Page 70 of Grotesque Love

“It’s almost time,” Jas says mournfully.

“Come,” Sax gets to his feet gracefully, holding his hand out for Jas. He pulls the smaller grotesque into a tight embrace, beforestroking a strand of hair off Arianwen's face. “We need to ensure he cannot touch her.”

“And how do we do that?” I scoff. “Kill him?”

“If we have to.”

“Sax…” Jas’s eyes are wide as he pulls me into their hug.

We have never been without a Lord of the Manor. The Clifton line has never had a break in the chain, and so the house and all the creatures that lurk in the shadows remain through the generations. If that line does stop and the bloodline ends…what will happen to us? Will we cease to exist?

That’s the conclusion we had reached over the years, that if the Lord of the Manor died, so did the magic binding us. Without the magic, we are simply stone carvings crumbling into dust with each passing sunrise.

That threat of fading into the ether is what has always kept us from intervening, even though we know about the evil that lingers inside the walls of the manor. Sick, twisted memories haunt the hallways, blood paints the walls behind closed doors – that has always been the legacy of Clifton Manor. Lord after Lord has tainted the bloodline. And my brothers and I have always stayed on the outside, keeping our distance. Until now.

“She’s worth it, is she not?” Sax’s slate eyes burn into mine. Jas will follow his lead dutifully but I’m the unstable one, the unpredictable force in our little group. The wildcard.

Wordlessly, I nod.

Sax leads us out into the corridor, “We need to tread carefully. As long as Ari is safe, there’s no need to act rashly.”

We all look at her, curled up in her sheets in a room that’s not ours. It may have only been a few days for her, but we have yearned for her for so long. She belongs with us, in our tower where we can keep her safe and love her. A small crease appears between her brows as if she knows, even in the depths of her slumber, that we’re no longer alongside her.

Jas slips his hand into mine and gives me a gentle squeeze. Whatever is coming, we’re in it together.

A few hours later, I watch from my pedestal as Carver enters Ari’s room alone. There’s no woman in sight, but that doesn’t surprise me.

It pains me to watch my little hellion retreat inside herself as he steps in, like he’s sucking all the life out of her with his presence alone.

I’m desperate to throw myself between them, but the magic keeps me pinned in place. Helpless. Useless.

There’s no escaping Carver, so she swallows her pills dutifully while I rage, thrashing against my bonds, but they just pulse and tighten.

I cannot lose her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CARVER

Istride into Arianwen’s room, desperate to see her after too many nights apart, but the sight that greets me gives me pause.

The furnishings all look the same, the big bed with the pale pink sheets, the pretty dressing table with the ornate silver mirror and matching hairbrush. But one thing is noticeably wrong.

She should be bedbound, languishing around in her usual waif-like state, but instead she’s glowing. Her skin is healthy, sunkissed even, as I notice the pinkness to her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Faint freckles have begun to appear, a constellation that betrays her.

Arianwen’s long silver hair is braided, with part of it wrapped like a crown around her head. Her cheeks look plump and full, a sign that she’s been eating well lately. Her big blue eyes are clear and focused, framed by her thick dark lashes which flutter prettily when she opens her eyes to stare at me.

She looks divine, otherworldly almost, as she gracefully pushes herself into a sitting position, the strap of her nightgown slipping down her smooth, creamy skin. When she noticeswhere my attention has fallen, she hastily yanks it back into place.

She looks like mine.

“Good morning, princess,” I say, sitting on her bed, the mattress dipping beneath me as I lean in and stroke a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “Did you miss me?”

A lingering floral scent seems to cling to her, and I wrinkle my nose. This is not how she’s supposed to smell. Wild and free. It’s all wrong.

I watch as she swallows, body stilling beneath my touch. I like her like this, docile. Submissive.

Scared.

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