Rascal leaps from the bed, the hair on his back sharp as needlepoints. I wait for my heart to rocket into my throat, but it doesn’t, so I curl my toes from the blankets and slip another over my shoulders.
The knock comes again, this time accompanied by a voice. “Thorn, it’s me.”
Ransom. Sounding less drunk than before but not by much.
I clutch the blanket tighter and move toward the door. On the other side, Ransom leans heavy against the frame. His hair is mussed, and there are wrinkles on his face from where he fell asleep on his pillow.
Here, in the reddish light streaming through the far windows, he almost looks like an avenging angel. His eyes go wide when he notices I’m not wearing my dress.
“Sorry, I should have—I can go back to bed.”
“No, it’s fine.” I brush hair from my eyes. “Is there something you wanted to say?”
He hesitates for a moment, makes a pained expression. “I wanted to say that I am sorry for acting like an ass back there in the woods. When I gave you the bell. Of course, you would have thought I’d taken it. If I’d been you, I would have thought the same. I’m sorry I took my own feelings out on you.”
“Your own feelings?” I step closer, so much so I can detect the lingering ale on his tongue.
He shrugs. “It is hard for me when people don’t trust me. I get angry, closed up. It’s not your problem, and I am sorry I tried to make it so.”
Never in a million years would I think Lord Ransom Black would be standing in front of me, apologizing for being an ass. I smile. “No harm done, Ransom.”
He sighs, like a weight has been lifted off his chest, and moves closer. His sweat is bitter and cold. I make a face and hope he doesn’t notice it in the shadowy light.
“We should do something to remember this, you know?”
“Remember this? Ransom, what are you talking about? Where’s Bram?” I peek around him, but the hall is empty. Perhaps we should not be alone.
“Went downstairs, I think. Listen, Adelaide.Wife.” He presses nearer, and Rascal growls a protest from the bed.
I plant my hands firmly on his chest. “I amnotyour wife yet. And you’re drunk. Perhaps you should—”
His finger goes to my mouth, flesh salty on my lips.
“Shh, listen to me. We should run away, you and I. Grab the bell, find a place here of our own. In the wood. Think of it. We could be the onlyliving souls in this whole place. You saw how the dead downstairs treated us, like we were gods, Adelaide.” He pushes into my room and pins me against the wall, his hand hot and tight on my thigh.
“Ransom—”
“With that bell, we could rule. We could command who came and who went. Reapers, think of it. No more lordly duties, no more fathers telling us what we can and cannot do. We’d hold all the power, Thorn. All of it.”
His words run together like spring mud, and I blink, trying to slow their meaning down in my mind. Pick them apart until I understand them. But they are madness. Live here? Amongst all the rot and death? The idea creeps along my skin, leaving a feeling of damp in its wake.
“Ransom, you’re not making any sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense.” His hand goes to my waist, and my skin flares.
Do not trust him.
“Ransom.” My hands are back on his chest now, pushing. “Please.”
“There’s so much power here,” he whispers against my neck. “And it could all be ours.”
A knot of tension pulls taut in my stomach. His hands brush higher. Sweat breaks out on my neck.
“Ransom, get off.”
And then his lips are on mine, and theyhurt. They crush and bite, and all I want to do is claw and spit. Rascal jumps down from the bed, jaws peeling back in a throaty growl, but even this does not stop Ransom Black and his greedy hands. His entitlement to rule over those in these woods is sickening. He has never been told no—a lord’s son, only told,Yes, take more. It is all yours.
My mouth tastes sour.
