him. I need to make sure everything is okay between us or, at the very least, find out if I have crossed some kind of boundary.

My heart is pounding so loudly, I can hear the beat in my eardrums, concealing any other noises that might encourage me to turn around and scurry back to my room.

I fling open the side door and step outside. The cool air nips at my face as a gust of wind ruffles my hair. I brush away the tangled tendrils trying to muddle my vision as I hurry down the stone steps, barely seeing the whites of his collared shirt disappearing into the woods.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

My breath hitches in my throat, and I nearly leap out of my skin when Manu steps in front of me.

Where did he even come from? His face is obscured by the darkness, his beard looking like a tangle of decaying foliage in the night.

I can see the whites of his eyes and make out just enough from his expression to notice the glare on his face.

I start to point toward the gnarled forest with my thumb as I turn my body awkwardly. “I was just—where is Tristan going?” I ask.

Manu frowns at me, his scowl surfacing as the crease between his brows deepens. “None of your concern,” he says in a low, guttural growl that only strokes my curiosity further as he tries to redirect me back into the house.

“But—” I try to slip away from him, and he grabs hold of my arm, his grip tight and strong. “Where is he going?” I ask in protest, his grip feeling like he’ll dislocate my arm if I don’t comply. “Why has he been acting so strange?”

“None of your concern, girl .”

“I am not a girl!” It sounds peevish coming out of my mouth, which makes me even more frustrated.

“No?” His voice is so deep and loud, I instinctively take a step back, as though the word struck me physically.

“Because you’re certainly behaving like a child.

” He opens the side door that leads into the kitchen.

“Get back in the house now—if you know what’s good for you.

” He delivers his words like a warning that chills me to my bones.

Still, there’s an unsettling feeling deep within me I cannot shake.

I harden my expression, ready to defend myself, when he shoves me inside and slams the door behind me.

Fuming with rage, I tighten my fists at my sides before striking the door hard with my hand. “What is wrong with everyone in this house!” I snap, a storm of irritation brewing within me.

“Is something the matter, Miss Amara?” Mortimer asks, and I spin around to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, most of him obscured by the darkness with the exception of his face and neck and the hand holding onto a candlestick illuminating the ghostly paleness of his cheek.

“You shouldn’t be out of your room, especially not outside. ”

Yeah, Manu made that quite clear .

I want to demand answers from him. Force him to talk to me.

To tell me what is going on. I feel like the butt of a cruel joke everyone else is in on but me.

I can feel the blood rushing to my face as my cheeks grow hot, but no words slip from my mouth.

I have nothing to say. I know he won’t give me any of the answers I search for.

I don’t even know if I want to know. I only manage to rake my fingers through my tangled mess of brown hair and return to my room, shaking my head dismissively.