“Davenport,” I hissed, my words barely a whisper. Still Preston had heard me, his dark green gaze snapping to mine. I pressed a finger to my lips and gestured for him to listen. A beat later, the subtle shift in his expression told me he heard it too.
Someone was coming.
“We need to hide.”
I scanned the room. The bed wouldn’t work. The wardrobe—barely holding itself together—was our only option.
I flung it open. A mess of clothing lined the bottom, no hangers in sight. Preston moved in after me, and together we shut the doors, the gap between them just wide enough to see through. The room darkened as he blew out the candle. Ourbodies pressed together in the cramped space, his breath warm against my neck.
Fabric rustled outside. I leaned toward the gap, trying not to flinch at the sensation of Preston doing the same behind me. His scent brushed the air—clean, sharp, infuriatingly close.
Then, he touched my cheek. The air left my lungs, my cheeks heating, as I jerked back.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, still whispering.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his voice all mocking silk.
“You did,” I bit back, my heart drumming in my ears. “So don’t.” I tried to move away even more when his hand curled around my waist, stopping me. “I just told you not to,” I hissed, right as a match lit to life, blinding me for a split moment.
My breath hitched in fear of getting caught by whoever was outside. My eyes darted out through the gap to see the room had been lit by light as well.
“Don’t set us on fire either,” I muttered, trying to pull away, but his grip held me in place. My nostrils flared in annoyance. How was he so lean, yet strong?
“I won’t,” he answered. “As long as you don’t move.”
I looked at him in the yellow light of the match to see his gaze fixed on something above my head. Slowly, I turned, not knowing what to expect, only to be met with…nothing. I rolled my eyes, when something rustled, and suddenly a pair of gold eyes blinked down at me from the shadows. I drew back and a warm hand shifted over my mouth, muffling my gasp.
His voice was in my ear again, low and razor-thin as his body pressed into mine. “I said, don’t move.” He held out the match in front of us, revealing the furry nightmares hanging above.
Bats.
Surely this had to be a sick joke. Small, furry bodies, long claws clinging to the wardrobe rod. I closed my eyes, breathingthrough my nose. It was alright. There were more terrifying things than being locked in a cramped space with bats. My hand trembled as I raised it to remove Preston’s away from my face.
“Promise you won’t scream?” he whispered, his hand hovering just above my lips. I nodded, exhaling sharply, and he let go, a soft huff escaping him.
A groan from the other side of the wardrobe door broke the silence, and we both leaned toward the gap again. A boy stood in the pale light of the chamber, not much older than us, if that.
My brows creased.
I’ve never seen him before. Not in the manor, nor on the grounds. His face was unnaturally pale, marked with tiny red welts. My stomach twisted as I realized what had caused them. Bats, like the ones hanging above us, feasted on his skin, leaving bite marks behind. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch, as though he couldn’t feel them.
His auburn hair gleamed red in the candlelight as he dragged a white sheet behind him, with the one-eyed sheep’s head hanging out, leaving a thick scarlet smear on the stone. I clutched the edge of the wardrobe, my stomach turning with nausea for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
My mind tangled back to the two women from The Grey Maiden.
And what did the Monster eat in all those stories, Maisie?Sheep and kids.
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud behind the boy, and my eyes darted up to the bats, still clearly visible, in the light of Preston’s newly lit match. I moved to climb out of the wardrobe when a low click rang through the chamber, freezing my blood.
Did he? My gaze met Preston’s and he closed his eyes, his features morphing into an annoyed grimace. Did that boy just lock us in?
I moved to the wretched door and yanked the handle, then bumped my forehead against the wood. Typical.
“There has to be another way out.” Preston closed the wardrobe with the bats inside. At least that was something. I walked around the chamber, running my palm over the damp walls.
“Has to?” I asked, sceptically.
He relit the candle, playing it around the space. “The manor is crammed with trapdoors. Let’s hope this room isn’t an exception.”
