She’d turned to her art as an expression of the passion she was missing, but she felt that pang in her chest regardless. That longing.
The key felt hotter in her palm, as if it burned to get closer to what it unlocked. Her shoes seemed to be imbedded into the pavement as she stared at the front door, half expecting it to open and her mother to walk out, smiling.
Her heart thundered wildly, battering her ribcage, but at last she forced herself forward. Up each step she climbed, looking for some evidence that someone lived there. That she was about to walk in on some poor unsuspecting family. The driveway was empty and there were no lights, but neither meant that the house was unoccupied because someone had clearly cared for the property.
Try as she might to mute her footsteps, they still sounded like booming thunder over the wooden porch. She stopped in front of the dark cherry-wood door, heart caught in her throat.
Slowly, she lifted her fist and knocked.
She waited for what felt like ages before knocking again. When no one answered, she swallowed hard and inserted the key.
Harlow closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, then turned it. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
The foyer was empty. Bare. Her shoes creaked over the freshly polished wood and she held her breath, half expecting another set of steps to follow. To her left, a wooden staircase curled up to the second floor, but she went straight into the main sitting room.
White sheets covered the sofas and tables, but Harlow saw them all in her mind, exactly as they’d been over a decade ago. The air smelled of dust. Of everything slowly deteriorating with time. But when she entered the kitchen, her breath left her in a rush.
There on the sparkling marble countertop was a narrow crystal vase.
And a single, freshly cut rose. Red as blood and fully bloomed.
Left just for her.
Her pulse drummed in her ears when she saw the envelope beside it. Her name scrawled in the same elegant hand as the note with the key.
She picked it up, slowly. As though touching it would cause whatever trap she’d walked into to go off.
Her breath hitched as she waited.
When nothing happened, she tore the seal and pulled out the note from inside.
Ms. Marks,
This house was kept for you alone. I hope that you will call it home once again.
A.K.
Harlow’s hands trembled.
A.K. Who was A.K.? Why was this one signed when the previous one hadn’t been?
The writing was different as well, not the neat script used in the first one.
She dropped the note onto the counter and backed away looking around for any sign that someone watched her, but the house was silent. Even the wind stirring the trees outside the kitchen window seemed to halt its breath, waiting.
Stumbling from the kitchen, she tore back through the house, threw open the front door, and fled.
Arian
Arian watched through the warped mirror in front of him as the girl dashed out and into the garden. He sighed heavily when the image went black, the connection to her lost.
His head throbbed and he massaged his temples. After every moon cycle he fought the effects of his beast taking over, but it was stronger this time. Most likely due to the stress of his brother now knowing of the existence of Harlow. His Marked.
She didn’t trust him—not that he blamed her. Though she’d had several interactions with him, she didn’t know who he was, or what he was to her. Perhaps it was time to pay her a visit in person. He couldn’t hide her from Oricus forever, but getting her out of the city was a start.
As if his thoughts had awoken his prisoner, chains rattled from the other room. A long string of Scondeladian curses followed. Then the sounds of struggling.
Arian downed the last of his liquor, then pushed up from his leather armchair. He glanced down at the blank mirror once more before straightening his tie and exiting his study.
He entered the farthest room in his old family home, where his brother remained chained in a chair, bloodied. His head lifted upon Arian’s arrival, his pale hair looking almost white in the rays of the suns. A smirk curved his lips, one split and oozing blood, while shrewd grey eyes assessed Arian.
“Where’d you hide her, Brother?” Oricus’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. A snake-like action from a snake-like man. He leaned as far forward as the coils of chains around his middle would allow. “Let me guess, right under my nose?”
Arian didn’t answer as he began the work of rolling up his sleeves. He hated getting blood on his expensive shirts.
Oricus continued to needle. “She wasn’t on your private estate; you’ve been far too big of an asshole for that. No, if your Marked was anywhere remotely near you, the two of you would be bonded by now.” He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. The dried blood on his temple cracked.
Guess he’d have to make it bleed some more.
Oricus’s eyes lit with glee. “Oh, how wonderful. Your Marked doesn’t know you exist. She’s just been living her life while you go on pining for her like a dog in heat.” He snorted.
Arian’s blood heated.
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be knowing she’d been fucking other guys while you—”
His fist connected with Oricus’s cheek, the crack a melody that stirred his blood. A welcome warmth permeated his muscles.
Oricus laughed despite the ugly gash now on the side of his face. “Tell me then, Brother, do you know how many guys have fucked her, or do you live in ignorance?”
Arian launched his fist into his brother’s face again, then bent over Oricus and whispered, “No one will touch what is mine, as you well know. I’ve kept away every male that’s ever tried.” Until last night. He wasn’t sure if he’d been too late. The fire had successfully forced her from the human’s apartment, but they’d both looked disheveled. And smell of the male on her skin had nearly cleaved him in two. He had precautions and blocks in place for those types of events in California. People that watched her and kept her from harm.
She’d chosen the worst possible time to go to New York. But he still had ways of making sure she was taken care of.
Yet his stomach tightened at the thought that she’d perhaps given her body to another. It made his claws lengthen. His canines sharpened. He hadn’t been able to get close enough to tell if she smelled of sex (arousal, yes—it’d been thick and cloying around them both) as he’d been forced to keep to the shadows.
