Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance

Part 2

‘Did you speak to the school?’ Caleb asks me the following day as he brings me breakfast in bed.

I nod, a tight smile on my face as I recall the odd voice on the line.

Don’t trust them.

Who? Who is it that I shouldn’t trust?

At this point it can no longer be a coincidence after I’d received the same message when I’d arrived in Fairydale.

‘They decided to let me go,’ I add with a sigh. ‘I can’t blame them at this point since two months of absence is a long time. They will need to find another teacher when the school year starts.’

I hadn’t managed to reach Allison, though. The secretary had told me she was on her break and off school grounds, so I need to try again later.

‘Are you upset about that?’

He comes to my side, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Like before, he cuts my food in small pieces, feeding it to me one at a time.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit honestly. ‘I worked very hard to get that position. I am disappointed, but it was inevitable.’

‘You’ll get the inheritance. And maybe you can find something around here,’ he suggests lightly. ‘We have a school. If you’d like, I can ask around and see if there’s a position available.’

‘Really?’ I blink in surprise at his offer.

Though it’s very kind of him to suggest this, I can’t help but feel it’s his way of telling me to stay in Fairydale.

‘I want you to stay here, Darcy,’ he confirms not a moment later. ‘I know it’s not Boston, and it’s just a small town in the middle of nowhere. But maybe…’ he gives me a hopeful smile.

Lifting my hand, I palm his cheek as a smile tugs at my lips.

‘I’ll think about it.’

It’s the best I can give him right now. I’ve already promised I would stay for two months, but more?

Despite my connection with Caleb, there is still the fact that Fairydale scares me—with its odd deaths, witch-hunt mentality, and all the unusual occurrences that have no logical explanation.

‘When you’re ready, we can go to the sheriff’s office so he can take your statement,’ he says as he takes away the tray of food.

Nodding, I wait until he’s out of the door before dressing and making myself presentable.

I hadn’t dreamed about him last night, even though I hoped I would. I needed to see him alive and well…

No matter how much I tried to think about him, nothing happened.

In fact, I couldn’t dream at all.

Sighing as I take in my appearance, I let my gaze roam over the makeup items Caleb had bought for me.

Since everything had burned in the fire, he’d been kind enough to get me everything I need. He’s been a sweetheart through this entire ordeal and I’ve been a…shrew, arguing with him over his goodwill and being stubborn about propriety when the reality is that I no longer have a choice.

I have no money, nothing. Until I get the inheritance, I am dependent on the Hales—as much as I might hate it.

But I’m not about to make myself a charity case. Every little thing he spends on me, I shall return—back to the last penny.

Uncapping one of the lipsticks, I gaze longingly at the red shade.

Why is it that every little thing brings me back to my dream—to Amon?

I release a heavy sigh as I dab some on my lips before smudging a little on my cheeks to add a bit of color to my pallor.

‘I’m ready,’ I declare, opening the door and joining Caleb.

He gives me a sweet smile, taking my hand and leading me to his car.

It takes us a few minutes to get to the sheriff’s office. By the time we pull in the parking lot, I somehow expect a mob of angry people to come after me.

Yet there’s no one there.

Letting out a relieved breath, I follow Caleb as he shows me to the sheriff’s office.

‘Miss O’Sullivan,’ Sheriff Lawrence nods when he sees me. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your home.’

I give him a tight smile.

‘I was lucky to get out alive,’ I murmur, following Caleb’s cue and taking a seat at the Sheriff’s study.

‘We’ve had men on the scene and we don’t think there’s any foul play involved. Are you sure you turned off your stove?’

I frown.

‘Of course I did. I wouldn’t have left it on,’ I state clearly.

‘But maybe you just forgot about it…’

‘Darcy says she did not leave it on and I believe her. She is always very careful,’ Caleb interjects, and the sheriff gives him a noncommittal grunt.

Already, I feel my temper rise. So he wouldn’t believe me, the person who was actually there, but he would take the word of another man over mine?

‘I’m certain I did not provoke the fire, Sheriff. That means someone else must have done so. I would ask you to look closer into the matter.’

‘As I said, Miss O’Sullivan,’ he repeats through gritted teeth. ‘We found no evidence of foul play, so we’ve closed the case as accidental.’

‘But…’

I’m about to protest when Caleb squeezes my hand under the table.

‘You mentioned you wanted to interview Darcy for the murders, didn’t you?’ Caleb suddenly asks.

