Page 1 of Wicked Beasts
Prologue
The manor holds many secrets, but none intrigue me more than the locked door at the end of the dim hallway. As I approach, the whispers in the walls grow louder, and a chorus groans from the floorboards, urging me to turn back. Still, the mystery draws me in with a tight grip around my throat. The shadows reach for me, beckoning me into the abyss as they weave and dance over my body, forging an undeniable connection between us I can’t escape.
With trembling hands brushing against the doorknob, I insert the old key I stole from the housekeeper. The door creaks open, greeting me with an eerie stillness. The room is overwhelmingly dark and gloomy, and my heart racing in its cage begs me to retreat.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
Because at the center of it all, a figure awaits me, dripping with desire and promise.
One
The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows over the valley. Kehau’s car winds down the road covered in dense foliage, the air thick with the scent of wet dirt and decaying leaves. The trees tower over us like ancient sentinels, their gnarled trunks coated in glistening emerald moss under the rays of dusk, damp with remnants of the afternoon rain. Their tight canopies form a shadowed labyrinth through which light refuses to enter, the branches whispering sinister secrets in a language only the winds might understand.
The valley feels alive, breathing in sync with the rumbling of the ocean surrounding the island of O’ahu. My eyes fix on the trees as they sway gently, their leaves shimmering as the sun descends behind the horizon.
“Are you sure about this job?” Kehau asks from the driver’s seat. Her honey-colored eyes are attentive, locked on the road ahead as tightly as her hands grip the steering wheel. Still, her mind seems to remain on me. She worries. I think it’s sweet but misplaced.
My father, Henry, expressed concerns too. His wishes for me to be careful seemed dramatic when he verbalized them before I left, but as I trace my index finger along the delicate stem ofthe rose cradled in my hands, I realize his words were just an expression of a father's love. Even so, I need to dosomethingon my own. It’s been a few months of living at home after getting laid off, and I’m desperate to get away.
“I’mpositive,” I reassure her as I drag my finger gently against a thorn. It scrapes my skin, though not enough to draw blood. “And I’ll only have to work Monday through Friday, which leaves me a lot of time to work on my novel on the weekends.”
“I’m glad you’ll get to write, but I mean, what do we know about this guy?” she asks. “Who needs alive-inpersonal assistant?”
I push my long, brown hair over my shoulder as I adjust in the front seat. “The butler said he’s a very private man.”
My best friend blinks in disbelief as her hand reaches for her iced latte. “He has abutler?”
I nod, a small smirk peeking from the corner of my lips. “And a housekeeper—and a maid. There’s a gardener too, I think.”
“That’sridiculous. How old is this guy? Ninety?” Kehau asks as she sips her drink that’s been sweating in the cup holder.
“Twenty-eight.”
She coughs, nearly choking on her latte. She struggles to put her drink back into the cup holder before striking her sternum with her fist.
“He’s younger than us, and he—well. As if I need to be reminded of just how unfair life is.” She struggles to compose herself, and her delicate hand returns to the steering wheel.
I know she isn’t wrong. It does seem a bit over the top, but I can’t help but be intrigued.
“Apparently, it’s a big property he inherited from his parents,” I continue. “I think it’s been in his family for generations?” I shrug, and the cut neckline of my oversized sweatshirt falls off my slender shoulder.
“Are you dressed appropriately?” she asks, noticing me tug at the fabric.
“It’s Fridaynight,” I say, a tad bit defensively, feeling a little offended by her criticism. I hadn’t considered dressing to impress. “My first day is Monday. I checked with Mortimer, and I only have to dress appropriately for work starting Monday. I can dress comfy for move-in.”
“Whatever you say, Mar—it’syourjob.” I can hear her mumble ‘Mortimer’ a few times under her breath, as though speaking his name loud and clear would invoke some kind of horrific entity.
But she’s right. It ismyjob, and I’m excited for the new adventure, even if no one else seems to be. Thankfully, Kehau already stopped thinking about it as she ducks her head a few times to check the passing street signs before pulling off the main road.
The lush greenery bordering the path grows denser. The grounds are a wild entanglement of ferns and towering trees, swept up in the same love song for the wind that whistles through my cracked window. Each turn of the road reveals glimpses of the mansion ahead. It’s an imposing structure, draped in the shadows of surrounding trees.
It rises majestically from the ground, a dark stone façade contrasting sharply with the vibrant greens of the valley. Ornate turrets pierce the sky, their pointed roofs silhouetted against the setting sun, which bathes the scene in a beautiful yet eerie golden hue. Vines crawl up the walls, weaving through cryptic symbols carved into the window frames.
As we draw closer, the rhythm of a rushing waterfall in the distance blending with the rustling leaves creates a haunting melody that echoes in the wind. The mansion, slowly being reclaimed by the Earth, stands in the center of the grounds. Both beautiful and foreboding, its timeless visage is a relicfrom an earlier time, making my heart somehow race both with excitement and a sense of dread.
Approaching the wrought-iron gates, I notice the intricate twisting vines and sinister faces peering at us from the metalwork. The gates creak with a reluctant groan, welcoming us to a graveled path lined with moss-covered lanterns that flicker to life as we pass.
