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His expression darkens. “I’ve been at this for a long time. I don’t even know how much time has passed.”

And suddenly I understand the exhaustion carved into his posture. Kieran seems to be a man who has fought too many things no human should have to face. Were these things I’d have to face? Why am I not afraid though? Why does something in me feel tethered to this estate as if its roots coil beneath the floor and wind themselves around my ankles? I feel embedded, like a corpse in its final resting place.

“So…these creatures are inhuman and can only be killed with silver.” I crumple the necklace in my palm, watching the slight indentation it leaves. “They seem to be only women. And…they are always this deadly?”

The bathwater cools around me; a shiver runs wracks my frame but I do not move.

“These creatures—whatever they are—have been plaguing the forests around Devil’s Bay for as long as I can remember.” He pauses, hands steepled against his mouth. “Winston’s job here is to track them, keep them from getting too close. No one knows what they are. Some think they’re cryptids. Some think demons. Others…don’t theorize.”

I nod, unconvinced.

The Lazarus family has been a part of this town since its inception.

“They won’t be coming after you again.” He tries to reassure me.

As I sit in murky gray water, streaked with tar from the creature’s touch, I don’t believe him. There’s a lab below ground; the words gnaw at the edges of my thoughts. There is too much secrecy abound, and no matter what clarity I gained, the more lost I feel. I watch Kieran carefully. There’s a stubborn glint in his eyes behind the well yielded calm. Show me what you’re really hiding.

“Why do you think it addressed me directly?” I ask.

“I’m not sure.” He shrugs.

“Do you think they’ll get into the house again?” I fold my arms against my chest, noting the receding bubbles.

“Stay away from the forest. I’m not sure how it got inside. I think all the rules I’ve put in place are off the table.”

“You said they come out at night.” I point out.

“Yeah…why?” His brow creases, just barely.

“The last time it happened…it was morning.”

His responding silence answers more than words can.

“I know this is a lot,” he finally says, running a hand over his face. “With your recovery and everything—But I want you to take Misty with you, everywhere you go. And I don’t want you entering the forest.”

“Okay,” I say, though the truth blooms bitter in my chest. I am locked in a desolate cage with a man who kills monsters and perhaps attracts them. At the first sign of good weather, I’ll find a way into town. Alone. Forego any thought of attraction to either man I’ve encountered. They wouldn’t serve me anyways. Besides, I didn’t need to live here if I didn’t have to. I could easily find someplace else to live while the town fixes the mountain pass.

Sleep presses heavily against my eyelids. I slide further below the water, a yawn escaping before I can contain it.

“You should get back to bed,” he murmurs. “It’s almost morning.”

Outside, the sky bruises indigo, the color of endings and beginnings.

“I hate sleeping in,” I mumble, reaching for a towel.

Kieran pauses on the precipice of the sink, his eyes tracing across the surface of the water. I meet his eyes, and a harsh stare passes between us. “I’ll leave,” he says.

As soon as his figure retreats, the warmth drains from the room. Cold surges over my skin, crawling down my spine. I step out and wrap myself in the damp towel. Dressing slowly, I watch my reflection in the still water of the tub. I’m half-formed, smeared with the remnants of an invisible history. I know it’s there, but I can’t trace it. This mansion is both safety and a trap. A sanctuary tucked away from prying eyes, giving me the time to heal, yet it is a snare. What if these creatures don’t exist anywhere else? What if I am the magnet? I tug on a soft sweater and slacks then leave the bathroom.

In the bedroom, the hearth glows faintly. Kieran lies sprawled face-first across the bed, his breathing soft and steady. I pause, studying the lines of him. Faint scars trace across his back. A tattoo at the nape of his neck peeks out: a tiny snake devouring itself. Ouroboros. The eternal cycle: life devouring death devouring life. Of course that would be etched into his skin.

Quietly, I pull a blanket over him then perch at the edge of the bed. Being near him feels like an ancient tether pulling taut, a force older and deeper than logic. Every suspicion I have evaporates whenever he lays eyes on me. Whenever I look at him, I am stuck on a seesaw—him springing upward and leaving me at the bottom, forced to mimic his actions. I’m not even sure these feelings are real. They might as well be a fabrication of this place.

Would I ever leave this house? The thought should terrify me. But it doesn’t. I sit, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread. Kieran sleeps fitfully—tousled hair, parted lips, the dark prince of someone else’s fairytale. He is neither appearing to be a hero nor a villain, just caught in the space between. Behind his eyelids, his eyes race. A crease forms along his brow. His lips pull back into something painful, agonized. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Marisa…I finally have you.”

Whatever peace existed in the room dissolves.

THIRTY