Page 13 of Hollow House
“Do I know you?” I asked, his presence almost familiar.
“Not in the sense you ask,” he answered, taking a step closer.His muscular frame pressed against me, and I tilted my head in confusion.
“Who are you?” I asked, genuine curiosity taking over.
It was for the article, I told myself. Everything I did tonight was for the sake of my work. I needed to put in every last effort I could to find a story here, one beyond this being a night club-esque sex party.There were far more rooms to explore in the house, and if this man could lead me to them, I welcomed it.
“There are no names here,” he answered, avoiding the question. Everyone around us wore similar masks, their faces shrouded behind them.
“Well, what can I call you then?” I asked, crossing my arms.
If he wouldn’t say who he was, that was fine. I was used to doing a little digging for the information I wanted. Never once did I think building this story would be easy.
“Many here refer to me as the Wraith. It’s not a name I gave myself, but you’re welcome to use it if you insist on something.”
I let out a soft laugh at the absurdity of the nickname. Did people actually call him that?
It felt silly to me, but I went along with it anyway. Perhaps it was part of the allure of the night—one night to live your deepest desires and be whoever you wanted. A familiar concept on Halloween, not so far from reality that I couldn’t play along.
“Okay,Wraith,” I started. “Tell me, why was I invited here?”
He reached out and grabbed my waist, pulling me harder against him, which I didn’t think was possible. I could feel his entire body pressed into me, parts hardening in my presence…
Nope, I shoved the thought from my mind as quickly as I could.
“Tell me, Sloane: why did you answer the call?” he asked.
The question and use of my name caught me off guard. I tried to cover it with a smile and nervous laugh, but he still watched me with the same intensity, seeing right through it. I tried to think of an excuse, but something told me he would see through that too.
Instead, I went with the truth.
“I’m writing an article on Hollow House,” I stated, watching his face for a hint of anything to give me answers. He remainedunmoved. “Which I suppose you already knew, if you know who I am,” I guessed.
That made him grin.“No one comes here without my permission. I’ve created a haven away from the world, one prying eyes need not see.”
“Then why allow me here? Why invite me?”
“Because I know you’ll never publish that article,” he stated, not an ounce of doubt in his voice.
I scoffed. This article was my ticket out, the break I needed. Absolutely nothing was keeping me from that—not shitty bosses, not catty women at work, and certainly not this masked man.“And what makes you say that?”
It was his turn to laugh.
“I know people,” he answered, dipping his head down to my ear. “And I know you better than you think,” he whispered.
“Oh, really?” I challenged. “You know me so well?”
He ginned at my challenge, and my core warmed at the intensity of his gaze. It was almost uncomfortable, but I found I couldn’t look away.
“I know you’ve been observing this entire room since you got here,” he said.
I scoffed.“I am a journalist,” I said, almost disappointed he’d said the most obvious thing.
“I wasn’t finished, my love,” he tsked.
There was that word again.Love. I hated that I loved the way it sounded when it rolled off his tongue—a tongue I imagined doing depraved things to my body as I watched him lick his lips almost hungrily.
“You’ve watched this room without joining in, but I can tell you wish to. So tell me, love: what is your darkest desire?” he asked.