‘Yes, indeed,’ he clears his throat. ‘If you could go with my secretary who will take your statement. It is just a formality. Mr. Hale has already given his statement and vouched that he spent the entire morning and the previous night with you,’ he says in a reproachful tone, the implication clear.

My cheeks heat up and I suddenly stand up.

‘If you’ll excuse me then,’ I murmur, knowing I am likely to explode if I stay one moment longer in his presence.

Caleb gives me a comforting smile that I try to return.

But how can I stay calm when the sheriff all but called me a hussy to my face?

He didn’t even care about my words, only listening to those of Caleb—a man.

Balling my hands into fists, I stride to the secretary’s desk, plopping myself in a chair and giving her the statement. I account for all my whereabouts and answer all the questions before I’m told I’m free to go.

‘They won’t do anything about the fire, will they?’ I ask Caleb a while later as we exit the station. ‘The Sheriff doesn’t care what happens to me as long as he gets his scapegoat.’

Pursing his lips, he nods.

‘I didn’t expect that he would do much. He, like everyone else, sees you as an outsider. You would have been the perfect person to place the blame on for the murders if not for your alibi with me. Still, it’s better to have everything on record so no one can argue otherwise later on.’

‘You’re right,’ I sigh. ‘It still doesn’t make it better.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Darcy. When you’re with me, nothing will touch you,’ he promises, his words giving me a modicum of comfort.

I nod, lost in my thoughts.

Something about the entire situation doesn’t seem…right. For a murder investigation of this magnitude, I would have expected hours of interrogations, and a lot more red-tape. I’ve read murder mysteries, and they never let you go just like that.

Yet the Sheriff did just that, despite the fact that, as Caleb mentioned, I am an outsider.

Is it really that Caleb’s words are so influential?

He’d only had to look at the Sheriff and the man had sung to his tune.

Maybe because they are the wealthiest in the area they are afforded more respect. Or, maybe, Caleb’s history in the army adds to his credibility.

In any event, the entire visit was bizarre, and now I’m more confused than ever about what’s happening in this town.

‘Caleb?’ I ask as we stop in front of the car. ‘Who do you think killed those people?’

I raise my gaze to his, watching him intently.

He merely smiles, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders back in the most relaxed of manners.

‘Someone who thought they deserved it,’ he answers casually. ‘And going by the way they all died, I’d say it was someone with a big grudge.’

‘But how could anyone deserve something like that? They weren’t just killed. They were tortured!‘

‘Ah, Darcy,’ he smiles. ‘You’re so innocent,’ he shakes his head in amusement.

I blink and he’s before me—a little too close for comfort.

Slowly gazing up, it’s to find him regarding me intently, a lopsided smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

‘The punishment should be equal to the sins,’ he murmurs. ‘And sometimes, the weight of the sins depends on the perspective.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ I whisper.

‘What to you was a mere moment of sadness, discomfort, or disappointment, to someone else that was a hundred fold. It all depends on the importance we attribute to things.’

His words are vague enough to mean nothing, but firm enough to mean everything.

‘Would you have done that?’ I question him directly.

His lips merely curl up more in a wolfish grin.

‘I could have done worse,’ he whispers.

Before I know it, he’s walking back to the other side of the car.

My breathing intensifies, and as my gaze follows him, it’s to note a hidden smile on his face—one of satisfaction and something more.

Something…malefic.

It also dawns on me he didn’t say would. He said could.

He could have done worse.

My heart is hammering in my chest as more doubts cloud my mind.

Could Caleb have had anything to do with it?

But how?

Even if he did target Vicky for her behavior towards me, how could he have known about the man from the Ipswich station or the one from the restaurant? How could he have known who they were?

From a logical standpoint, nothing makes sense.

Yet if I were to allow that things are not entirely logical in Fairydale… Then what could I conclude? That Caleb has some inhumane powers and he’s on a mission to kill everyone who slights me? And for what? To defend my honor when I haven’t asked for it?

Or…

I bite my lip in uncertainty as I continue to watch him, more questions surfacing in my head.

The fire…

Could he have had anything to do with it too? All to drive me into his house, right across from his room?

But as soon as that thought surfaces I shake myself.

Don’t be Catherine!

Yet it’s entirely too hard not to find everything suspicious with what’s been happening around me.

Including Caleb.

And maybe…most of all Caleb.

Before he can slide into the driver’s seat, the sheriff’s aide runs out calling for him and asking him to come inside for some new development.

‘Wait for me here?’

