Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“Logan, if there’s anything left of the man you were—”
“There isn’t.” I laugh bitterly. “Because of them.”
Soft footfalls on the carpet herald her. She touches my back, urging me to turn.
I almost back away before I remind myself that she’s not the predator. I am. But she puts her hands on either side of my face. She doesn’t flinch when her soft hands touch marred skin. She looks me right in the eye. “You don’t have to be like them.”
I’m nothing like them. But when it comes to her, there’s no line I won’t cross.
“You’re staying here,” I order, hardening myself. “And that’s final.”
Twenty-Four
Logan
The next morning, I’m settled by the fire in the library when I hear a door open and close. I’m on my feet, pounding down the hall. She wouldn’t just leave, would she?
She’s standing in the hall, her head stuck in a closet. “I’m looking for a coat.” She pulls out a heavy fur—a leftover from the former owner’s wife—and makes a face.
I take the coat from her. “Why?”
“I want to walk in the garden.”
“It’s too cold.”
“Please, Logan.”
It’s getting harder and harder to say no to her.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But the second I think you’re too cold and order you back inside, you obey, understand? You’re still recovering.”
She nods, smiling. And after I’ve bundled her up and shrugged on my great coat, I hold out my hand. She takes it, drapes it over her shoulders and tucks herself into my side.
We head out together, braving the bitter cold to view the sad winter garden. She’s so small it takes two of her steps to match my long stride. I slow for her benefit, keeping a careful eye on her flushed cheeks. How have I lived so long without her smile? Without her near? Her presence at my side feels so right.
I guide her through the winter garden, pointing out the greenhouse down the hill where I grow tropical plants. I offer to show it to her but she declines, preferring to amble the frosty path, her breath puffing in the freezing air. We reach the part of the hill that overlooks the labyrinth and she studies the maze of tall evergreens.
“Who designed the labyrinth?” she asks.
“I did, years ago. Before I owned the place. I did the one for the Autumnal ball, too.”
Her forehead wrinkles. I know she’s thinking of that night, our meeting in the maze.
“You know, when you fainted, I first thought it was because you recognized me.”
She shakes her head, her gaze still unfocused.
“When you didn’t wake, I panicked. Your pupils were dilated.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “Someone at the ball thought I’d been taking belladonna.”
“You had quite a cocktail of drugs in your system.” I clench my jaw when I think of it. If I hadn’t been there…
She presses her lips together, studying my face. And I know what she’s thinking.
“It wasn’t me. I would never do that, Daphne.”
“Hmmm,” she says. But when I turn her to start back to the castle, she doesn’t pull away.
“Yet another reason you should stay here,” I tell her. “We don’t know who tried to drug you. Whether it was an accident or meant for someone else. Or if someone’s targeting you…” I make a mental note to check in with my contacts in the city. I sent a private investigator to uncover more about that night, but haven’t heard anything. And I’ve been a little distracted since.
Daphne doesn’t protest, doesn’t argue, but her steps slow as we reach the frozen terrace. She stops and stares up at the sheer stone face of the castle wall.
“The tallest building,” she mumbles.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Something I read once. A quote by Joseph Campbell: ‘If you want to understand what's most important to a society, don't examine its art or literature, simply look at its biggest buildings.’” Her eyes scan the grey-green stone, the towers, the turrets.
“My little homeschool genius.” I brush a tendril of hair from her face.
She rolls her eyes at me. “It makes sense. In medieval times, the tallest building in a village was a cathedral. Religion ruled. Then came the political palace.”
I study the castle with her. “And a castle? What does that mean?”
She faces me, penetrating me with her fierce green gaze.
“High walls,” she says. “An impenetrable stone fortress.” She tilts her head. “You don't want to let anyone in.”
I straighten her coat and pull her close. “I let you in.”
She raises a brow. I can hear her thinking, yes, as your prisoner. A reluctant guest, at best.
“Come. It’s too cold.” I release her and guide her to the door, a hand on her back. She hesitates on the threshold, and it takes everything I have not to throw her over my shoulder.
I’m putting the coats back into the closet when she says in a low voice, “You think the walls will keep me in. But I'm not the one actually imprisoned here.”