Page 27 of Moonlit Thorns

I’m back to doing housekeeping in the manor, which suits me fine. I don’t ever run into Asher’s brothers—they must stay in their wings of the house, and I’m not permitted there.

After the disaster that was me serving them all that one time, if I’m lucky, I’ll never have to see them again. Dealing with one Voss is enough.

Finn assigns me to polish some of the wood paneling in one of the massive rooms in the main part of the house. By late afternoon, my arms are limp from applying lemon oil. It’s simple but physical work, and it gives my mind time to wander. Something I don’t appreciate.

Finn checked on me about a half hour ago, and I haven’t seen anyone since then. Not that I’m surprised. There must be hundreds of rooms in this place.

I shift the stepladder I’m using to my left and climb back up and scrub the cloth over the paneling. Sweat drips down my neck. It’s not yet sweltering outside, but it’s nice enough, and there’s no air conditioning in a property this old. Some of the individual rooms may have wall units installed, but none of the main rooms do.

I’m concentrating on what I’m doing when a cool breeze wafts by me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I get the distinct sensation of being watched. Slowly, I turn, careful to stay centered on the stepladder, but there’s no one there. The room is somewhat dim, as it always is in this place, but there’s certainly enough light that I could see if anyone were standing in the shadows.

With a frown, I turn back toward the wall and get back to what I was doing.

A few minutes later, the opening sounds of a classical song plays in the distance, and I pause with the cloth against the wood. Then operatic voices join in, singing over the music. I step off the stepladder and look around again.

“Hello?” I call, but no one answers.

The music continues. It feels like a pull in my chest, every word a tug on some rope inside me, and I move out of the room toward the sound. It’s powerful and ethereal all at once, emotional and atmospheric. My feet move of their own accord. The music stops for a moment, then starts back up from the beginning.

I find myself in a long hallway with a high, pointed-arch ceiling. To my left are large archways with stained glass in them. Most of them don’t depict anything in particular, but the center arch depicts a large beast, a bear standing on its hind legs, claws and teeth bared in a ferocious roar.

A shiver runs through me. I want to stay to study it, something about it appealing to me, but the music drives me forward until I find myself in a section of the house I’ve never been to.

I grow closer to the music until it feels like a living, breathing thing inside me. And then the final tug on my chest comes as I approach an ornate door. My hand runs over the roses carved into the wood. I can feel the music on the other side pulsing into my palm through the wood.

I push the door open, and the music immediately stops.

It’s a huge library with soaring ceilings and two levels of dark wood shelves filled with books. Transfixed, I step into the space, looking all around. There are just so many books. Pure, unadulterated joy fills me at the sight of them all. All the stories and secrets they probably house. The adventures and love and loss detailed on their pages. I can barely contain my excitement at finding this treasure.

It doesn’t appear that anyone is using the library. No books are lying out except one. I step over to the lone table in the room and examine the book. It’s old. Very old. It’s Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven and Other Poems.

Never having seen such an old book in person, and certainly not one that appears to be an original based on the “1845” on the spine. I brush my fingers over the top then freeze when I hear someone breathing behind me. Slowly, as if I’ve caught the scent of a predator, I turn around. I relax a little when I realize it’s Asher, but stiffen again from the wrath in his gaze.

His eyes narrow, full of pure malice. “What are you doing in here?”

I’ve seen him lose his temper on several occasions, but somehow, the way his voice is so lethally quiet feels scarier.

When I open my mouth to respond, nothing comes out.

“Did I not tell you to stay out of the west wing? This is my private area.” He bares his teeth and steps forward until his breath is on my face as he looks down at me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come here?—”

“Yet here you are. Looking for secrets? Something you can use against me to perhaps try to get out of our deal?”

My fear gives way to agitation because never once have I tried to get out of our deal, but he continues to insist that I am. “Of course not. I came here because?—”

“Let me guess.” His gaze roams my face then lowers for a beat. “You came here hoping for round two of what happened on Sunday morning?” Asher arches a dark brow. “That’s never going to happen. I was still drunk from the night before, and I don’t make it a practice to fuck around with needy little girls like yourself.”

I don’t know why I care what this man thinks, but my chest cracks open a bit at the way he describes me, the way he sees me. The impulse to strike out and hurt him as much as he’s hurt me is too great to ignore. “You didn’t seem to feel that way when you forced your lips onto mine, and your hard cock was pressing into my stomach.”

Whoa, it felt good to let out my frustration on him.

“You want to be used, little girl, is that it?” He clenches my chin hard in his hand with the bear tattoo on it. “You want me to take what I want from you and toss you aside?”

“I’m not a little girl,” I manage to say, barely able to move my jaw.

“You’re not nearly the woman you seem to think you are. Now get out of my sight.” His hand drops from my chin, and he steps back, wiping his hand on his pants as though I’m diseased.

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