I nod slowly, and soon he’s gone.

Just as I wonder what could have happened, a man clears his throat from behind me.

Turning, I come face to face with the older gentleman I’d noticed at the funeral.

He looks to be in his late fifties, a little older than Mr. Vaughan, but more refined. He’s wearing a striped navy blue suit, his hand on his hat as he removes it when he stops in front of me. His cane is in the other hand, the emerald-like stone stealing my attention.

‘Miss Darcy O’Sullivan, I presume?’ he asks, his accent cultured and oddly reminiscent of the period movies I’d seen with Allison when we’d get our monthly wages.

‘Yes,’ I nod, barely wrenching my gaze from the gem. ‘And you are…’

‘Archibald Nicholson,’ he gives me a warm smile as he offers to shake my hand.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Nicholson,’ I stretch my hand towards him.

A spark of awareness travels through me when his hand connects with mine, as does something akin to a long-buried memory.

‘Have we met before?’ I ask before I can help myself, my gaze skittering from him to the stone, seemingly unable to stop myself from looking at it longingly.

He doesn’t seem surprised, merely smiling.

‘You could say so,’ he chuckles. ‘I knew your parents.’

‘My mother, too?’ My brow shoot up.

‘Yes, your mother, too.’

Too stunned to say anything, I merely stare at him.

To my knowledge, my mother hadn’t had any living family. She’d been all alone in the world, struggling to make ends meet for the both of us. Though my memories of her are scarce, I remember her face, and the way she would tell me to never take a day for granted.

‘Was she from here? From Fairydale?’

He nods.

‘She was,’ he confirms. ‘But she left before you were born.’

‘I assume she did it because of the impending scandal?’ I wince as I say the words out loud.

His lips press into a thin line.

‘I can’t presume what was going through your mother’s head at the time. But I would assume so.’

Suddenly, I’m struck by how brave she’d been.

At the height of depression, when most people were starving, she’d left the only home she’d ever known to offer me a better chance at life—one where I wouldn’t be branded a bastard by everyone around.

A new sense of admiration blooms inside of me, just as new sadness envelops me that I didn’t get to spend more time with her—that I don’t have more memories of her.

‘For that reason I wanted to approach you and offer you my apologies for how you’ve been treated since you arrived in our town. I know it can’t erase the ugly words, but I’m sorry the Pierces didn’t offer you more consideration.’

‘You don’t need to apologize for someone else’s actions,’ I tell him gently, though appreciating that he would try to do so.

‘But I do,’ he sighs. ‘You see, Mordechai is my nephew, and the Pierces are longtime friends of the Nicholsons. By extension, they are all family. And as the patriarch, it is my duty to do so.’

‘Thank you,’ I murmur. ‘I wasn’t aware of your connection to them. Does that mean we are related somehow, too?’

His lips widen into a thin smile.

‘Does it?’ he muses. ‘I suppose it does,’ he eventually amends, his eyes studying me surreptitiously.

The angle of sunlight hits the stone on his cane once more, and my gaze is drawn to it—to the point it becomes my entire focus. My skin tingles with an unnatural urge to touch it, and before I know it, I reach out for it.

Mr. Nicholson draws back, moving the cane away from my sight.

Just as the shine of the stone dies, so does this compulsion that’s taken shape inside of me.

I blink in confusion.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,’ I murmur.

‘It’s quite alright,’ he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘In fact, I was wondering if you would do me the honor of coming for dinner at my house. I could tell you more about Fairydale and your mother should you wish so.’

The offer takes me by surprise, as does the echo in my mind that whispers no.

My lips tremble, my polite smile wilting in the face of this unusual feeling.

‘Could I bring my friend with me?’ I ask, curious at knowing more about my mother, but also wary all the same.

‘Your friend? Of course. Who might she be?’ He inquires casually, though his gaze has an odd glint to it.

‘Caleb Hale,’ I reply, and his expression immediately falls. It’s only for a second, but it’s there, nonetheless.

‘Caleb Hale?’ His eyes widen. ‘I haven’t seen him in a long time,’ he purses his lips. ‘Do bring him along. I’m sure we’ll have much to talk. I’ve heard about his feats in the war. Brave man,’ he mentions, but his words are empty—no hint of that supposed admiration.

‘Certainly,’ I murmur.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you Miss O’Sullivan, and I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.’

I wave, but just as he takes a few steps he suddenly stops, half-turning.

