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He turns his back to me, and I watch his shoulder blades bunch beneath the thin fabric of his shirt with probably too much interest, considering I'm supposed to have sworn off men for the foreseeable future. But now that I can see this man standing in front of me, the foreseeable future looks a little bit different than it did a few weeks ago. I have to say, I like the man this future holds a lot better than my ex. Although, I'd also like a course of norovirus more than I'd like my ex, so that's not really saying much.

"Take this," Lachlan says, holding out a black bottle.

"Is it a potion?" I ask, then immediately feel stupid as he barks a laugh.

"Something like that," he says.

I sniff the bottle, but it tastes like nothing. "What does it do?" I ask him, completely intrigued, and suddenly feeling like I used to right before my big research breakthrough. Hungry. Hungry for more knowledge. Hungry to learn something new.

"It'll keep you from feeling terrible from the wine and the Scotch tomorrow morning."

"Whew, you could probably make a lot of money off something like a hangover potion."

"Not this one," he says as I take a swig. "It's water."

And I immediately feel like a dumbass.

"All right," I say, trying to take charge of a situation I have no hope of regaining control of—and I'm too stubborn to admit that to anybody out loud.

I sigh and perch on one of the huge barstools in front of the marble counter, pulling my black tumbler of water closer to me. It's etched with a logo, and as I peer at it for a long second, it starts to glow that same strange electric blue.

Property of House Midnight, the tumbler reads.

"Your predecessor also enchanted everything in this house to be cursed should someone not of House Midnight take it without permission. If you want to know about someone who was crazy, look no further than the last person to have run this place into the ground."

"Why was the rest of the house dusty and the library not?"

"I think you'll be surprised by the rest of the house now that you've claimed it," he says casually.

I sigh, annoyed. "You do realize that doesn't explain anything at all, right?"

"Listen, lass. You're oscillating between thinking you've lost your marbles and trying to hold everything about this world you didn't know existed in your head at once. I'm afraid I'm going to overwhelm you."

"I have a PhD—" I stop. "Well, I'm ABD, all but dissertation. I'm smart enough to handle it. I've worked full-time while I was getting my degree so I could pay for my entire life. If you don't think I'm capable of this, then why am I here at all?"

"I didn't choose you," Lachlan says, and it's the first time I've heard venom in his voice, so much so that I'm taken aback, leaning heavily against the back of the barstool.

"That's a bit rude," I say.

"You picked up the relic, you were drawn to its hiding place, and you are the one who claimed the house. I was simply there to protect you—which in itself is a strange turn of events, considering there hasn't been a seat at House Midnight for over a hundred years. And that's how the Council likes it."

"Explain the house," I say imperiously, definitely given an edge of bravado by the alcohol. And maybe the fact that he's looking at me with something like disdain in his eyes—the charming Scot I thought was before me completely transformed into something much more brutish, something more primal. Something that's maybe not a man at all.

"The house responds to you, Vivienne," he says acidly. "Not me. I couldn't have summoned the library the way you did."

"What do you mean, 'summon the library'?"

"This room could be anything the house leader wants it to be. A library is one of many things that this room is. I know you saw the stained-glass on the door as we walked inside. I know you saw the moving animals in the parquet. That's part of the house's magic." He gestures around to the insane library."Now that you're here, now that you've claimed it, the rest of the house will be waiting for you at your command. Something I couldn't do. Something no one who wasn't of House Midnight could do. And maybe I'm the one who should be asking questions," he says darkly, pouring himself a finger's worth of Scotch and drinking it just as quickly.

Or maybe it's whiskey. I never could keep them straight.

I decide not to say that out loud, and pat myself on the back for that because I have a feeling the Scotsman wouldn't be very interested—probably be offended by how little I know about what appears to be his drink of choice. And, frankly, I'm not in the mood for a history lesson on Scotch when there are far more interesting history lessons to be had.

"You know what's funny?" I say, mustering as much iron into my voice as I can, considering I'm slightly tipsy again and completely undone by the strangeness of the situation.

"What's that?" he asks, not even bothering to look at me.

"I could have sworn you were happy to see me back there when you saved me. And now that I've claimed House Midnight, you're acting like maybe that's the worst thing that's ever happened. You're acting like an asshole," I clarify when his expression doesn't change, probably because I am a little bit of an asshole myself.