Page 28 of Wicked Beasts
I feel a kick in my chest as our interactions continue formal and detached. I clench my jaw.
“Yes, heis. I know what I saw.” A deep crease of frustration forms between my eyebrows as I frown. “He came to the kitchen, right after midnight. We spoke and…well, he—he?—”
“Hewhat?” Tristan asks, his gaze finally landing on mine, but his expression is dismissive as he tilts his head, waiting for me to speak.
Threatened me.
I want to say it, but I can’t bring the words out of my mouth.
“He…he made an impression.”
Tristan’s gaze drifts away, his jaw clenching. “Well, I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. My brother is not here. Perhaps it was a dream? You did say you were having nightmares. Now, if you’ll just excuse me…”
“That’s not possible,” I insist, feeling a growing sense of frustration gnawing at my core. “I know what I saw. He looked… He…he looks just like you but older, and…”
“And what?”
Rugged. Seductive. Carnal.
“I don’t know,” I say sheepishly. I hate that he’s being so cold and dismissive. “Different.”
“Again, probably a dream, Miss Amara. The brain is quite fascinating.”
It takes every ounce of strength not to clench my fists and narrow my eyes. Tristan’s dismissal only fuels my determination to get to the bottom of this. I lean forward, my voice firm but controlled.
“It wasn’t a dream,Mr. Black. Iknowwhat I saw.”
“Do you?” Tristan’s eyes narrow, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he challenges me. I am taken aback by his boldness. For a moment, I think he might finally crack, reveal some truth about his enigmatic brother. But instead, he rises from his deskchair, signaling the end of our conversation. “I appreciate your diligence, but this is not a topic for further discussion. Please focus on your actual duties and leave my family matters alone.”
With that, he turns his back on me, effectively dismissing me from the room. I bite back a retort, recognizing when my attempts are useless. I no longer feel the same determination, as if he managed to drain me of the fuel and extinguish my fire.
Whatever connection I thought we shared begins to dissolve before my eyes, like mist vanishing in the morning light. I want to protest in a meek attempt to catch it, to scream that his dismissal stings like a cold wind, that all of this is unfair, but my anger mixes with a deep-seated embarrassment, rendering me speechless. Is it my place to say those things? Is it my place to pry into his family life?
I am nothing but his personal assistant.
My cheeks flush a bright red, a tempest of emotions swirling within me, yet I can’t summon the courage to voice my frustration, feeling completely silenced in the heavy stillness of the room.
I stare at his back, watching the strong curve of his shoulders as he stands tall and resolute. A sense of defeat washes over me, and I force myself to turn away, leaving the study behind.
Twenty-Three
Tristan remains distant in the days that follow. I try to do right by him and immerse myself in my work, a desperate attempt to prove my worth, whose elusive nature now haunts me as Mortimer begins delivering my tasks rather than Tristan’s morning texts. I fight to silence the restless curiosities swirling within me, burying myself in the pages of my writing in my spare time, keeping me distracted from the mysteries of the mansion and keeping me obedient to the rules. Yet, when a roadblock arises one evening, the oppressive silence of my bedroom becomes unbearable.
Under the cloak of night, I slip from my sanctuary and down the dark hall, drawn to the library. If Dr. Shadow is the only reason for the curfew, then what exactly is there to be so afraid of?
He’s just a man.
The library was my first comfort in this cold, unwelcoming house that only seems to have grown colder with Tristan’s distance.
As I climb the ladder, candlelight casts ghostly shadows upon the walls, illuminating the spines of countless books. I reach for a tome perched high on the shelf, the flickering flame behindme creating a surreal glow that makes the entire room feel like a realm suspended in time.
“Working late, little rose?”
I glance over my shoulder to see Dr. Shadow lounging in the doorway, a wicked grin playing across his lips. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Doctor,” I greet him warily, stepping down from the ladder as he saunters inside, closing the distance between us like a predator to prey. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. Naughty, naughty, little Amara, out of bedsolate. Shouldn’t you be tucked snugly in bed, dreaming of me?” His words hang in the air, heavy with innuendo as he looms over me, his presence dominating the small space. “Or perhaps you were hoping our paths would cross again?” He reaches out, trailing a finger along my jawline.