‘By the way. I’ve put in a good word for you in town. No one should trouble you again, Miss O’Sullivan. And no one should believe anymore that you had anything with those gruesome murders. Good day!’

And with that, he’s gone.

I’m left staring at the space he’s just vacated as I replay the entire conversation all over.

He’d been nothing but courteous, yet why is my first instinct to run away?

And it’s not in the way that Caleb makes me feel—a combination of danger and seduction that borders more on animalistic attraction than actual terror. With Mr. Nicholson, the only word that comes to mind is revulsion—as if my body knows something that my mind does not.

‘Agh,’ I exclaim in frustration as I bring my hands to my temples, rubbing them furiously in an attempt to alleviate the strain on my mind.

So many theories. So many possibilities. And in the midst of it all are my conflicting feelings.

The more I try to make sense of the things around me, the more I feel like I’m back at the start line.

Yet if there is one universal truth to everything, it’s that I can’t trust anyone.

Not even…Caleb. Maybe especially Caleb.

And just as I think about him, he appears before me, holding something in his hand…

My eyes widen, and I instinctively take a step back as horror fills me to the brim.

He’s carrying my suitcase.

The one that had been stolen.

‘The police found this in their investigations,’ he tells me. ‘They searched it and there was no money inside, I’m sorry. But your other items should be there,’ he explains, but I have a hard time listening.

How…fortuitous.

I bring my teeth over my lower lip, slowly biting it as I stare at the suitcase I’d thought forever lost. As I gaze up, I note Caleb’s genuine smile, which slowly falls as he realizes I’m not nearly as overjoyed as he’d thought I would be.

‘You’re not happy?’ He asks, almost confused.

‘I don’t know if I should be,’ I admit honestly, looking him in the eye and searching for the truth in his gaze.

Who are you, Caleb Hale?

And what the hell is happening in Fairydale?

Back at the Hale manor, Caleb retreats to his office, telling me he has to take care of some business while I head to the drawing room to use the telephone again.

I’m still unsure what Caleb does for a living. I’d asked him a couple of times, and though he always avoids questions about the war and the army, he’d told me he has a private equity firm and he conducts his work remotely, mainly via post and telephone, with the rare occasions where he needs to go out of town for a meeting.

I hadn’t probed more since I’m not particularly educated in how private equity firms function, but I’d still found it a little odd that he could get so much work done from home.

More than anything, I’d been shocked when he’d delivered, as asked, a notarized letter that detailed his net worth.

And it had been…something.

He owns properties all around the country, and his liquid assets are in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Right away, I’d felt a little embarrassed for being threatened for my measly one million dollar inheritance.

Still, better be safe than sorry—especially considering how fast he’d declared his interest in me.

I do share the attraction, and maybe it’s because I’m neither experienced nor as daring, but I find it hard to keep up with his grandiose declarations. And though I do like him—maybe feel something more for him—I fear he’s going at a much faster pace than I expected, or than I can keep up with.

Alone in the drawing room, I dial the number and wait for the connection to be made, hoping this time I will be able to reach Allison.

I’d already promised to call earlier, but with everything that had happened, I completely forgot.

‘Darcy! Finally! I was worried about you,’ Allison’s voice finally comes through, and I breathe out relieved.

‘There aren’t that many telephones in Fairydale,’ I chuckle.

‘You must tell me everything! I’ve been thinking about you day and night.’

For a moment, I truly debate telling her everything. But I don’t want to worry her needlessly, so I give her a simplified version of Fairydale—one that doesn’t include the so-called odd deaths.

‘One million dollars?’ She exclaims when I tell her about the will. ‘Darcy, we never imagined that type of sum. That’s… You would never have to work again with that type of money.’

‘You think I made the right decision to agree to the conditions?’ I ask hesitantly.

‘Of course! Darcy! For Goodness’ sake, it’s one million dollars. I would have thought you mad had you not agreed to the conditions. It’s only two months. Just think about all the things you’ll be able to do with that money. The books you could buy. The vacations you could take.’

I smile as she proceeds to give me an example of everything I could have with that money—things we could only ever dream of before.

‘We are going to take a vacation. I’m taking you with me to England,’ I tell her. ‘Do you think I’d forget about my favorite girl?’

‘You better,’ she chuckles. ‘I’ll even help you snag an Englishman.’

‘About that…’ I bite my lip. ‘I met someone.’

There’s a screech at the end of the line before she comes back, the questions pouring out of her just as I knew they would.

