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That’s a fight I don’t want to have tonight.

“Nothing. Don’t worry yourself about the noises this place makes. It’s an old house. Now, back to what I was saying.”

“You weren’t saying anything,” I point out, breaking into a forced giggle when he licks up my throat.

“I know I wasn’t.” He nips my flesh, and I catch a shadow out of the corner of my eye.

It moves from right to left, sneaking toward the alcove of darkness between the dining room door and the stairs, where it lurks.

“I think someone’s watching,” I tell Lucien, pressing his shoulders to push him away.

“It’s after midnight. No one’s awake.”

“Lucien, please!” I whisper, shoving at him. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He growls. “Fine. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

He grabs my hand and leads me toward the stairs, and my eyes never leave the dark corner where I saw the shadow disappear.

Lucien stops walking. “On second thought, meet me upstairs. I’m going to go grab us a bottle of wine.”

“I think you’ve had enough wine.”

He scoffs and pushes into the dining room.

The galley door swings in his wake, and my breathing speeds.

I can’t take my eyes off the dark recess to my left: my hand white-knuckled on the banister, the wood creaking in protest.

“Hello?” I breathe shakily. “I know you’re there!” I say more sternly.

The hairs on my neck stand on end, and my heart beats so rapidly I think it might stop altogether.

Nothing moves.

No one speaks.

I have to will my feet up the first step, but the air behind me feels heavy, prickled with tension and energy my eyes can’t fathom.

I take the stairs two by two, leaping onto the first landing with a squeak when arms helix around my stomach, stopping me dead.

“Got you,” the voice says, and dread spirals through my veins.

“So you did…”

17

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Ifeel as though I haven’t slept in weeks; I went to bed early last night and didn’t wake until ten this morning.

It’s Saturday. Not a workday, but I find myself in the office, filing and doing anything to keep my mind off the dark turn my dreams have taken.

No longer are they about the abuse from the past, but they’ve melded into something more ominous and disturbing.

“Good morning,” Kyrin says, knocking softly on the open door. “I brought you coffee.”