Cal tucked the note under the pillow she’d been sleeping on, leaving a single corner exposed. The hall was still empty when he left. Pipes rattled in the walls, possibly from someone runninga bath. It was almost time for dinner and they had a guest to impress.
The smell of cooking meat wafted through the lower floor, gamey and tinged with traces of herbs. Her empty room worried him—he hadn’t heard her leave. The thought of her racing into town to confront the sheriff with her “evidence” left him colder than having to make her excuses again and leaving her to his brother’s dubious mercies.
His steps quickened, bringing him into the art deco dining room, with its black and white striped walls. Under the knifing shadows of the deer antler chandelier, Nadine sat at the table, but he didn’t have time to feel relief because his father was looming over her in a tableau that was eerily similar to the scene of the hunt playing out on the tapestry in his bedroom. “You don’t like it?” he heard his father ask, backing her against the chair. She flinched back from his hand, which was inches away from grazing her chest. Her face was tight with terror.
Anger raced through him like wildfire, fueled by a sense of possession that was very nearly paralytic in its potency. “Of course she does.” That rage was like a chemical bath, softening his words with their causticity. His father stepped back from Nadine, less concerned with being caught and more to gauge a potential enemy. Cal smiled at them both. “Women love the unicorn room.”
“Caledon.” His father spoke gruffly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Really?” Cal allowed a note of incredulity to enter his voice, paired with a satisfied sneer, and saw his father’s brow furrow in ill-concealed anger as he registered the insult to his senses. “You’ll have to let me know what she said that ensnared you so completely.”
He didn’t wait for a response, seating himself beside Nadine with a carelessness he didn’t feel. Had they been married, this was where he would have been placed—to her left, as her husband.
His father’s eyes, already speculative, narrowed further in what had to be disapproval. He wouldn’t dare make a fuss now, though. Not in front of a guest. Despite Ben’s earlier bluster, there was one thing his father cared more for than rules, and that was appearances.
Specifically, his.
“We were just talking about the girl’s accommodations,” his father said carelessly.
“Hm. Did she happen to mention that she’s been trying to cover Caledon Cullraven’s portrait with a sweater?”
Nadine flushed, giving her complexion the patchy ruddiness of strawberry ice cream. To his irritation, she had covered the bruise on her neck with some kind of concealer. “I—I don’t like the eyes,” she stammered, looking bewildered. “Or the blood.”
“But blood is the nectar of life.” His father gave him a meaningful look. “Isn’t that right, Cal?”
Second strike. Beneath the table, his fingers clenched. Laughter echoed from the hall, the brightness as jarring as sparklers in a battleground.
“Oh,Nadine,” Odessa purred. “You must be feeling better. Thomas said you were too worn out to join us last night. We all felt so sorry for you, huddling alone in your room like that.”
Cal was fairly certain he didn’t imagine the emphasis his sister placed onalone. She was about as subtle as a garden snake. He gave her a dark look, which she returned with a wide-eyed stare, fingering the edge of her wineglass with a burgundy-painted nail.
Don’t, he mouthed.
Her grin widened.
Nadine, glancing between the three of them, was beginning to look more white than red as embarrassment yielded back to fear. “I—”
“Did the paintings give you bad dreams, my deer?” Another jab from his father.
Cal put his hand on her leg and felt her buck in surprise. She tried to shift her leg away. Without averting his gaze, Cal squeezed. Once.Hard.
She darted a look at him through her hair. The silence was so absolute that he heard the click of her dry throat as she swallowed. “I don’t know. I don’t remember my dreams.”
Beneath his hand, her skin was searingly warm. She had her wineglass in her hand, fingers tightening as his thumb smoothed over the seam of her jeans.
“What a pity.” His father’s gaze landed on the half-concealed mark on her throat. “Some dreams are worth remembering.”
Cal squeezed her leg again.Keep silent, little sparrow. For now only, obey me.
“I heard my son giving you a tour of the house earlier.” Undeterred, his father filled the silence. Every word was another brick in an impenetrable fortress, with spaces left for attack and retreat. “It didn’t appear you were enjoying it. Was the garden so disappointing?”
“It’s a nice house,” Nadine said pragmatically, though he was sitting close enough to detect the quiver in her words. “Very interesting.”
His father poured himself some wine. Cal glanced at the label: it was the winery Noelle had used to work at. She hadgifted them several bottles, which his father had immediately put in the cellar to be forgotten. Until now. “Funny. I heard you call it scary.”
Nadine was trying, and failing, not to stare at the bottle. When she spoke again, there was genuine anger in her voice. “It’s hard not to. This house pays deference to violence.”
His father’s eyes flared with appreciation. “Did you hear that, Corrine?” he asked, looking at the doorway behind them. “Nadine here thinks your decorating is the stuff of nightmares.”
