Page 54 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Fifty-Three

T oday is not Wednesday.

We don’t normally eat together, and I’m not sure what to make of this occurrence. I was giddy and excited for tomorrow’s dinner with Tristan, a promise of something closer, something more intimate with him, but now, I have to get through this evening first.

I stand outside with my arms tightly crossed over my chest, the evening chill creeping up my sleeves.

I watch Ikaika speak with Manu about the plants in the garden, his voice low and indistinct, blending with the murmurs of the night.

The scene feels distant, unreal—like I’m a ghost, observing from the shadows of my own thoughts.

My gaze rises, drawn upward as an unseen force tugs at me.

There, in the window, he stands—watching.

His gaze, dark and predatory, is fixed on Ikaika, but then it shifts, and I feel the weight of it settle on me, as though he senses my every movement, as though he senses my stare.

His eyes lock with mine, cold and knowing, a silent recognition passing between us.

Dr. Shadow tilts his head slightly, the motion deliberate, as if beckoning me to come up.

He hasn’t visited my bedroom in days, and after what happened with Tristan, I suppose I’d prefer to talk to him before he shows up in my room for another tryst. I glance at Manu, who had also been watching the window.

Our eyes meet, and he gives a single, almost imperceptible nod, silently granting me permission to leave before redirecting his attention to Ikaika.

I inhale deeply and oblige. I tug open the door and drift through the manor, my steps soft against the hard floors, even as I glide up the stairs.

As I reach the mezzanine, I pause, peering into the foyer below.

The chandelier glimmers, its light scattering like shards of glass, reflecting and dancing across the polished floor.

My eyes are drawn to the portrait room, and my thoughts shift to the painting of Dr. Shadow hanging over the mantle instead of Tristan.

An uncomfortable knot tightens in my stomach.

He meets me at the polished wooden railing, his presence as imposing as ever. I rest my hands against the smooth surface, the coolness of the wood grounding me as he stands beside me, silent.

“Will you be joining us for dinner?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady, though the question feels heavier than it should. I try not to think of the nights Dr. Shadow spent in my bed, and I push the guilt back down where it belongs. I like Tristan, not him .

Tristan cares for me. Dr. Shadow uses me.

I ignore the raw, primal pull I feel toward Dr. Shadow, choosing instead to focus on the shifting lights below, the chandelier's sparkling reflections and the way they glitter and dance like tiny fairies.

“Yes,” he responds coolly, his voice slicing through the quiet that settled between us. His hand moves to the railing beside mine. “Since Tristan won’t be.”

“Why not?” I frown, my gaze snapping toward him. “Where is he? He’s the one who invited him.”

His jaw tightens at the question, a muscle in his cheek flexing beneath the stubble. “He wasn’t feeling well,” he says sharply, the words punctuated with a bite that feels like a reprimand. “He needs his rest.”

“He seemed fine just a few minutes ago?—”

“He’s sick , remember?” His tone cuts through me like a blade, condescending and rude, leaving a sting in its wake.

“Sometimes, he becomes…a bit delirious. Others misinterpret that as kind and overly friendly. That is not dear little Tristan. My brother is dismissive and uninterested in others.” He gestures casually toward the table and chairs beside the window, his eyes dark and unreadable. “ Sit .”

“But—”

“I will not tell you again.”

The frustration inside me flares, and before I can stop it, the words spill out. “Are you just preparing for him to die?” I snap. “Changing the portrait in the room and?—”

“You know nothing of which you speak.” His voice is low and final, the words hanging between us like a warning. “Now, what did he tell you?”

I remain standing as I cross my arms over my chest in defiance.“I’m not your little spy, Dr. Shadow.”

A challenging smirk slithers across his face as his eyes darken.

“As a matter-of-fact, you are ,” he says.

“Do you really think Tristan hired you? Was he not surprised by your presence when he met you? Was he not confused as to why you were here? Did Mortimer not orchestrate the entire thing? Who do you think posted the job listing? Who do you think works for me? Tristan does not need you, Miss Rose. I do.”

His words hit me, and I feel the air leave my lungs. For a moment, I struggle to breathe as my body attempts to process this information. All this time, I thought Mortimer, Mrs. Wong, and Manu were working to protect Tristan, merely putting up with Dante’s existence. Could I have been so wrong?

“Why?” I finally gasp.

“He’s trying to kill me.”

A sudden chill makes my body turn cold as goosebumps prickle across my skin.

I think of the body outside of Gisella’s bedroom and the way he came to comfort me. Mortimer’s insistence the man was not dead. Mrs. Wong’s assurance that Manu cleaned up the blood.

Had a murder taken place and everyone covered it up?

Soon enough, he will no longer be anyone’s problem.

I furrow my brows as I try to make sense of his words. I start to shake my head, unwilling to be swayed by Dr. Shadow’s words. He’s trying to confuse me.