‘What? Who? Where? In Fairydale? Good Lord, Darcy, I swear to God that if you don’t tell me every single detail I will take the first train there to see it for myself,’ she rambles on and I can’t help but smile.

Her buoyancy was what I’ve been missing all along.

‘He’s from Fairydale,’ I tell her, giving her a brief description of Caleb and the fact that he makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.

‘Oh my, Darcy! If you’re interested in him then he must be something! How many times have I tried to convince you to go on a date and you never agreed?’

I can almost see her shaking her head at me.

‘Well, they weren’t him,’ I blush as I say the words.

‘Oh, do I bet. Now I can’t wait to meet him,’ she declares

We speak a little longer before her time on the telephone is over and we say our goodbyes, promising to catch up again soon.

After the call ends, I go back to my room, determined to go through my suitcase and see what’s still inside.

Yet as I get to the corridor, I come across Caleb.

He’s leaning against the wall, almost as if he knew I was coming.

‘You’re done with your business?’ I ask as I stop by his side.

He nods, his eyes glued to me, that hunger he’s always trying to subdue making its way to the surface. A shiver of awareness goes down my back, and though I try to give him a small smile, my lips are too shaky to stay in place.

He takes a step forward.

I take a step back.

There’s an intensity rolling off him that scares me. There seems to be a single-minded purpose to his stride—me. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

We waltz around each other until my back meets the wall, his hands landing on either side of my head.

Leaning in, he only stops when he’s less than an inch away from my face.

‘What did you talk to your friend about?’ he rasps, his breath caressing my lips.

‘Just a little bit of this, a little bit of that,’ I mumble nervously. ‘I told her about Fairydale and that…’

‘That?’ He raises a brow.

‘That I met someone,’ I swallow hard as I bring my eyes to his. They’re so black his pupils blend into his irises, the effect immediate on my senses. I don’t know how I could have ever mistaken their color for anything else.

‘Really?’ he drawls, the right corner of his mouth curling up. ‘And how is this person that you…met?’

‘He’s…’ I blink, taken aback by his intensity.

His brows go up as he awaits my answer. Though his tone is playful, the atmosphere is heavy, his breathing equally so.

‘Sometimes he’s a bad man. Sometimes he’s a gentleman,’ I whisper.

He smirks, and my eyes are drawn to his mouth.

‘And what am I now, darlin’?’

‘Now… You want to be bad,’ I say as I notice he’s closer than before, his lips almost on mine.

‘Will you let me be bad, Darcy?’

I blink, unsure how to answer the question.

Part of me wants this—his kiss—but the other part of me is still unsure.

‘What if I want to be real bad, Darcy darlin’? Will you let me?’

‘Define bad,’ I speak softly, looking him in the eye with a mix of desire and apprehension.

A wide smile appears on his face.

‘Ah, sweetheart, if I have to define it you’re not ready for it,’ he chuckles.

Just as I’m about to breathe out in relief at the small respite, he surprises me by leaning further in, brushing his lips across the tip of my nose.

‘Let’s give you a tour of the house. You’ve seen very little so far,’ he says right as he steps away from me, taking my hand in his and leading me down the corridor.

I’m flushed, my entire body burning with…something.

How can he go from seductive to casual in the span of a second?

My pulse is through the roof and I get the urge to fan myself, but I won’t give him the benefit of knowing how much that one moment affected me.

Despite not being ready for what he sees as bad, that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about it.

I’d heard some details about intimacy from Allison, but I hadn’t paid much attention back then. I remember her telling me her first time was uncomfortable but that it got much better with time and practice. Now I wish I’d listened and asked more questions—just to have more knowledge on the topic and not feel so painfully naïve about it.

‘Caleb,’ I muster the courage to ask just as we reach the landing of the stairs.

He turns to me, his head tilted to the side as he awaits me to speak.

My entire face must be flaming red at this point and after biting my lip for the tenth time, I finally blurt it out.

‘Have you been with many women?’

I instantly avert my gaze, unable to believe I’d actually asked the question.

‘Forget it,’ I say immediately, waving my hands in a stop gesture.

He regards me amused, and I feel like expiring on the spot.

Damn me and my curiosity.

‘What do you think?’ he inquires gently, no reproach in his voice.

I don’t dare answer for fear my voice will betray me, so I just give him a nod, suggesting affirmative.

His smile widens, and bringing his mouth to my ear, he whispers.

‘The answer is no.’

Then he resumes walking.

He doesn’t expand on that—doesn’t clarify or quantify. And I’ve already met my embarrassment quota for the day to probe for more.

