Page 85 of Wicked Beasts
“I’m not leaving!” My protest is immediate; I refuse to leave. I’ve survived too much to back down now.
He spins around, his massive frame towering over me like an angered Hawaiian war god. His large hands clamp down on my arms, grip firm and tight, pulling me closer as he brings himself down to my height to look me dead in the eyes.
“She’s going to kill you,girl.”
I am frozen in his grasp, my body stiff as his words replay in my head like a broken record. I slowly begin to shake my head as I try to process the words.
“But… No, she…she wants Tristan. She doesn’t care about me,” I stammer, trying to rationalize the impossible.
Manu’s grip loosens, and he releases me with a sharp exhale, his eyes never leaving mine. “She can’t kill him herself,” he says, his tone steady but firm. “That isn’t how it works. He has to choose it.” I’m still reeling, trying to make sense of this twisted logic when his finger jabs in my direction warningly. “But you?” He pauses, the words almost a threat now. “You, shecankill.”
I feel disoriented and out of touch.
She’s aghost, but the bruises on my neck burn with pain at the thought.
If she cantouchme, shecankill me.
I instinctively rub my arm where his fingers had gripped me, as if trying to erase the sensation.
“You should have left with Gisella,” he adds, his voice colder now as he turns to walk away. His heavy footsteps echo down the hall. “Gohome, Amara.”
I stand frozen. Leaving would be a shameful surrender to Cordelia and her evil schemes. Leaving would mean surrendering Tristan to her manipulation.
But I know I’m in over my head. For the first time since I arrived, the magnitude of the situation—and the full dark truth—looms over me, ugly, unbending.
I know he’s right: I am in Cordelia’s crosshairs. I am at risk. I am a liability.
It is with those final words that Manu calls a car for me and sends me on my way, right back to my father. I barely have time to collect my necessities before the cab pulls up outside. Mortimer is there at the door, and Mrs. Wong watches from the kitchen with her own silent goodbye.
As the car pulls away, a sharp ache settles in my chest, as though a skeletal hand grips my heart. I glance out the window, watching the dark, looming mansion fade into the distance, its silhouette shrinking until it’s nothing more than a shadow swallowed by the trees as we go down the winding road. The further we drive, the heavier the emptiness feels.
I shouldn’t be leaving.
Is this really for the best?
I fiddle with my phone, the useless dead brick, as I press on the side button absentmindedly, trying to find something to occupy myself. My gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, and my blood runs cold as I meet the stare of two clear, victorious blue eyes glaring back at me.
A sharp gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it, my hands flying to my mouth as the phone slips from my fingers, landing in my lap with a soft thud. My heart races, the air in the car suddenly too thick to breathe.
The driver, unaware of the cold terror flooding me, adjusts the rearview mirror and looks back at me with concern. “Are you alright, miss?” His voice is rough, and a deep frown creases the space between his thick, unruly eyebrows.
I blink several times, my gaze fixated on the mirror.
I blink rapidly, my eyes glued to the mirror, but the blue eyes are gone. Only my reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and shaking.
“I…um, yeah. I’m fine,” I mutter.
I shut my eyes as I shrink down into the seat, trying to find a comforting thought in the darkness. Something I can hold onto. Something to stop me from this terror gripping me.
Without thinking, my hand reaches for the small rose charm that hangs at the base of my neck. I drag it gently up and down the gold chain, finding quiet solace in the faint noise it makes, in the way it vibrates softly against my skin.
For a moment, it’s the only thing that feels real.
Seventy-Five
My father’s home stands in sharp contrast to the Black estate. Where the dark and gloomy mansion is hidden away down a winding path, entrenched by thick, twisted trees that cast long, eerie shadows over the land and gardens, my father’s house is nestled between two others. Its presence is unremarkable, swallowed by the tightly packed rows of houses on the bustling street. Exterior walls kiss the property lines, and when windows line up just right, you can peek into your neighbor’s home and catch a glimpse of their daily life.
More than once, I’ve had the uncomfortable experience of locking eyes with a neighbor after indulging in a little too much interest, peeking in through the small windows of opportunity their open blinds tended to offer. My curiosity, for better or worse, often got the best of me. I never saw anything wrong with my inquisitive nature, though the neighbors were quick to label it as nosiness. To me, it was just an insatiable desire to understand what lay just beyond the surface.
