Page 24 of Moonlit Thorns

Chapter

Eleven

ANABELLE

The next morning, I wake up with a fuzzy feeling in my head that’s accompanied by a headache. Last night, I forced myself to drink my weight in water after my brother dropped me off at the gates of Midnight Manor. Otherwise, my head would likely be pounding, and I wouldn’t be able to leave my bed.

The last thing I want to do is go for a run, which is exactly why I force myself out of bed and into my sports bra and leggings. The vision of my mother spending days in bed, staring aimlessly at nothing haunts my mind. I refuse to let my grief turn me into her.

Though we’re well into spring and approaching summer, a dense fog covers the property when I step outside. The sun is likely just beginning to crest over the horizon, but it’s not visible yet. It should burn off most of this mist once it makes its appearance though.

I put my AirPods in my ears and hit Play on the mafia romance audiobook I’m listening to, then I slide my phone into the side pocket of my leggings. After a few stretches, I start on the path.

No one is out. It’s too early on a Sunday morning for anyone to be hanging around the grounds or working yet, and I have to shove away the feeling of trepidation when I set off.

Being unable to see any farther ahead than about ten feet because of the fog is weird, but if I stay on the path, I should be fine. As long as I don’t get lost. I still don’t have the layout of this place cemented in my mind, and without being able to see any points of reference in the distance, I could quickly lose track of where I am.

I start at an easy jog to warm up and get my body back into the idea of running. Once my limbs are limber, and I’m in my groove, I pick up my pace until I’m running, sweat dripping from my hairline down my neck. My lungs burn, but the punishment to my body feels good. It keeps all the horrible thoughts from my mind until I’m only focused on the here and now.

My legs burn, and I realize that I don’t even know where I am anymore, but I also don’t care. I just keep running as if to outrun the demons themselves.

A figure appears in the mist ahead of me. I try to slow down to a stop before I hit them, but I can’t. I plow into the body with a grunt and almost fall back until two hands grip my upper arms. I blink and realize I’m staring into the deep blue eyes of Asher Voss. Tired eyes. Eyes that look as if they’ve seen things no man ever should.

Neither of us says a word until I sputter out, “I… sorry, I was going so fast…”

He’s still holding onto me, staring at me impassively. Gone is his usual aggression and predatory ways. Right now, he reminds me of a defeated man. I don’t know what to do with that, nor do I know why I care at all.

“I’m okay now, you can let me go.” I nod in the direction of where one of his giant paw-like hands is wrapped around my arm.

He blinks, seeming to come out of a haze, and his hands drop. “What are you doing here?” His voice is a little gruff, but nowhere near his usual ornery tone.

It dawns on me that I can hear him because one of my AirPods has fallen out of my ear. “Going for a run. What does it look like?”

It’s then that his gaze skirts over my body, which is clad in tight black exercise wear. His gaze feels like a caress even though I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to be.

When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Why are you out here so early?”

He’s dressed in black dress pants and a white shirt, no tie, with the top few buttons undone. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and rather than his clothing looking perfectly pressed, it’s rumpled. Even his hair isn’t in its usually coiffed style. Some of it has curled over his forehead.

If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been in this outfit all night and never went to bed.

When I arrived back at the manor last night, nothing seemed to be amiss, and there was no sign of anything untoward going on. In fact, there was no sign of the people who had funneled through town up to the manor, besides their empty vehicles. Maybe that was the sign that something was amiss.

Asher doesn’t say anything, just pushes his hands in his pockets and turns so I’m looking at his profile. He heaves out a sigh, and his shoulders drop, giving him a world-weary sort of look.

I turn my head to see what he’s looking at, and my stomach feels as if it’s been scooped out when I realize we’re standing beside the Voss family plot. An iron fence surrounds the graves of generations of Voss family members. The fog prohibits me from seeing how far back the plot goes.

My grief rises to the surface, and I hate the empathy I feel toward the man at my side. I know what it is to miss someone you love.

Finally, Asher says, “Yesterday was the anniversary of my dad’s death.”

I’m shocked he’s telling me this bit of personal information—not that it’s not publicly available if I cared to search it out. I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with why he was so hard on me this week.

I swallow, unsure what to say, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. “I haven’t been able to go visit my father’s grave on our estate yet. Not since the day we buried him.”

He doesn’t say anything. When I glance at Asher, there’s sorrow and desolation in his deep blue eyes.

“Do you miss him?” I ask.

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