Page 74 of Brutal King

“I’m ready to go back,” I whisper.

Being outside has felt like a reprieve from my prison. But it was an illusion. I’m still in my cage, it’s just that the walls extend so far out I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be free.

Cameras see more than the naked eye. They capture the soul of a place, a person, a moment. That’s why people were afraid of them long ago. The superstition that photographs can encapsulate the subject’s spirit is true.

With the lights on in my dark room, now that the film has been developed, I study the hanging black and white stills. There is the stable and Sabina, the men staring out the windows of the guardhouses, and the manor captured in its entirety from a distance.

Then, there’s the cemetery and the tiny floating motes and the moss. Wendy and Stephen’s graves and the empty ones.

And there’s Gideon.

When I first met him, he reminded me of a GQ model. Now that I’ve photographed him, I realize it’s not even close. True, the camera loves him. More than that, it worships him. Every detail, every emotion that crossed his handsome face, is enhanced. The aching and longing I observed in person is so much more poignant. His eyes… They call out to something lost and beyondhis reach, his fingers slightly outstretched toward his mother’s grave.

Then, there’s the gentleness he displayed with Sabina, and the familiarity in which she gazes up at him, as if he’s been there many times before. Petting her. Caring for her.

Is it possible that a monster could have these qualities? In spite of myself, I’m curious about him. He’s an enigma. Is he a villain with a broken heart? Or is this another form of manipulation? What does seeing all this to do me?

“You’re good.”

“Jeez!” I scream at the sound of his voice right behind me. “Can you knock? What if the room had been dark?”

“I did knock. Several times.” He approaches the photos and scans them, pausing at the ones of himself. “You’re an amazing photographer, Sofia. I’ve never seen myself like this.”

Though it was a compliment, it’s difficult to tell if he’s actually pleased.

“What are you doing in here?” I grab a roll of film and proceed to load my Leica for the next round of shots. “I thought this was my private space.”

“I don’t recall saying that,” Gideon whispers right next to me. “What are you doing?”

I turn to look at him over my shoulder, to find him so near, his lips nearly brush mine. “I’d like you to take me out to explore again. I have a feeling there are many more spots like the ones you already showed me.”

“Mmm. There are.” He watches me work, which makes me nervous. When his arm snakes around my waist and he presses his hard shaft against my ass, I stop. “Finish what you’re doing,” he says.

My hands tremble as I set the film in place and it takes the task longer than usual. When I’m done, he snatches the camera from me.

“Hey!” I twist to face him and try to take the camera back, but he holds it out of reach. “Give it back.”

He grins down at me. “I let you capture me at a pretty vulnerable moment. Now it’s my turn.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “If there were strings attached, I wouldn’t have taken your picture atanymoment, vulnerable or not.”

“You’re a smart girl, Sofia. You know that when it comes to me, there are always strings.”

“All right.” I give him my brightest smile. “Snap away.”

Amused laughter erupts from him. “I want you vulnerable. Bared to me.”

All the moisture in my mouth evaporates as heat fills my veins. I look to the door.

“Don’t run, Little Bird,” he says. “I’ll give chase if you do.”

The thought does nothing to dissipate the sudden warmth spreading through me. If anything, it fans the flames. I want to run just for the fun of it. I want to see how quickly he can catch me and what he’ll do when he does.

I also don’t want him to accidently break my camera in the process.

That’s what I tell myself when I stay. It has nothing to do with the seductive smile on his face as he says, “Take off your clothes,” or the way his gaze goes hungry when I begin to unbutton my blouse.

My clothes fall into a puddle at my feet. He lifts the lens to his eye and takes my picture. “Get on the counter.”

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