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On the first night of winter break, I pull into Briar’s driveway, our bags already packed. Knowing my muse, it would take her at least two hours just to decide which clothes to bring, so I took the liberty of packing for her.
When I knock on the door, leaning against the frame with a grin, she swings the door open, eyes frantic. “Wow, you actually knocked on the door like a normal person. Look, I’m only going to let you in because I can’t find Cookie and I need you to help me look for her. She likes you, for some unexplainable reason.”
My smile widens. “Mack didn’t tell you? Cookie is safe and sound in her apartment with Ginger.”
Briar gapes at me. “You stole my cat?”
“First of all, Cookie is our cat now.” She scowls and opens her mouth to object. “I sent her off for a playdate and left a note for Mack about our plans. Are you sure she didn’t text you about it?”
Briar scrambles for her phone and her shoulders drop in relief. “She said thank you for the surprise playdate and already sent me five photos of the three of them together.” Her brows scrunch. “Wait. Why does she think I’ll be gone for a month?”
“Because you will be.”
Her blue eyes flash up to mine. “And where the hell am I supposedly going for a month?”
“We’re going on a writing retreat. To my manor, up in the mountains.”
She barks a laugh. “Ha! I’m not going anywhere with you, but I hope you enjoy freezing your nuts off in your shack in the mountains.”
I smirk. “Nicholson Manor has interior heating, muse. Not to mention a cozy fireplace. The perfect backdrop for an evening of reading, wouldn’t you say? You’ll feel right at home.”
Her head tilts, blue eyes sparking with curiosity and even...concern. “Why do you need a writing retreat anyway? Didn’t you finish your book?”
“I did.” I hate disappointing her, but I can’t be dishonest with her either. “Unfortunately, I missed one too many deadlines. My agent fired me. The contract is canceled. But I’ll still do whatever I need to provide for you, to take care of you.”
Briar’s mouth falls open before her eyes grow stormy. “Those assholes! Your agent is an idiot. So is your publisher.” She chews on her lip before her face brightens. “You know what? Screw them. Write a query letter for your new book and I’ll proofread it for you. We’ll find you a better agent.”
My chest sparks with joy. Hope. This is perhaps the first time Briar has been outraged on my behalf instead of in my direction. “So you’ll come with me to Nicholson Manor then. Proofread my book and help me find an agent.”
She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I’m not letting you trap me in your creepy mansion. There’s no reason I need to be there. You can email me your files.” She grabs the door, preparing to shut it in my face.
“Don’t make me beg,” I purr.
“Looks like you’re going to be out here begging all night.” Briar slams the door in my face.
If this is how she wants to play it, I’ll indulge her fantasy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BRIAR
Saint is crazierthan I thought if he actually believes I’d willingly go anywhere with him. I know exactly what he plans to do: trap me in his basement and never let his precious muse go.
He can forget it. I plan on taking full advantage of my winter break to prepare for next semester, maybe get some writing done, and research the hell out of literary agents to find S.T. Nicholson the best one. Not to mention the stack of books I fully plan on devouring, all of which Saint sent me off of my wishlist.
Through the curtain, I watch him head back to his car. I’m honestly shocked he gave up that quickly—it’s completely out of character. But maybe he’s actually listening to me for once.
I drop the curtain and text Mack back before heading upstairs to the office. I can’t believe Saint broke into my house, kidnapped Cookie, and broke into Mack’s apartment to leave her there. I’ll let Cookie and Ginger enjoy their night together and go get her in the morning.
As soon as I boot up my computer, the power goes out. “Shit.”
I fumble for the flashlight on my phone and head downstairs to the breaker, grumbling the whole way.
Standing in the middle of my living room is a masked man.
A scream rips from my throat. Until I recognize the dark mask with the red flames and jagged scar.
S.T. Nicholson’s.
