Page 6 of Cardinal House

Now I’m almost numb.

“Luna,” Uncle Nolan calls from the parlour as I try as quietly as possible to close the creaky front door, shutting out the sunlight for the darkness. “Come in here.”

The first burn of tears heats the backs of my eyes, nostrils flaring as I breathe in deep, the musty air of the foyer infecting the back of my throat giving me the urge to cough. Dry and gritty, I swallow down the feeling, letting the shudder rip through my chest to settle the internal tremor.

“Luna!”

My feet move before I can think about it, a small smile curling my mouth in auto response to his summoning, it’s not worth wearing anything less.

The parlour has extravagant high ceilings, carved coving connecting walls to ceiling, a smooth, decorative finish that’s covered in cobwebs and dust, greying out the pearly white finish. There are huge portraits and art pieces in gold filigree frames lining the forest-green, damask wallpapered walls. And heavy, velvet drapes in raincloud silver, thick with dust, blocking out the world beyond the panes.

Uncle Nolan sits in a sage green leather armchair, smoking his usual Hamlet cigar, a putrid stench that’s ingrained in every inch of this house. A newspaper open over his knee, one leg folded across the other, his foot dressed in expensive leather bounces casually as he reads over the black and white news spread.

Uncle Nolan is a large, trim man, his lean, muscular build dressed impeccably in a pale grey pinstripe suit. Jacket folded neatly over the arm of the opposite chair, his white shirt sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows, waistcoat still buttoned, pocket watch still attached, but his tie is removed, the tail of it peeking out from his trouser pocket.

It isn’t fair that he looks the way he does. The way he makes my skin crawl should, by right, make him ugly. A beast with a snarling, dripping maw, glowing red orbs and razor-sharp talons blading from his hands.

Instead, he has warm green eyes that he can make look soft and inviting, and a smile that could outshine even Her Majesty’s crown jewels when he wants to be charming. His dark hair is just starting to grey at his temples, but in a way that makes him appear youthful for his age.

Those green eyes spear me on the spot as I stop behind an empty armchair matching the one in which he sits. Fingers curling over the back of the worn leather, I wait patiently for him to speak. Ignoring the other men he has stationed around the room. Security guards. Or something. I’m unsure what it is my uncle does, but I know whatever it is, it’s not something good. There are always armed men here, standing sentry around the house, every room, every hall. I have grown up here knowing not to pay them any attention.

Uncle Nolan doesn’t like it.

Already knowing what he’s upset with me about, I feel my breath funnel into my lungs as though it’s filtering through sludge. Leaning forward, he ashes his cigar in the crystal-cut ashtray opposite him on the pouffe, leaving it to rest there. His gaze scans over the parts of me he can see above the chair when he sits back, my white blouse clinging to my upper body where it’s saturated with water, my bundled hair dripping down my spine.

“You’re wet,” he states almost questioningly, despite the fact, I know, even with the curtains closed, that he knows it’s been raining outside.

I say nothing in response, holding his eye. He purses his lips, his head canting slightly to one side, as he rolls his gaze over me a second time, dismissively.

“Where have you been?” he asks smoothly, that slippery smile starting to worm itself onto his face.

I know he knows that too.

Because my uncle always knows everything about me.

“At work.”

A dark brow lifts easily on his forehead, and the look he gives me slides like melting ice down my spine, “Did I give you permission to be outside of this house during the day, Luna?” He twists the gold jewellery he always wears around on his right ring finger, a big circular signet ring with the letter B embellished in it.

The tremble is involuntary, I couldn’t stop it if I tried, “No, sir,” I respond quietly.

“No,” he tuts, sighing with a slow shake of his head as though he hates to be having this conversation. His short hair is perfectly lacquered to sit to one side, unmoving when he smooths a hand over it, before running it down his chest, dropping his arm to rest his wrist on the leather arm of the chair, hand hanging over the edge. “And you didn’t even think it pertinent to call.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mm, you don’t look very sorry to me.” I blink, my tummy flip-flopping as he wets his lips. “You didn’t call me, so I have had no idea what you have been doing or where you have been for the last five hours. Not only did you not ask me permission to work an extra half shift. You did not call me. And apparently, you also think it appropriate to walk around outside in public,” he sneers at my white blouse like it is a thing of disgust, “like that.”

“I’m sor-”

“I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, worried sick, and all you are is sorry?” his dark brows lift high on his head, expression open for my response, but I don’t give one, this is how it always goes. “That’s what I thought.”

He tuts, uncrossing and recrossing his legs over the opposite knee. He turns his attention back to his paper, lifting it up so it’s open before him to read once more. Long seconds of silence drag by before those menacing green eyes flick back up, finding mine once more. My bottom lip trembles, my insides sinking at the look of cold violence in his gaze.

“You’re dismissed. Go upstairs and wait for me in the bedroom.”

Chapter 4

Wolf

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