I killed someone with a touch. Well, and a broken chair leg. I drained their natural existence right out of them without meaning to. Hell, I nearly did the same to Liz during training, and I had no idea until Malrik spelled it out over dinner like he was reading the menu.
I take a step back from the mirror. “Nope. I don’t like this. I need to get out of here. This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. Answers be damned.”
The wardrobe doors creak softly, as if offended.
“No.” I cross my arms, hoping the exit will appear again.
Instead, my legs start to shake, and energy that’s not my own invades my body.
I shake out my arms, almost dancing, like I can physically rid myself of this intrusion. “Get the hell out of me!”
There’s a growl in my chest, and I freeze.Wolf?
This would all be better if I didn’t feel so alone.
Except I get no reply.
Though that doesn’t completely dash my hope. Maybe that was at least a sign that she’s still here.
Even better, the ick I felt along my skin is gone, but I’m still pissed about the invasion.
“Don’t do that again.” I hold my towel tighter around me and shake my finger at the wall like it’s a child.
I’m going crazy like Iris, but whatever.
“Stay for them. Stay for answers.”
The words come as the faintest whisper. Holy shit, can the house actually talk?
I wait for more, but there’s nothing. In reality, I know I’m not prepared to get myself out of this place as I am now. I can’t even shift. Though that doesn’t mean I’m going to quit trying. Even now, I yearn for the beast within, but there’s not a single tingle over my skin when I try to call on her presence.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll stay. For now. But outside of being told I’m a murderer, I’d better get some real answers and quick.”
The wardrobe shakes briefly, and an outfit falls to the floor. Right. We’re doing this.
I pull on dark leggings and a fitted, light-cream tank top with wide straps. One that feels made for movement, not ceremony. The fabric is light and cool against my skin, tailored to perfection.
I go to the vanity and reach for the hairbrush. Once I’ve secured the golden-brown locks into a ponytail, I stand in front of the door. “Can I leave now?”
The faintest tremor ripples through the air, and a second later, the door slides open, smooth and silent, revealing the hallway beyond.
A pulse of silver light traces along the threshold, beckoning me forward.
I stare at it for a long moment, my heart hammering. “Let me guess,” I mutter. “I’m supposed to follow the creepy mood lighting again?”
The light beats again—twice this time. Definitely deliberate.
“Of course. The haunted house has a personality.”
Still, when I step through the doorway, I can’t help feeling a strange mix of awe and dread. The air on the other side is cooler, scented faintly of rain and ice. The walls are brighter today, the veins of light running through them steady and rhythmic.
It’s beautiful, in the same way a sleeping predator is—still, elegant, and utterly dangerous.
The door closes behind me without a sound.
“Okay, Keep,” I say under my breath. “Show me where I’m required today.”
The floor glows faintly beneath my bare feet—why haven’t I been given shoes yet?—each step lighting the path forward. The castle hums in approval.
