Looked upon as if I was almost godlike, and regarded in a hushed reverence, I assimilated my role as if I were no different than a butterfly recently sprung from its cocoon. From the Kaldr of the house I received complete respect, and the few I encountered about the grounds were quick to nod their approval—accepting, it seemed, the position I’d now assumed.
To someone who’d become so used to being glossed over, the attention was unnerving.
All those eyes—all those fine, double-iris eyes…
It was still hard to look at them without feeling somewhat afraid.
On the third morning after my indoctrination, I woke to an empty bed and a sky whose brilliance was marked by the purity of the rising sun. Curled comfortably about the covers, I burrowed my face into my pillow and reveled in the warm, sun-dappled rays falling across my back.
Leaving bed at such an hour seemed uncalled for. Why Guy wasn’t here, I couldn’t be sure.
Unless…
I opened my eyes to find the living room devoid of his presence. Unless he was in his office and out of sight, he was nowhere within the flat.
A sigh passed from my lips.
It wasn’t hard to imagine him and his father engaged in a familial battle of wits.
My sense of peace ruined by the night’s events, I nudged an elbow beneath my side and pushed myself upright, allowing myself a moment to acclimate to the lighting before running a hand across my face. My first inclination was to shower—I smelled of sweat—but my stomach was what drove me into a pair of shorts and then the kitchen.
Over a glass of orange juice and a measly piece of peanut butter toast, I listened to the sounds of the house and tried to pinpoint Guy’s location.
The walls were thin. Most anything could be heard if you listened hard enough. Every floorboard had its secrets. All you had to do was wait and—
The low pang of voices echoed up the stairs and into the room—soft, urgent, pitched with worry over something I could not understand.
I froze.
My hand trembled.
The glass of orange juice slipped from my grasp and slammed into the countertop, shattering upon impact.
Standing there, staring at the broken remnants of what had just been whole, I realized only one thing could be wrong.
I threw myself from the flat as fast as possible, the slap of my bare feet upon the wooden floorboards an ominous drum.
At the base of the stairs—directly near where the threshold parted for the house’s twin wings—something came around the corner and pushed me against the wall.
The weight was immeasurable, the hand against my mouth hot and clammy.
So caught off guard, I couldn’t fight.
Stunned, my eyes centered on the figure before me.
Guy.
His blue-lined eyes stared directly into mine.
I tried to mouth something beneath his grasp, but he shook his head and held me steady.
Shh, his eyes said.
I nodded and melted against the wall.
Though they had grown louder, I still could not hear the voices clearly. The friction that filled the air was prevalent in barking replies and snarled interjections from at least three or four men. Movement down the hall indicated others beyond the scope of the living room—pressed within the doorway, maybe, or possibly even pacing the front porch. Throughout, Guy’s gaze remained trained on the opposite wall—scanning, constantly, for something I could not see.
Finally, a sigh broke through the chaos, silencing everyone. “I’ll have a word,” Elliot Winters said.
A sharp curse sliced through the home’s atmosphere. “This isn’t over, Winters,” a man’s voice said, his French accent thick.
What followed was an exodus of footsteps from at least six or seven people, if not more who had to have been waiting outside. Soon after, the rev of vehicles and motorcycles started up before they drifted away.
Guy pulled himself away from me. “Shit,” he breathed.
A second hand on my arm startled me. I jumped back into the wall and gasped just in time to see Amadeo. “Amadeo,” I said.
“It’s all right,” the man said. “They’re gone.”
“Who’s gone?” I asked.
“What’s going on,” Elliot Winters said as he stormed up the hallway, “is you.” He stabbed a finger at me with such force I thought he would strike me and refrained from further action by exuding a long, throaty growl.
“Elliot,” Amadeo said, placing himself between me and the man.
“This isn’t his fault,” Guy said.
“This isn’t his fault?” Elliot barked. “By God, son—how daft are you? Has Austin made you stupid?”
“He was defending himself from someone who attacked him.”
“When he was wandering the grounds alone after dark.”
“Because you didn’t tell him that he was supposed to stay inside!” Guy barked, slamming his fist down on the railing.
Elliot’s eyes narrowed. While all tension had faded from his features, what remained in his eyes was terrifying—to the point where I felt the need to shrink back. “Guy,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “A word, please.”
Guy glanced at me, fear laced through his eyes and a tremor set upon his lips. I somehow managed to remain calm as he nodded, stalked after his father, and disappeared up the opposite wing.
Amadeo set a hand on my shoulder. “Go to your room,” he said.
“What’s going to happen?” I asked.
Amadeo said nothing. He merely pushed me toward the stairs.