Page 58 of Forged By Shadows

“What’s wrong?” I ask, dread forming in my chest. On the island, the parcel is torn open.

“That box had your name on it, Peach.” Garrett gives the cardboard a quick side glance. “I thought you might have ordered some sexy underwear for us, so I opened it.” The frown lines framing Garrett’s mouth don’t sit right with me. Meg moves first, peering into the box. The stiffness to her shoulders is enough to tell me this isn’t some kind of joke, and she turns to hand me a note.

I thought your mother would have taught you some self-respect, but it appears you’re as much of a whore as she was. I’m watching you, Avery. Make better choices.

“What the fuck is this?!” I toss the letter as if it’s burned my fingertips. Approaching the box on swift feet, I forget how to breathe. Stacks of photographs are spread across the base, all featuring me. All with one of the Shadowed Souls. All from inside Huxley’s boundary wall. I can’t track the images through the tears blurring my vision.

Me kissing Huxley in the pool, walking hand-in-hand with Dax through the gardens. And they aren’t limited to outside. Through a window, I’m bent over the snooker table with Garrett’s crotch pushing against my ass. In the living area, I’m reading while Axel massages my feet. Fuck, I really do look like a whore.

“Mr. XO?” Meg questions. I scrunch up my nose. The note was different, the tone not seeming right and the typical signature missing, but I can’t be sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore. My hands start to shake as I sift through the photos.

“He’s never sent photos before. He’s…pretty harmless.” My voice grows small. He is harmless, right? A superfan who has sent me gifts, poems and little check ins across the years. On some dark days, his letters were a saving grace. A reason to remember that someone else might care about me. I’ve had more communication from him than my supposed brother. But now…it’s all so sudden, it’s all too much. “This just seems too creepy.”

“That’s what stalkers do, Aves.” Meg holds up a photo, her cheeks turning red. “They escalate. You weren’t at the manor or Waversea, where he expected you to be. He’s found you, followed you and now he’s acting out.” My ears switch off. I can’t hear through the buzzing as I really look at the photo she’s holding up. This one is different to the rest, framed by a white border.

“Holy fuck,” I gasp. Garrett is there to support me when my legs are preparing to give out.

“I know right. Who the hell uses polaroid’s anymore?”

“No,” I shake my head, fighting the urge to elbow him in the ribs. “This was last week. Here, in the gardens. I thought…I was so sure…” My eyes float up to Wyatt. He’s yet to show any emotion, but now his eyes narrow and he snatches the photo from me. Captured in time, the image shows me sprawled across the floor of the rose garden, mud caked over my pink blazer. I absentmindedly lick my lip where the split was, remembering the flash of light when I fell. I thought I’d just hit my head too hard, but now…Now nothing makes sense. “I thought you attacked me,” I whisper at Wyatt. His green eyes bulge in his head.

“You were attacked?! Right here under our noses, and you didn’t think to tell anyone?” Squaring my jaw, I grab the photo back.

“No I didn’t, because I thought you were being the asshole you always are and trying to scare me. Telling people would warn them that I was planning to stab you in the eye with a pen while you sleep.” Wyatt scowls, trying to step up to me but Dax puts himself in the way.

“This isn’t the time for this,” he grits out, turning a warning look on Wyatt to back up. Huxley enters then, his phone clenched in a tight fist.

“Police are on the way, the surveillance team are scanning the camera footage for the last week and searching for the UPS van’s plates. Chances are, they’re fake. I’ve called in extra security to surround the property.”

“It’s not the delivery guy’s fault,” I shake my head, feeling woozy. “He was just doing his job.” Huxley’s expression is filled with pity as he approaches, reaching over me to flip the lid of the box.

“There’s no postage stamp or address, baby girl. This was hand delivered, most likely by the man responsible.”

My world tilts on its axis. Strong arms catch me as I fall, scooping me up against a firm chest. I can’t see for crying, the weight of the truth crashing down on me. He was right there. Within reaching distance, showing me how easy I am to access. If Meg hadn’t been there, would he have attacked me again, stuffed me in the van and driven away? It’s all too much, too many what if’s and I can’t stop the tears from falling. Gripping Huxley’s t-shirt in my fists, he sits on the sofa and cradles me until I have nothing left to give.

I don’t realize I’ve drifted off to sleep until the police are being shown into the living area. I blink up to find the curtains are all closed, secluding us from the outside world. Wyatt escorts Meg to the dining area with a detective to give a separate statement, leaving me with the rest of the guys while I try to help the sketch artist conjure up a face I barely saw. He shows me a few versions and I feel completely useless that none of them feel right. It was pouring with rain and I didn’t pay enough attention.

It’s late into the night by the time we venture back upstairs, exhausted and stressed. I curl up beside Meg, apologizing for ruining our last night together.

“Shhh, Aves. None of this is your fault.” She soothes. I snuggle my face into her neck, holding her hand in both of mine beneath the covers.

“I want to go home,” I whisper. Nothing like this ever happened at the fortress that is Hughes Manor. An idea strikes me, the wording of that letter still bothering me. “I want to see the other letters. Maybe I overlooked something, or maybe there’s a clue to whoever this guy is that I didn’t notice before.” Sitting upright, I stare into the darkness. Meg joins me, her arms rounding my shoulders.

“You know what, Aves. I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

Chapter Forty

Meg and I are up and dressed at the buttcrack of dawn, silently slipping our belongings back into our bags. There’s really no need to creep around, given the rooms are so large and spread so far apart, but it feels necessary. My heart has been tripping over itself all night, my mind playing out all the scenarios that could happen instead of letting me sleep.

We could be followed back to the manor. The builders doing the restoration work could call Nixon on sight and I’ll have to explain myself to him too. The Shadowed Souls could decide I’ve betrayed them and refuse to speak to me again.

Placing an envelope on my pillow, I step back, chewing on my sore lip. I owe them the truth, but if I do it in person, they’ll convince me to let them tag along. The photos were a clear message. Whoever has been watching doesn’t like me with them. If this stalker sees Hughes Manor as of much as a sanctuary as I do, taking five guys back home might aggravate him even more.

“Ready?” Meg whispers. I nod, slipping my strap over my front. We hold our shoes, careful not to make a sound whilst tiptoeing through the mansion. The sun hasn’t risen beyond the bay windows, the wait staff yet to rise. Aside from the ticking of an old grandfather clock at the base of the staircase, it’s eerily still. Meg goes ahead while I pause on the top step, looking back the way I’ve come. I’m stalling. Hoping someone has the intuition to come stop me. Then I shake my head. I need to do this. I need to know if I’ve overlooked something from Mr. XO. Were there signs? Clues?

Clicking her fingers, Meg brings me back to the present. I rush down the stairs to join her. We only pause long enough to push our feet into our sneakers, moving quicker now. We’re halfway to the front door when I hear the soft but unmistakable creak of leather from an armchair. A light switches on a second later and we freeze, Meg’s hand already on the handle.

“You two really are as stupid as I thought,” Wyatt groans. Pushing himself upright, he grabs a duffle bag which was sitting at his feet.

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