“No, Tristan is sick . He said you—he said this was your fault. He?—”

“You don’t know what kind of sick he is.” Dr. Shadow taps his temple. “An illness of the mind can be quite…detrimental.”

“He’s not crazy,” I say. He’s not a murderer , I think but cannot speak.

“I never said he was.” He draws closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow as dark as his name. He strokes my cheek, his fingers brushing away strands of hair. “Now, what did he say, my little rose?” he asks again. “Or do you need a little bit of convincing?”

“He would never hurt you. He loves you.”

Dr. Shadow laughs. First, it sounds like it’s amusement, then pain.

“He does not love me. He despises me,” he murmurs as he draws closer.

One hand snakes around my waist, settling on my lower back as he pulls me closer.

“I am a reflection of all the pieces of himself he hates.” His breath is hot against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

His teeth graze the shell as his fingers trail up my leg, gentle against my skin, and slide beneath the skirt of my dress.

My body betrays me as I cave beneath his touch, knowing the pleasure I can receive from him.

I yearn for it, my thighs parting just enough for his hand to slip between them and press against the heat growing between my legs.

I inhale sharply, his fingers teasing me as I grip the wooden railing tightly.

My face grows hot, knowing anyone can see us, could glance up and see Dr. Shadow’s hand beneath my dress, stroking me at just the right pace.

My lips part as I grab his arm, fingers tightly clutching the sleeve taut over his muscles.

“Please…” I murmur as he works his fingers. He pushes aside my damp panties and strokes me just before pushing two fingers inside. A sharp gasp escapes me as his fingers plunge deep, gripping his arm tighter as I struggle to stay standing.

“Please what ?” he asks.

“I…I—” I struggle to form thoughts, struggle to string together a sentence that would make any amount of sense.

I can’t think as my words transform into a helpless, hungry moan.

The pleasure is overwhelming, my body tensing as my toes curl.

“Oh, God,” I whimper, my hips bucking involuntarily against his hand. I want him to make me come.

“Good girl,” he growls in my ear, his pace even. “Now…what did he say to you?”

“Faster,” I mutter, bucking my hips as I lean into him. “Please…”

“No,” he says, slowing his pace until he nearly stops. “Tell me, little rose.”

I whimper at his refusal, pouting as I trap his hand between my thighs and attempt to ride out my own pleasure, my arousal desperate for satisfaction. Dr. Shadow grips me by the throat and shoves me up against the railing, pushing me just far backwards enough that my balance teeters.

“I said no,” he says, his voice sensual yet commanding. “What did he say?”

“He’s the project,” I mutter. “Tristan said he’s the project, and you won’t be anyone’s problem anymore. I don’t know what any of it means. Please …”

“Good girl,” he praises, his fingers pumping faster as a reward.

His praise in such a sultry voice sends a wave of desire through me, my body trembling at the edges of my orgasm.

He pulls me forward, no longer bent back over the railing, his grip on my throat, his dark eyes holding steady with mine. I unravel right before him.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips as I surrender to the ecstasy he so easily provides.

My orgasm crashes over me, flooding my senses as I convulse around his plunging fingers and ride out the intensity.

My mind remains blank, my thoughts broken and scattered.

Nothing else matters but the primal lust coursing through my veins with hot desire.

He drags his tongue against his lower lip, his dark figure looming over me as he slowly slips his fingers out. “So pretty when you come undone for me.”

I struggle to catch my breath, my hands still clutching the railing as I try to regain control over my body.

“Amara?”

The sound of my name snaps through the haze of panic, and I freeze.

Blood floods my cheeks, hot and swift, as I quickly straighten the skirt of my dress, hoping to erase the evidence of my weakness.

Dr. Shadow's smirk lingers, dark and menacing, as he releases my throat, his fingers brushing against my skin like a warning.

I turn sharply, my heart hammering in my chest, and glance over the edge. Below, standing in the dim light of the foyer, is Ikaika.

How long had he been standing there?

How long had he been watching?

The erotic a wave of my excitement is instantly battered by a surge of embarrassment that leaves me feeling exposed, vulnerable.

“Your job suddenly makes sense,” Ikaika says, his voice laced with a strange mixture of disgust and judgment. His gaze flickers toward Dr. Shadow, then back to me, unspoken questions hanging in the air.

“ Wait ,” I murmur, taking a step toward the stairs, a desperate instinct to explain rushing through me. Before I can reach the door, Ikaika is already moving, his hand slamming it shut with a final, resounding thud that echoes through the manor.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to him,” Dr. Shadow says from above, resting his forearms on the railing as he watches me. He slowly brings his fingers to his lips.

I look up at him from the front door, and Tristan’s words haunt me.

‘You are my weakness, and in that weakness, his greatest strength.’

At first, his words sounded sweet, but now, I’m not so sure.