Inwardly though? I was ashamed to admit it, but I could still feel that clawing sense of panic as the cell door closed. The snick of the key in the lock. Darkness so thick you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face. It brought everything rushing back, and I was that young girl again, trapped with no way out.
I hated those feelings! I hated the label of the broken girl, born out of tragedy and never fully rising above it. But there wasn’t pity in Bowen’s eyes when he opened the cell door and sank to my level. His hushed tones had said the words I needed to hear.
He was proud of me.
I hadn’t failed.
The darkness had lifted along with the panic and despair. At that moment, I knew I should trust him with my secret, though it shocked me when he tried to send me away.
Maybe I should have accepted his offer to return home. With Sarah and Thomas’s help, we could have searched for Hendrik again. Everything could have gone back to the way it was before.
So why didn’t I jump at the chance?
You know why.
A flush spread across my cheeks. Yes, I wanted his help to find my brother, but it was more than that. We had a connection I wanted to explore. He wasn’t like any other man I knew. I felt different around him; whole. As if I could say or do anything without judgment or pity.
I paced slowly in front of his office door, slippers shushing over the carpet. He’d been patient, only asking me to come down when I was ready. But now, I was too nervous to knock.
Get a hold of yourself! You’re not some smitten schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman who carries a dagger. Act like it.I blew out a breath, bouncing on the balls of my feet. A couple of lunges and a fake sword thrust later, I rapped my knuckles against the door.
“Enter.”
The door creaked open to reveal pools of orange light. Pillar candles were perched on almost every surface, illuminating the room as I’d never seen it before. A fire burned in the hearth, and the scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of melting wax. My first thought was how cozy it was, which was a strange description for a room containing a collection of deadly weapons.
Bowen sat at his desk, head bent over a drawing pad. His hand made quick work across the page, leaving streaks of charcoal in its wake. The light played over his intense features, accentuating the hard line of his jaw and rugged cheekbones.
My gaze dropped to his hand, captured by the way the charcoal moved in smooth strokes. He drew as if it were a choreographed act, knowing exactly where to place the charcoal. Light in some areas, dark in others. It was mesmerizing.
He ignored me until I came closer, traveling across the carpet on my own. The absence of his gaze made it easier, almost as if he were shifting the power, allowing me to advance without notice. The air seemed to thicken with each step I took. Awareness of him was a living thing now, and it touched all my senses.
I stopped at the edge of the desk and watched as his hand stilled. Charcoal smudged his fingers, and he rubbed them against a rag.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, still averting his eyes to his drawing.
“Better, thank you. Good as new.” My words faltered as his gaze snapped to mine.
He scrutinized my features. I’d looked in a mirror before coming down; I knew what he saw. The ugly purple bruise marred the side of my face. Self-conscious, I pulled the thick, still-drying strands of my hair forward. I dropped my gaze to the floor as heat filled my cheeks.
Bowen shifted his weight, rising from his chair. He came around the desk, and the tops of his shoes filled my vision. Lifting my chin with his fingers, he placed an icy pouch against my jaw. I flinched in surprise, welcoming the coldness that seeped through the fabric.
He held it there until my hand covered his, then he pulled away and leaned back against the desk. “The first two melted while I waited for you to come down.”
I smiled, moving the ice pack lower. “It looks worse than it is.”
“You say that a lot. I’m not sure I believe you anymore.”
The snap and crack of the hearth filled a long moment of silence.
“What are you drawing?” I angled my head, trying to see around Bowen’s large frame.
He pulled the parchment forward, blowing charcoal dust from the surface. “It’s nothing. Earlier today, I took a walk along the shoreline. Something about it must have captured my interest.”
I slipped the drawing from his hands, studying the intricate detail of the cove. The surf crested over the sand, and sea spray crashed against the rocks, shooting high into the air. It was a beautiful drawing, illustrating the untamed nature of the ocean and the remoteness of the sandy coastline.
“I haven’t seen you do a landscape. All the others are items from your collection or treasures you’ve come across. I like this one a lot.”
“It’s not finished,” he said, placing the drawing back on the desk.
