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Of course, it probably doesn't help that I come from a pack ruled by another tyrannical Alpha. Not to mention the fact that I've pushed him away repeatedly, even as I feel as though there is something deep within me pulling me toward me.
I rub the crescent-shaped birthmark under my collarbone, trying to see if that strange, stinging pain returns. The tightness in my chest has receded, and I've only felt that flash of freezing burning twice, but it frightens me in a way I cannot quite express. The pain that coursed through my heart when Tristan had almost kissed me felt unlike anything I've ever experienced, dark and unnatural, crushing my chest and suffocating any hint of desire.
But as I scratch at my skin and poke at my chest, everything feels fine. There's no soreness, no lingering trace of that violet ache.
Outside, the moon is casting a silvery glow over the landscape, and from where I'm standing on the terrace, I can see the way the light ripples on the surface of the lake. There's a soft breeze that makes it sound like voices whispering in the wind. For a moment, I swear I can almost make out words carried in the air, but then I shake my head and the sounds are gone.
I need to clear my thoughts. First, there was the confusing encounter with Tristan, then the revelation of the Rovers' history, and now I'm hearing whispers in the wind. I'm probably just tired, but even as I look out at the glistening water of the lake, I can't shake the feeling of being watched.
An awful, stupid, reckless idea begins to form in the back of my mind. As the breeze picks up again, howling softly in the night, I square my jaw and decide to head down to the lake, drawn by the prospect of the serene surface under the moonlight.
The hardwood floor is cool under my bare feet as I make my way through the manor. I make sure to avoid the dining room, where I suspect Tristan and his inner circle are having dinner. I doubt I'll be missed, especially considering everything I know about them now.
There's a cobbled path that leads out the back of the villa toward the edge of the lake. The moon illuminates the path, casting shadows from the surrounding trees. As I walk, I can hear the gentle rustling of leaves in the trees and the distant chirping of crickets, and I soak in the sounds of the night. The air is cool and crisp, but surprisingly, I don't feel cold. The path is smooth but uneven beneath my feet.
Farther along, there's a faint sound of splashing in the distance. As I get closer, the sound becomes more distinct as the breeze carries the small tide at the edge of the lake. I can smell the crisp, clean scent of the water, tinged with the aroma of wildflowers and a sharp tinge of pine trees.
Eventually, I come to stand at the edge, my eyes fixed on the water that stretches out before me. The lake is still and serene, reflecting the moonlight in a shimmering silver surface that seems to blend seamlessly into the night. Again, the wind seems to whisper around me, and my gaze follows the ripples on the surface of the lake with every surreal gust.
Something about those dark waters calls to me, mysterious yet inviting. I'm overcome with the desire to feel clean, to step into that lake and let it wash away the remnants of a life that is starting to feel more and more like a distant nightmare.
This lake is a work of art, a canvas of natural beauty that seems to have been painted by the hand of the Goddess herself. The clarity of the water, the shimmering moonlight, the rustling of the leaves, and that deep whisper of the wind have an almost hypnotic effect. I take a deep breath, inhaling the beauty of the night and wishing I could disappear into it.
I want to be clean. Every scar, every bruise, every place where Oscar beat me, every trace of his friend's assaults, every wicked word I wear on my skin like a tattoo... I want to soak it all off and let it sink to the bottom of this lake.
So, in spite of the cool night and the nipping wind, I begin to undress. I slip out of my new clothes until I'm wearing nothing but a matching set of white panties and a bra, chosen by a rather enthusiastic Lucy.
I should feel cold, but somehow being out here just makes me feel awake, and I wonder if it has to do with the enchantment on these grounds. Or perhaps this place was lovely long before the witch's spell, before the time of Ector and Elaine, back when this land did not know heartbreak or hatred.
I try to tell myself I'm being ridiculous. I probably shouldn't even be out here. Though the Rovers insist on me being their guest, I shouldn't forget that I am a prisoner in this situation. While I was allowed to wander the gardens and the village with Lucy by my side, they said nothing about the lake.
I step in, the water refreshing and crisp enough to send a strangely pleasant sort of jolt through me.
I should walk away and put my clothes back on. I should head inside and go straight to my room and forget all about the whispering night and the promise of purity. No lake, no matter how beautiful, can possibly wash away the things I have lived through.
But, by the Goddess, I want to try, so I take a deep breath and wade farther out into the water.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As I sink deeper into the dark waters of the lake, I can feel the pressure building around me. The sound of my heartbeat is amplified, a constant thumping in my ears. It's as if the lake itself is alive and pulsing, each beat reverberating through my body.
I'm struck by the initial shock of the cold water. But that discomfort is short-lived as a sensation of warmth spreads within me as if a fire has been lit in my veins, heating my blood until the chilled waters no longer feel unpleasant on my skin. It's a strange and unfamiliar feeling, but not altogether unpleasant.
I sink deeper into the dark, murky depths of the lake until I'm submerged up to my chin. In that moment of quiet, I'm stunned when I can still hear the strange whispering wind, almost like a song that seems to be calling out to me from some distant place.
The whispers are almost melodic, haunting in their beauty. They swirl around me like a delicate veil, carrying the weight of some deep, hidden meaning. And as I listen, the words become clearer, more defined.
'Holly and hound, willow and wisp, flower and flame.'
This is not the wind.
The words echo in my mind, and for a moment, I am completely captivated. But then the voice grows stronger and clearer, and I'm struck with the certainty that it's not just some figment of my imagination. It's as if the voice is speaking directly to my soul, calling out to some primal part of me that I didn't even know existed.
I rub my eyes and struggle to shake off the sensation that I'm caught in some kind of dream. But the voice seems to be getting stronger as I move deeper into the lake, farther from the villa.
'Daughter of moonlight and darkness, born of brimstone and betrayal.'
The voice is deep and resonant, like the low rumble of thunder on the horizon. It speaks with a fierce intensity, each word ringing out like a bell in the stillness of the water.