Yet the fact that he said no…a warm, fuzzy feeling develops in my lower belly.

He walks towards the main entrance of the house and I run after him, excitement thrumming through me, as well as a small sliver of anticipation.

‘The Hales have tried to preserve as much of the original features of the house as they could,’ he explains as he points to the ladies and gents’ rooms on each side.

‘How many rooms are in total?’

‘About sixty? I think it’s around there,’ he says, and for a moment I think he’s joking.

‘You’re serious?’

He nods.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t show you all the bedrooms,’ he chuckles. ‘If we go forward, you’ll see the main gallery. This houses the Creed art collection, and it has some extremely rare pieces he collected during his time,’ he speaks as we step into the grandiose gallery.

Larger than a museum, the gallery’s walls are all adorned with various paintings—some by famous artists such as Jacques-Louis David, Rembrandt, Peter Paul Rubens, or even Botticelli, while a few are by an unknown artist signed AR. One in particular catches my eye. It’s of a couple posing together, their faces painted in a colorful design as they gaze at each other lovingly.

‘This is absolutely wonderful. I’m speechless, Caleb,’ I utter in awe as I look around.

There are also statues scattered around, placed strategically to give the impression they are real people in the room casually going about their day.

As I stop in front of one after another, I recognize the names of some artists, such as Bernini and Michelangelo. But more striking is the fact that the majority of pieces are millennia old, dating from Ancient Rome, Greece, Egypt, and even Mesopotamia. These must be truly one of a kind.

‘Dear Lord. How is it possible? These must be priceless,’ I blurt out as I stop in front of a pair of statues of Egyptian origin—what I assume to be the depictions of a pharaoh and his consort.

‘They are,’ he smiles, a deep melancholy reflected in his gaze.

‘Shouldn’t these belong in a museum? So that everyone can enjoy them?’

He’s silent for a moment before he slowly shakes his head.

‘They might be part of world history, but to some…they’re also part of personal history,’ he says cryptically, stopping in front of one of the statues.

I walk towards him, gazing up at the piece that holds his undivided attention.

It looks to be Roman or Greek, though my knowledge is minimal at best. The sculpture depicts a woman holding some dainty flowers in her hand. At her feet, a sword is interwoven with serpents coiling up her leg.

‘Is it Artemis?’ I inquire as I inspect it.

Caleb shakes his head.

‘She wasn’t a Greek Goddess.’

‘Then who was she?’

He smiles, looking fondly at the statue before lightly shaking his head.

‘You’re welcome to come here whenever you want to look your fill. There is one more gallery on the first floor, but it’s been closed for years now,’ he resumes his tour, briefly showing me the front terraces, the drawing room and the dining room.

‘And here is the library, which I’m sure you will enjoy,’ he tells me as he pushes the double doors open.

Like heaven opening before me, my mouth simply drops open in awe. From floor to ceiling, bookcases fill all the walls of the room, more rows piling up in the middle and leaving only one small area for reading.

‘How many books are there?’

‘Thousands? Tens of thousands? No one knows at this point,’ Caleb explains. ‘Another area you might want to explore more. You’ll find a great deal of diversity. The Hales have updated a good portion of it,’ he points to some of the shelves in the middle, ‘but a lot are classical works. Some first editions, too,’ he winks at me.

He lets me wander about the room for a little, amusement pulling at his lips as he sees me gush about every little thing I see.

But how could I not? Katrina hadn’t been kidding when she’d told me the house was like a museum. Most of the things I’ve seen so far should be in a museum to be admired by everyone. And these books…

‘I’m going to read as many as I can,’ I declare immediately.

Caleb chuckles.

‘You’re welcome to all of them. You can even take some to your room.’

The moment he gives me permission, I waste no time in picking a couple Jane Austen novels—all first editions!

I cradle them to my chest like the precious babies they are, barely resisting the urge to open them and inhale the scent like a creep. I don’t think Caleb would find that very cute.

He watches me indulgently, letting me take my time as I peruse some of the titles. But I decide to do so more at length later instead of wasting his time now.

‘We can go,’ I announce, hugging the books tightly.

Shaking his head in amusement, he takes me to the first floor.

‘There are two wings. That one,’ he points to the left, ‘is where our bedrooms are. The one on the right is where the master’s chambers are. It’s been closed for a few decades now, and no one goes there.’

I nod, following him to the left.

‘Where does the family sleep then?’

‘Second floor. Everyone sleeps on the second floor.’

