Page 61 of Porcelain Grave

Shadow lets out another low, vibrating purr, the sound echoing through the room, and for the first time, I don't feel like running. I feel like I've finally found the only two creatures in the world as unhinged as I am.

The darkness of the room is thick, pressing in on me like a heavy velvet shroud. I snap awake, my breath hitching in my throat, the remnants of a nightmare still clawing at the edges of my mind. It was the same old shit—blood, screaming, the butcher's knife—and now my heart is hammering against my ribs like a fucking trapped bird.

I blink, slowly grounding myself. I can feel the heat of Rhys behind me, his heavy arm draped possessively across my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. He’s dead to the world, his breathing slow and steady. I shift my gaze toward the foot of the bed and see the massive, obsidian silhouette of Shadow. The jaguar is curled up, a mountain of black muscle, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, guttural hum that vibrates through the mattress.

I can't go back to sleep. Not with those images dancing behind my eyelids.

Carefully, I peel Rhys’s arm off me, moving with the precision of a thief. I hold my breath, praying he doesn't wake up and decide he needs to fuck the nightmare out of me right this second—as much as I might actually want that. I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.

I creep over to the nightstand, open the drawer, and retrieve my notebook and pencil. I don't want to wake him; I just need to get this out of my head before it consumes me.

I walk over to the French windows, the moonlight spilling across the floor in pale, ghostly streaks. I sink down onto the floor, leaning my back against the cold glass, and open the book to a fresh page.

The pencil begins to fly, scratching aggressively against the paper. I don't even think; I just let the darkness flow. I sketch a distorted, towering figure with elongated, spindly fingers that look like bleached bone, its face a void of swirling smoke and jagged teeth. Around it, I draw a field of those black roses, but they're rotting, their petals dripping with something thick and dark like old oil. I add a figure—me—small and fragile, being pulled down into a sea of grasping hands and shattered mirrors. It’s grim, psychotic, and utterly fucked up. It looks like a page ripped from a madman's diary, but as the image takes shape, the pressure in my chest begins to ease.

A soft, heavy sound makes me jump.

I look up to see Shadow. He’s padded over silently, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light. He doesn't growl or huff; he just sits beside me, his massive presence radiating a strange, silent comfort. He leans in, placing his heavy paws on my thighs, his weight grounding me. He tilts his head, looking at the notebook, watching the charcoal lines of my nightmare.

I can't help it; a small, shaky smile touches my lips. I lean closer to him, whispering so softly it's barely a breath.

"It's my second time doing this, you big softy," I murmur, showing him the drawing. "Just drawing the bad things in my nightmares so they stay on the paper."

Shadow lets out a low, vibrating chuff, a sound of understanding that vibrates through my legs. He settles in, resting his heavy head on his paws atop my thighs, staying right there with me. He’s like a silent sentinel, guarding me from the very ghosts I’m sketching. I keep working, the scratch of the pencil the only sound in the room, hoping Rhys stays under. I don't want to explain the darkness yet; I just want to finish.

Once the last jagged line is drawn, I close the book with a soft thump. I stand up, gently nudging the jaguar. "Come on, Shadow. Back to bed before the boss notices we're gone."

I lead the massive cat back toward the bed, but just as I reach the edge, I hear a groan.

Rhys shifts, his hand slapping the empty space where I was lying. His voice is thick with sleep, raspy and deep, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

"Love...?"

I scramble, quickly shoving the notebook and pencil back into the nightstand drawer just as he opens his eyes.

"I'm here!" I whisper quickly, sliding back into the warmth of the sheets. "I was just helping Shadow back into bed. He fell."

Rhys doesn't say a word. He just reaches out, his grip like iron, and yanks me backward. I let out a little gasp as I drop hard against him, my back pressed firmly against his chest, his heartbeat thumping steadily against my shoulder blades.

Suddenly, a wet, sandpaper-textured nose presses firmly against my cheek. Shadow has followed me in, his massive head invading my personal space. I laugh softly, pulling back the heavy duvet.

"Come on then, you big brute. Get in."

Shadow doesn't need to be told twice. He heaves himself onto the bed, settling in right next to me. I pull the blanket up, covering the jaguar's obsidian fur.

I lay there, sandwiched in the middle. Rhys’s strong arm is locked around my waist, pulling me tight, while my own hands are buried in Shadow’s thick, soft coat. I am trapped between two of the most dangerous, lethal creatures in this entire godforsaken carnival—a psychotic man and an apex predator.

And I feel completely, utterly safe.

As the rhythmic purring of the cat and the steady breathing of the man lull me, I finally close my eyes and drift into a sleep that is, for once, devoid of screams.

Chapter 18

The silence in the bedroom is fucking deafening. Rhys has been gone since the crack of dawn, some "business" outside the Menagerie that he wouldn't give me the details on. Knowing him, it’s probably something bloody gruesome or some twisted power play to keep the locals shaking in their boots.

I know that's how he is above the police.

I’m lounging on the bed, feeling small and exposed in the vastness of the room, with Shadow sprawled across the rug like a living piece of obsidian. The big cat is staring at me, his golden eyes blinking slowly, as if he’s wondering why the hell I’m just sitting here rotting away from boredom.