Page 19

Where would he have gone? Why?

Tears stung her eyes. Her legs didn’t feel like they belonged to her. She clung to the rail, walking on the icy marble at the edge of the steps instead of the soft runner that carpeted the middle.

She would have to go to Yaya’s suite, which had been a terrible place to put her. It was too far away. She was starting to cry and it was so stupid. She hated this weakness of hers. It was long past time she overcame it. How would she become a fully functioning, independent adult if she couldn’t function?

But there was no fighting the wraith-like chills that swirled around her or the way they seemed to bite and nip at her composure, eating away at it.

“I’m f-fine,” she told herself, placing a cold, steadying hand on each of the chairs as she walked through the long dining room, but the way her voice shook and echoed off the high ceiling only magnified that she was, in fact, alone.

Her stomach hurt. She was shivering and her lungs were squeezed by an invisible fist.

“I’m s-safe. I w-won’t die.”

She felt as though she was about to die, though. Right here. Right now.

* * *

Spiro raided the refrigerator of whatever he could find: triangles of spanakopita that he ate cold while he dropped meatballs into creamy chicken soup and set it to warm.

He was crunching a round of toast, stirring the soup, when all the hairs on his body stood up in a preternatural response.

He froze and listened, head cocked, alert in a way that wasn’t exactly fear-based. Anticipation? For what?

The sound was muffled, but it rang like a bell inside him. He knew it at a cellular level. It was pure and musical and made his heart swell with urgency to reach—

“Alia?” he called.

The silence went on so long he thought he had imagined the whole thing. Then the kitchen door swung inward.

Alia came in and threw her arm up against the harshness of the light, angling herself away from it.

She wore pale pink cotton pajamas that were entirely too brief. The top was pulled upward by her raised arm, revealing a strip of waist and the flat band of her shorts where it sat across her hip. The loose leg of her shorts teasingly fell off the curve of her ass to flutter against the top of her dark-gold thigh.

Spiro swallowed and dragged his gaze back up to where her nipple stood like a knifepoint against silk.

His trousers grew tight. He swallowed again, hunger for food replaced by a burst of appetite for something even more gratifying.

She dropped her arm and glared accusingly at him. Her face was pallid and damp with tears, her mouth trembling. All of her was shaking so hard he could see it.

“What’s wrong?” His heart lurched. He snapped off the gas burner and hurried around the island toward her, pulling off his shirt to wrap it around her. “Is your grandmother okay?”

“Probably. I don’t know.” She clutched the edges of his shirt, hugging it around herself while she brought one fist up and used the fine blend to wipe at her tears. She looked fearfully toward the east wing of the villa.

“Why are you so cold?” He rubbed her arms, able to feel the ice of her skin despite the crisp layer of his shirt. The villa was air-conditioned, but it was a comfortable temperature, not refrigerated. “I’ll get you a blanket—”

“No!” She caught at his arm, not allowing him to walk into the lounge.

The hairs on his body stood up again. This time it was very much a primitive reflex in response to the intense fear radiating off her. His muscles gathered and his bloodstream filled with the sting of fight or fight harder. His nostrils pinched, trying to scent the danger that stalked her.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Is someone out there?”

“No.” Her eyes filled with tears and looked down, mouth pouting. She seemed to shrink deeper into his shirt, clutching it around her like a safety blanket. “No one is out there. I thought you were gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know.” She clenched her eyes shut, but her tears leaked out. “Just g-gone.”

“I was hungry.” He searched her agonized face, baffled. “Did you have a nightmare?”