‘Everyone but us?’ I frown.

‘I like these rooms better. They don’t.’

‘Why?’

He shrugs.

‘They think they are haunted.’ When he sees my eyes widen, he amends. ‘They aren’t. I can vouch for that since I’ve been sleeping here for years.’

‘If you say so,’ I mutter under my breath, suddenly feeling a prickling of awareness at the surface of my skin.

Damn it, why did he have to mention ghosts?

Especially since the corridor is filled with portraits of older Hales, all looking rigid and stern.

A shiver goes down my back and I look away.

‘I won’t show you the second floor since it’s mainly the living space for my parents and my grandmother. There are a lot of storage rooms, but other than that, nothing much to see,’ he explains and I nod. ‘But I have one more thing to show you,’ he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he goes towards the end of the corridor.

I eagerly dash after him, so excited about my surroundings that he could show me anything at this point and I’d be in awe. Especially as I hold the precious books closer, sighing in contentment as I imagine myself in my room at night, exploring the treasures hidden within the pages.

A small giggle escapes me, but I slap my hand over my mouth before Caleb can hear me.

‘Here,’ he says as he pushes the door open.

Taking a step inside, I blink a couple of times as my eyes adjust to the bright lighting.

‘It’s…an art studio?’

‘It is,’ he replies, pride reflected in his voice.

Then it dawns on me.

‘It’s your art studio.’

He grins.

‘Welcome to my sanctuary.’

Most of the furniture in the room has been covered with white sheets, splatters of paint evident everywhere. There are canvases crowded in all corners, some finished, some in progress.

His main materials are by the window to capture the best light—a small chair facing a huge canvas with scattered paints and supplies all over the floor.

‘I didn’t know you painted,’ I say softly, my lips pulling up in a smile.

‘It’s not something I openly advertise,’ he shrugs, though I can see he’s watching my reactions closely—almost anxiously.

Taking a step deeper into the room, I catch glimpses of some of his works, and the breath leaves my lungs at his talent.

‘You should,’ I turn, telling him emphatically. ‘You definitely should. This is wonderful, Caleb,’ I praise honestly, my eyes arrested to the sight before me.

It’s a simple landscape—a balcony on a cliff and the violent ocean. But each stroke has been carefully placed on the canvas to give a realistic yet terrifying effect. It’s nature at its worst, merciless and unforgiving.

‘Would you pose for me?’

I whip my head around, my eyes widening.

‘You want to paint…me?’

He nods, his expression serious.

At once, I can tell this isn’t merely a hobby for him. It’s an endeavor close to his heart, and by sharing it with me, he’s also sharing a part of himself.

‘I’d be honored,’ I murmur.

He seemingly exhales in relief, almost as if everything hinged on my answer.

‘As you can see, I don’t paint people,’ he gives me a tight smile. ‘I haven’t in… a long time,’ he confesses.

‘Then I’m even more honored that you chose me,’ I blush.

He merely smiles. A different one than I’d seen from him—a warm, genuine smile that speaks of the most pure happiness.

The thought that I would have instilled that feeling in him makes my pulse race, butterflies dancing in my stomach. If before he’d drawn me to him with his raw masculinity, now it’s that glimpse into his vulnerability that cements the fact that I’m falling for him.

I keep to the sidelines as Caleb moves some of the furniture around, removing the sheet off an ornate blue sofa. He pulls it towards the window and arranges it to be directly in front of his seat.

‘Come,’ he takes my hand, leading me to the sofa and instructing me to sit down.

‘I didn’t realize we’d start now. Maybe you want me to put on a nice dress? Or some makeup?’

I’m wearing a white button-up sundress. It’s nothing fancy and I imagine when painting someone’s portrait you’d want them to be dressed in their finest clothes.

‘You’re perfect as you are, Darcy,’ he tells me when he sees my pinched brows. ‘I want to capture you, not an artificial version of you.’

He’s behind the canvas, a brush in his hand as his entire expression changes, a deep concentration settling over his features as he draws the initial strokes.

I nod, my nerves slowly easing. But once that concern is out of the way, a new one enters my mind. Never having modeled for anything, I suddenly feel anxious at the thought of doing this all wrong. And as I try to sit still, my hands itch to move, as do my feet and every little muscle in my body.

‘You don’t have to pretend to be made of stone,’ he suddenly chuckles.

I blink, looking at him in question.

‘You’re beyond rigid,’ he continues, and I stiffen more.

