Page 5 of Ravished By the Revenant

I glance at the tiny brass plaque. Lord Aldric Blackthorn, 1817.

Is Aldric a family name, then? Passed down through generations?

So many questions and no one around to give me the answers. Then again, if someone were around, they’d probably kick me out. Probably best I live in ignorance.

The air changes once I reach the landing of the upper floor. It smells more alive, like it’s moving through the rooms. And there’s a scent… something woodsy. Maybe there’s a draft somewhere?

I peek into rooms as I walk down the hallway. There’s a sitting room I’d love to explore when my socks aren’t wet, a small library that probably has the most interesting books, and what seems to be a lord’s dressing room. And maybe someone is turning this castle into a museum or something, because the clothes in here are remarkably well preserved.

There are more tailored suits like the one the man—Lord Aldric—wore in his portrait. Coats, waistcoats, cravats, gloves. Shirts with high collars and tall riding boots. It’s like walking into the past with each armoire. Tunics, leather pants, and even armor kept clean and shiny.

I caress the fabric of a white, long-sleeved shirt. It’s more pleasant than I expected and… that woodsy smell. It’s coming from the clothes, not a breeze from the outside. Could it be fabric softener? I need the name of it, that’s for sure.

I step out of the dressing room and resume my search for a master bedroom. The next few doors are closed and locked, but I’m not so curious that I’d resort to vandalism just yet.

Finally, I reach an unlocked bedroom. The first thing I notice is the enormous bed. Weren’t medieval beds supposed to be small? I’ve been in enough restored castles to know this is an anomaly. There’s room there for three people and a medium-sized horse.

My eyes travel the length of the carved bedposts up and up. The ceiling is tall, vaulted like a Gothic church. The walls are bare, no frames, no mirror.

It’s like whoever sleeps here isn’t the same person as the one who decorated the rest of the house.

But there is a giant fireplace—and it has firewood.

“That’s a win,” I say to myself as I scurry over. There’s a chair by the hearth, the leather worn smooth, and a table beside it with a stack of books. Classics.

Since the fire is conveniently already stacked with kindling underneath, I just need to find something to light it with. Hopefully I’m not about to have a crash course in lighting a fire with flint, though. Ah, there—matches.

What are the chances I find a steaming bubble bath too? Probably slim to none; this place doesn’t look like it’s seen electricity outside of a thunderstorm.

I light the fire easily, then immediately have an alarming thought—I pray the chimney’s clear and I’m not going to either burn this ancient castle to the ground or give myself carbon monoxide poisoning.

I stare at the flames for a couple of minutes, hardly daring to breathe. When nothing scary happens, I sit back on the carpet and start taking my waterlogged boots off. They hit the ground one by one, and I unlace them so the dry, warm air can get to the soles. Then I peel off my socks and wring them before placing them near the fire. Finally, I lean back on my hands and wiggle my toes in front of the fireplace.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

The fire’s too cozy, and I’m yawning in no time. Not wanting to fall asleep so soon in case Marco and his men find me, I look around for a distraction. Since the room is so bare, my only option is the small stack of classics on the small table by the fireplace. I pick up War and Peace, noting the ribbon marking the spot where the reader left off.

I’m sure they won’t mind.

4

ALDRIC

I’ve been watching the woman since she stumbled through the gates. How is it possible that she sees my keep, when for centuries the only people allowed in were the staff and their descendants? Her presence is nearly as baffling as her behavior.

She talks to herself. It would have probably been annoying, except… her voice is like angels singing. It has been too long since I heard anyone speak, but it might just be the most beautiful sound in the German Empire.

I hide in the shadows as she traipses through my home, illuminating small areas with a magical beam of light. Is she a witch, then? It would explain how she navigated past the curse’s constraints. But she looks nothing like the crone who sealed my fate.

My eyes are glued to her pert backside, obscenely displayed by tight riding pants in a pale blue color. Her silvery hair falls straight and unbound all the way to a narrow waist above swells of hips made for me to rest my palms on.

I look down at my scarred hands, at the missing flesh displaying naked fingerbones. My fingers clench into fists. If she were to see me, she would faint.

My blood boils when she appraises my cherished weapons like a hawker at auction. I punch the wall, swallowing back a growl. So she’s a thief!

But no—by the time I calm down, she’s moved past the weapons to look at the rest of the hall. Perhaps she’s preparing a list of items to steal? Well, she won’t find any in the servants’ quarters. I have to fight back the urge to bodily throw her out of my home when she sits on Greta and Konrad’s bed. Has she no respect?

But it has been so long since someone was here. And it’s been even longer since I was inside a woman. I find myself unwilling to oust her so soon.