Page 9

Bellamy,

Your body is restored. Consider your debt for the night settled.

While you reside under my roof, you are permitted to explore the estate grounds as you please. My staff has been strictly instructed to remain out of your sight and give you space. Don’t attempt to seek them out.

A few simple rules for your survival:

Don’t attempt to cross the outer boundary wards.

Don’t enter the east wing containment chambers.

Remember, you belong to me now. Do not try to leave.

Eat. Rest. Accept your new reality.

-Vesper

“Vesper,” I whisper aloud. The name rolls off my tongue like a dark spell. I grip the edges of the letter before crumpling it. Do not try to leave.

A bitter laugh escapes my chest. Just because he healed my wounds and wrapped me in velvet doesn’t mean I’ll just bow my head and play the dutiful captive. But isn’t that exactly what I agreed to when I desperately took that damn bargain?

I shake my head. “Fuck your rules, Vesper.”

I quickly strip out of my ruined, torn shirt and slip on the dark clothes provided for me. The fabric is soft, fitting my frame, tailored and warm. It’s probably the most expensive, luxurious thing I’ve worn in my entire life, and I hate Vesper even more for it. Once dressed, I stride over to the bedroom door and yank it open.

The door glides back silently, as if trying to calm my fiery temper.

I step out into a dark hallway lined with vaulted arches and flickering sconces. The air is cool, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of ocean mist and cinnamon.

As I walk down the long-carpeted corridor, an eerie feeling creeps up the back of my neck. Awareness snakes down my spine, chilling me to my core. I can hear them.

Soft, hushed whispers rustle through the walls like dead moths fluttering against glass. Subtle, quiet footsteps echo down intersecting hallways, and the faint rustle of fabric hints at people—or creatures—moving just around the corner. But every time I round a hallway or look up toward a balcony, there’s nothing there. Empty stone. Fading shadows.

Vesper’s staff is obeying his orders to the letter, fleeing from my path like ghosts in a graveyard. The deliberate isolation makes my skin prickle, but as I walk, another sensation takes hold. A subtle, radiating heat hovers just behind my left shoulder.

I pause in the middle of a grand corridor and glance back over my shoulder.

Stretched across the stone floor behind me, completely independent of any light source, is a massive, dark shadow. Not my shadow. No, this is broad, thick, and shaped like an enormous, crouching beast with broad shoulders and the silhouette of long, curved claws. The moment I turn around, the shadow freezes in place, blending seamlessly into the carpet.

The Devil Dog’s shadow is following me, and yet it doesn’t attack. It isn’t growling. It’s simply stalking two paces behind me, guarding me, watching my every move like an obsessive predator keeping tabs on its prize.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a strange, traitorous shiver running down my spine. I hate that my body reacts to the lingering presence of this place. To the fear. I hate that the deep, velvety memory of Vesper’s voice makes my pulse race with an intoxicating heat I have no business feeling.

I turn away from the beast’s shadow and keep walking, determined to find a way out.

At the end of the main hallway, double doors lead out onto a sweeping stone terrace overlook. I explore for what feels like hours, trying to ignore the invisible whispers and voices around me. If I didn’t know any better, it’s as if the house itself is alive.

Through a towering glass archway, I catch sight of a breathtaking wild rose garden situated right outside the estate’s lower level. Brilliant, dark crimson roses bloom in wild defiance of the freezing air, surrounded by stone pathways and dense evergreen trees. Past the garden, I can see the ivory-covered iron gates that mark the edge of the property line.

Freedom.

I march down the grand staircase, ignoring the way the beast’s shadow glides along the steps beside me. I head straight for the oak doors that lead out toward the garden. Reaching out, I take hold of the cold, brass handle and pull.

A resounding metallic thud echoes through the door frame. I freeze, watching in disbelief as the deadbolt slides into place on its own, driven by an invisible, magical force. The handle locks tight beneath my grip.

“Going somewhere, little bird?” The voice purrs out from the dark corner of the foyer, smooth as velvet, cool as midnight. It drips with a cocky, arrogant amusement that instantly makes my cock jump.

I snap my head toward the sound, my breath hitching in my throat.