Page 58 of Shattered Jewel

Kaspian is a motionless, brooding gargoyle in the passenger seat as I drive us through the columns of trees leading up to Gram’s house, Wraithwood Estate.

My grip on the steering wheel is the only thing keeping my composure and preventing me from being swept away by the enclosed storm that is Kaspian Valenti.

I don’t bother with small talk. Something tells me he never bothers with it and considers polite conversation a waste of time.

He’s focused on the rain-slicked road ahead, his expression chiseled from coarse granite. Kaspian’s sharp jawline catches the dim glow of dashboard lights. Shadows from the bare branches above swipe across his face through the car’s sunroof.

The manor looms into view as we round the final bend, its ancient silhouette awash in moonlight. Vines creep up the stone facade like nightmares clinging to sanity, yet Gram makes sure those vines are tended to every day by the landscapers. As hard as she tries, they remain tangled and unruly, refusing to shape to her will.

Once parked, I break our stand-off with an unintentional whimper as I lean over to unhook my seat belt. Adrenaline can only take me so far before Kaspian's carefully leashed power reminds me just how small and unprepared I truly am.

This earns me a glance from Kaspian. His eyes, previously vacant and distant, spark with an intensity so wanton, it could ignite the old manor on fire.

“Does my presence trouble you?” he queries, his voice smoother than black velvet, but laced with something murkier, like the coarse backing of a deceptively soft cloth.

“Not at all,” I lie smoothly, avoiding his gaze as I push open my car door and step out into the chilly night air.

Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with crisp, freshly mowed grass and damp earth.

Inhale calmness, exhale fear—that’s what Maverick used to tell me when I stressed out over exams, curfews, boys…

Such trivial worries now, but his advice still stands.

Suddenly, Kaspian’s beside me. It takes everything in me not to jump when he murmurs into the shell of my ear, “Would you have preferred someone else to escort you?”

The menace in his voice sends a shiver down my neck, yet it’s said with such tantalizing sweetness that I can’t help but have the perverse desire to hear him ask it again.

“No,” I blurt out, not sure if I’m answering his question or simply trying to convince myself.

There’s something about Kaspian—iIn him, I see the allure of the abyss—terrifying yet irresistible, calling to a part of me I've always denied existed.

His lips curl into a triumphant smile, indicating he’s 100% aware of his effect on me.

It’s infuriating, knowing he takes pleasure in my discomfort.

“No one better than you to protect me, Kaspian,” I retort.

I turn to face him now, chin tilted upward to keep our eyes level, then ensure I include the injury to his shoulder in my study.

His gaze shifts to a challenging sea of malachite at my insinuation.

You couldn’t protect us from my own mother, I communicate when I meet his stare head-on, throwing his leashed temper back at him.

A hint of discontent passes over his lips, there and gone in an instant.

With that, he breaks away from me and strides toward the manor, leaving me in his wake and left alone with the implications of his dismissal.

I pull my coat tighter around me as I make my way up the gravel pathway. Searching in my bag for the keys to the grand oak door, I try to shake off Kaspian’s overbearing silhouette.

Don’t trust anyone, Maverick had said.

Among these masters of deception, trust is like than the ruby Heart—beautiful, coveted, and likely to cut.

A frigid wind blows into us before I unlock the door and step inside, making me hunch forward and stuff my hands into my coat pockets. Kaspian enters beside me, unbothered by the drop in temperature.

“Gram isn’t here,” I say, not that Kaspian shows any concern over our late-night mission. “She’s at a charity auction in California, so we don’t have to worry about making noise or being questioned.”

“Good,” Kaspian mutters, his curt reply swallowed by the ornate entrance hall. He glances around, taking in the high ceiling and gilded frames containing generations of Wraithwood portraits. His attention stalls on one particular portrait dead center at the double staircase’s mezzanine.

---