Page 68 of Nightshade

More strange sounds filtered through the door.

Cautious, I climbed out of bed and padded quietly across the room, coming to a stop in front of the door. An angry, masculine voice. The creak of old wood. A hard thunk. Opening the door just a crack showed an enormous, shadowy figure that I couldn’t make out. An intimidating silhouette of a man, for sure. He strode closer, toward my room, and once he stood in the dim light of the lantern in the hallway, where the two corridors intersected, I could see him more clearly.

A well-built physique that gave youth to the maturity in his face, which put him around late thirties. Jet black hair, attractively mussed in front, with a slight half curl that stuck out from the back of his neck. Over his right eye, he wore a black patch, whose strings crossed his forehead and cheek, and I could see the faint lines of scars sticking out from above it and below. The other eye appeared to be a striking blue that reminded me of winter ice, beneath a brow wrinkled with aggravation. Ethereally handsome, he carried an imposing and dominant presence, with an irascible undertone that reminded me of an angry badger having been drawn out of his burrow.

I was certain, based on what I’d been told about the man, that it was Van Croix. Seemingly contemplative, he lurched toward the other corridor, as if torn over whether to return from where he’d come, but instead, he set forth in my direction, fists balled.

Tall with broad shoulders, he walked with a smooth, regal grace, wearing silk black pants and a matching black robe that flowed behind him like a cape. An exposed abdomen showed perfectly etched muscles that glistened as though damp with sweat. The deep groove between his chest also glistened, like the guy had run a mile in his bedroom. A glint drew my eyes to the silvery swirls of tattoos, like tribal art, but more intricate, on his chest and stomach. Strange.

I’d never seen silver tattoos before.

Something about him struck me as vaguely familiar. I’d seen the man before, though I couldn’t quite place from where. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu left me staring for far longer than I should have.

He rubbed his brow, and as he neared my bedroom, I flattened myself on the other side of the door. The sound of his approaching footfalls stopped for a moment. Heart pounding in my chest, I scarcely drew in a breath, my senses telling me he was just on the other side of the door. Seconds ticked by. A dark and eerie tension rose inside of me, raising the hair on my skin. Though I knew there were others about, it suddenly felt as if I was completely alone with him in the cathedral.

I waited for him to step inside the room and find me hiding there. I had to remind myself I’d been invited to stay. No, not by him, but it wasn’t as if I’d broken into his home. Still, for whatever reason, I felt like a criminal.

More seconds ticked off.

“Master Van Croix, what luck to find you awake!” The familiar voice of Anya broke the silence, and I stole the moment to exhale a held breath. I’d been right about his identity. “I have good news.”

“What is it?” A string of irritation clung to his tone, and still, something about his voice struck a familiar chord. Intrigued me.

“I found a caretaker for the dogs earlier this evening. Seems he’s adjusting well to his new sleeping quarters, according to Garic.”

“Great. Any idea why this bedroom door is open?”

Mouth pinned together, I screwed my eyes shut.

“I’m not sure, Master. Perhaps one of the ladies left it open while cleaning this afternoon.”

“It was closed when I came home.”

I couldn’t see his face, but his tone carried the harsh snip of an impatient man.

“I can’t say, Master. I’m sorry.” A short hush followed, then I heard Anya ask, “Are you all right, Sir? You seem out of sorts.”

“There is an odd scent on the air. Almost … sickening.”

In a subtle movement, so as not to arouse any attention to myself, I lifted my arm to sniff, not noticing anything but the faint remnants of deodorant I’d put on that morning.

“I don’t notice anything unusual. Might be one of the girls’ perfumes?”

In the next breath, the surface behind me disappeared as the door slammed shut, and my feet tumbled out from under me. I crashed against the panel with a thud at the same time it clicked shut, and I slapped both hands to my mouth, willing my muscles to hold perfectly still.

“I’ll see to it this door remains closed at all times.” Even muffled behind the wooden door, Anya’s voice was rife with annoyance.

After a long pause on the other side of the door, the footsteps resumed. Sucking in another deep breath, I closed my eyes, resting the crown of my head against the door.

That was intense.

* * *

The dull, gray light of an overcast sky filtered through the curtains, as I roused from sleep. The embers of a fading dream lingered on the distant fringes as awareness slowly filtered in, pervading the endless void of restless sleep. Every sound and creak had kept me on a razor’s edge most of the night, and when I did eventually slip into dreams, I found them to be frantic and consuming, clawing at me like arms reaching up from a bottomless descent.

In morning’s light, however dreary and forlorn, I was greeted by the scent of aging wood and the deep penetrating cleanliness of fabric that’d been handwashed and hung on a line to dry. It reminded me of Aunt Nelle, whose old, outdated kitchen had always smelled like lemons because she’d insisted they worked brilliantly on water-stained sink basins.

I pushed up from the plush mattress that left me feeling as if I’d slept on clouds. If not for the unsettling noises throughout the night, I’d have probably slept as sound as a baby. Unfortunately, I felt about as rested as a sleep-deprived mother, which didn’t bode well in a place where I would need to keep my wits about me.