Shaking his head in amusement, he places his brush down, rising from his chair and coming towards me.

‘Relax,’ he moves behind the sofa, his fingers on my shoulders as he softly kneads my flesh. ‘I want you to pose naturally. Forget about me as the artist and look at me as the man.’

‘What… What do you mean?’ I ask softly.

He leans down, his face next to mine as he speaks.

‘I want to capture your expression, darlin’. That look of wonder you always have when you gaze at me. The mix of longing, curiosity, fear…terror.’

‘Terror?’ I wet my lips, looking away from him but feeling his nearness in my bones. His breath fans my cheek, his fingers deftly working my flesh. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You can’t lie to me, Darcy,’ he whispers. ‘Your eyes can never lie to me,’ he continues as his hands trail down, from my shoulders to my clavicle and lower.

My breath becomes labored.

‘You desire me, but you’re also terrified of it. Of me, of yourself, of what would happen if you give in…’

‘Give in?’ the question comes out breathless, my heart thundering in my chest.

His thick voice still in my ear, his hands settle on the buttons of my bodice.

I gasp when suddenly one button pops free.

I move to stop him, but his mesmerizing voice stops me—hypnotizing me into compliance.

‘What if I asked you to shed all your inhibitions? Renounce all mores and morals until you’re a blank canvas. Until mine is the only brush that can paint you to life…’

Another button pops free.

An intoxicating stillness claims my body, my brain foggy, my senses both sluggish and fully on alert. Anticipation builds inside me, and with his voice acting as my guide, I can only do as he says.

All other thoughts disappear from my mind until only he remains—him and his touch.

‘Forget everything you know and embrace everything you don’t,’ his decadent voice envelops me, shudders claiming my body as I let his deep rumble penetrate every inch of my skin.

I’m lost in the abyss, and he is my Vergil—the only one who can bring me to the light.

Or…drown me in the dark.

‘That’s it, Darcy darlin’. Give yourself to pure feeling. Abandon everything that holds you back,’ he speaks with a sensual confidence that demands my full compliance.

A third button pops free, his palms sliding over the swell of my almost-naked breast.

A hiss escapes him, his warm air transferring to me, his breath my breath.

Inhaling sharply, a sudden lightheadedness overwhelms me and a profound feeling of breathlessness—when you’re on the edge of asphyxiating, but you never quite cross the threshold.

His fingers graze my left breast, his touch lingering on top of my heart as he traces the tear-shaped birthmark on my skin.

‘Caleb…’ a low whimper escapes me at his probing touch.

‘Shhh, Darcy darlin’,’ he murmurs, his mouth opening over the pulse point just under my ear as he gives me a slow lick. ‘I am the brush,’ he blows hot air over the damp patch of skin. ‘And you are my canvas,’ he says right before his lips part over my skin again, this time a sharp pain spearing through my senses as my body rebels against the foreign intrusion.

I gasp, attempting to move out of his hold, but his hands hold me captive.

The pain intensifies, and even through the fog that’s laid siege over my mind I can sense that he’s broken the surface of my skin until he’s drawn blood.

I am frozen in place as his lips move up, from my neck to my cheek, all the while smearing the blood over my pale skin.

‘I am the brush,’ he rasps thickly. ‘And you are my canvas. Mine to create. Mine to breathe life into.’

A low howl vibrates in the air, the sound as piercing as it is…inhuman.

Shock envelops me from head to toe as adrenaline pumps into my veins. Throwing him off me, I jump out of the seat.

‘I don’t think we’re talking about painting anymore,’ I whisper, gazing at him in horror.

His entire mouth is stained with red, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

Slowly, as if barely daring to move, I bring my hand to my neck, feeling for the gash and the blood that’s still pouring out of the wound.

His eyes are eerily blank as his mouth curves into a sardonic smile.

‘Ah, but that look, Darcy darlin’. That is what I want to paint,’ he says as he flashes me his blood stained teeth—red against stark white.

True terror engulfs me and I dash from the studio, running straight for my room and locking the door behind me.

Panic unlike any other swells in my heart, the wound he’d inflicted on me radiating with pain.

Opening the door to the bathroom, I flick the light switch on as I bring my gaze to the mirror.

My mouth slowly parts in shock just as I bring my fingers to my neck.

The pain is there.

The feel of his mouth on my skin is there.

But there’s not one mark on my neck.

Not one stain of red on my skin, though I could have sworn I felt him paint me with blood.

There’s absolutely…nothing.