Page 29 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Twenty-Eight

P earlridge Mall is a haze of artificial light and indistinct faces.

It’s almost suffocating, with the hum of too many people and too much noise compared to the silence of the mansion.

It feels like I'm moving through a dream—or maybe a nightmare, gliding from one place to another, or perhaps being guided—or dragged.

The oppressive heat from the parking lot to the upper level presses harshly against my skin, though I can’t tell if it’s the stifling air or something else weighing on me that bothers me more. Maybe it’s just the sense of something being off, an undercurrent of unease I can’t quite shake.

Dr. Shadow still looms over me like a haunting presence, lingering in the back of my mind. The ghost of his lips and breath still warm my neck, his forbidden touch pressing up between my thighs.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to ground myself in the mall, but it’s hard to focus.

Mrs. Wong has disappeared to the farmers market by Kamehameha Highway, leaving Gisella and me to wander around the shops.

Her slender arm is looped through mine, clinging to me with a quiet desperation, as if she fears I might vanish into the shadows of the mall.

I hadn’t noticed before just how small she is—how fragile she feels, tucked so close against me.

Not even in the house did she seem this delicate.

Now, with her body pressed up against my arm as she clutches to me like a possession, her softness feels like something precious, something I should protect from the world.

A strange, almost bitter jealousy stirs in me.

I envy her smallness, the way it matches her, like a delicate bird that could flutter away at any moment.

She’s so effortlessly sweet, with her bubble-like laughter and that innocent smile, her wide doe eyes drinking in the world around her with an open wonder that makes the dull mall seem alive with color.

I almost resent it—the way she can still look at the world through eyes unclouded by bitterness or fear.

Despite everything she's endured, she carries with her an innocence that feels impossibly fragile, like something I should guard at all costs. There’s something tragic about it, though, something that pulls at my chest. I want her to stay this way—untainted, unaware of the darkness that lingers just outside her view.

But I know it’s already too late for that. I don’t know how she does it.

Her free hand fumbles with the charm around her neck, the delicate glass slipper glinting faintly in the harsh lights as her fingers tremble.

She grips my arm tighter, almost possessively, as if my presence is the only thing keeping her grounded.

It’s a strange, quiet thing, this bond between us, as if we’re both trying to hold on to something we can’t quite define.

“Are you liking it at the Black Estate?” Gisella asks, cutting through my thoughts.

I blink a few times, trying to register what she asked.

“What do you mean? The job?”

She nods as she glances at the cookies in the display.

“The house itself still spooks me, honestly,” she admits before asking the employee for a chocolate-dipped shortbread cookie.

She releases my arm and digs into her purse for her wallet.

“Do you want one? Those and the peanut butter ones are my favorite. Oh, I’m just going to get you one—two, please!

” she says, shifting from me back to the employee.

A chuckle escapes my lips as she hands me the small bag.

“This is going to go straight to my hips,” I mutter, glancing at the bag with mock dread as she puts her wallet away.

“Oh, please,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. Her eyes twinkle with the kind of innocent mischief that always seems to follow her. “Your figure is perfect. Now, be a good girl and eat your cookie.”

Good girl .

Her words slip into the air between us, light and affectionate, but they land somewhere deeper than I expected.

It’s nothing more than a playful tease, but it catches me off guard for a moment.

I blink, shaking off the strange flutter in my chest, and force a smile.

“Right,” I say, taking a bite of the shortbread.

It’s soft, buttery, and melts on my tongue—comforting.

“See? Isn’t it amazing?” Gisella watches me eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement, as if my approval is the only thing that matters.

I can’t help but smirk. “It really is,” I say just before I take another bite.

“I really need to learn how to make them. I can never find a good recipe online?—”

In the middle of nibbling on my cookie and listening to Gisella talk about baking, I turn around and accidentally bump into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there?—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The voice is warm and smooth, a kind of effortless charm that immediately pulls my attention.

I look up, meeting the gaze of a tall, dark-skinned local with sun-kissed, wavy hair.

His smile is easy, disarming, and his green eyes catch mine with a spark of playfulness.

He’s wearing a loose shirt, the sleeves cut off to reveal the muscles beneath.

I quickly brush the crumbs from my lips, feeling flustered as I glance at Gisella, who’s nearly finished with her own cookie, blissfully unaware of the effect this stranger has on me.

“We’re performing next weekend at the Village Market,” he says, holding up a flyer.

“There’s food trucks, craft and retail vendors, a beer garden, and—” he pauses, giving me a slight grin that makes my heart skip a beat, “live music by yours truly. See you there? I’ll forgive you for bumping into me. ”

Before I can respond, Gisella snatches the flyer from his hand, practically glowing with excitement. “We’ll be there,” she says eagerly.

His grin widens, and he gives me a lingering glance before nodding.

“Looking forward to seeing you both there.” The smoothness of his voice remains in the air like the echo of a song, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard.

His confidence is almost intoxicating, and I can’t help but wonder what his voice would sound like singing live.

He steps back, effortlessly weaving through the crowd as if he’s a part of the rhythm of the place, not bumping into anyone as he goes. With a playful salute, he disappears into the mall, and Gisella bursts into giggles beside me.

“He was so handsome,” she says, fanning herself with the flyer as she latches on to my arm again. “And he was totally attracted to you.”

I smirk, trying to hide it behind my cookie, though a small part of me feels the flutter of attention in a way I don’t often allow myself to acknowledge.

It’s nice—just for a moment—to feel seen by someone , especially since Tristan would prefer to ignore my existence, and I’m still not sure what to think of my interaction with Dr. Shadow.

At least for now, I can distract myself with something else.

Or someone else.

I glance back over my shoulder, but the mysterious stranger is gone.