His brother chuckled again as Arian drew himself up to his full height. “Just as well,” he said with a shrug. “Ruining her life because you refuse to have her will only ensure she’ll never be yours. She’d hate you if she ever found out.” Oricus’s grin widened, and Arian’s fists tightened. Every inch of him begged to pummel his brother into unconsciousness again.
“It doesn’t matter,” Arian said tightly. “I never will have her.” And maybe one day he’d allow her to settle down and have a family. It was the least he could do for her after all the pain he’d caused her.
Oricus sighed, looking down at his lap.
But the moment was short-lived: his soft laugh reached Arian’s ears. Oricus laughed louder, throwing his head back to roar his amusement.
Taking a step closer, Arian watched his insane brother with something like pity.
When Oricus’s laughter died down, tears of hysteria tracked paths down his dirty cheeks. “I know how to punish you, Brother.” He said it as if offering a solution to an urgent issue, yet his lips still twisted into a wicked grin. His next words were spoken low. Menacing. “I always planned to take your Marked from you. And I will. I’ll take her from you and fuck her until only my name spills from her lips.”
Blood rushed in Arian’s ears as he struck his brother. Once. Twice. His fists burned, coming away hot and red.
Oricus’s words were drowned out by the shattering of bone, then the crash of his ch
air which toppled backward.
The wood shattering loosened his enchanted chains. Oricus’s smile was feral, wide and bloody as he lurched for Arian, catching him around the neck.
With a snap, the world went black.
Part Two
Locked
In a Tower
Harlow
Tears tracked down her face as she dropped to her knees in the garden, just in front of the apple tree her mother had planted a few months before her death. Small pink blossoms colored the branches.
Her heart ached.
Too many memories.
And yet she felt unable to leave.
Unable to say goodbye.
Her phone chimed in her purse and Harlow wiped her cheeks before pulling it out. Yet another message from Rex, but this time it said: Hey, sorry to keep bugging you. I decided to go up north to visit my mom. I was hoping we could go out to a restaurant later this week when I get back.
She stared at it for several moments. Her heart started typing her reply before her brain could process the words. I’d love to. I’m actually in Binghamton too. If it’s not too much to ask, I was wondering if you could give me a ride back to the city tomorrow or the day after and help me get moved into my new place here? She hit send then pushed her phone back into her handbag.
His response came sometime while she wandered through the trees, feeling the rough bark against her palms. She smelled the flowers beginning to bloom and inspected every inch of the property she’d roamed when she was younger.
Only when the afternoon sun had begun to descend, allowing the air to chill, did she decide to go back inside. She read Rex’s enthusiastic reply saying he’d pick her up in the morning. After sending him the address, she finally forced herself up the stairs.
She went from room to room and pulled the sheets off the beds and the dressers. Everything had remained the same. Harlow and her sister had taken just their most prized possessions when they moved to California, so both of their rooms were still filled with all the things Harlow had forgotten about. It was her parents’ room she didn’t dare enter; instead, she closed their door.
One day, she told herself, I’ll clean it out. But for now, she didn’t want to face their old belongings.
Downstairs, she tore the sheets from the sofas and tables. The TV was ancient compared to technology nowadays, but she didn’t care.
As it was getting too late to call a cab and she’d already missed her bus back to the city, Harlow began rummaging through the cupboards for anything that would still be edible after eleven years.
But as she began rifling through the well-stocked pantry, she saw that most of the ingredients were new.
Tentatively, she opened the fridge, half expecting it to be filled with mold, but it was clean, though measly stocked. Just milk with a respectable expiration date, butter, and some vegetables sat inside.
Harlow’s throat tightened and a chill ran up her spine. Whoever had given her the key had prepared everything for her arrival as though they fully anticipated her to move in.
And she was doing just that.
Yet she hadn’t met whoever had so carefully orchestrated all of this.
She swallowed hard as she pulled the things she needed from the fridge and set to work cooking dinner.
While most people would probably feel creeped out about being back in the house their family had once occupied, Harlow didn’t. Here she felt closer to them. The pots and pans were worn from her mother’s love of cooking, and Harlow delighted in putting them to use again.
As she diced vegetables and boiled noodles, her hips swayed to an imaginary tune. She so vividly recalled her mother doing the same thing every time she set foot in the kitchen. It was filled with happy memories, and Harlow found herself smiling despite the ache in her chest from missing her mother’s smile and her melodic laugh. Or the way her father used to chase her mother with a wooden spoon, slapping her rear end while she squealed and laughed. Then he’d chase Maribelle and Harlow, only to tickle them when he inevitably caught them.
Stirring her sauce in a small pan loaded with vegetables, she finally felt at peace. The constant feeling of reaching for something just beyond her was gone.
She was home.
With a bowl full of her favorite meal, Harlow went to sit on the porch swing and watch the sun disappear behind the trees. The sky was aglow with rich colors that she knew she couldn’t fully capture. It was one of those moments best taken in instead of trying to recreate it.
Though the spring evening air was cool, Harlow didn’t want to leave her spot. Above, the stars began to wink into view. An owl hooted in the distance, awakening for its hunt. A cricket chirped and the breeze rattled the new leaves.
The night had come to life.
Harlow smiled to herself, and just as she rose to her feet and stretched, a twig snapped in the trees beyond the property. She froze, waiting.
A pair of golden eyes glowed through the dark shrubbery. Their positioning in the tree line was so high, she’d have thought it was a bear standing on its hind legs.
Her heart beat faster. The eyes that assessed her were just like the ones she’d seen on the beast that had crashed onto the street outside the hotel. The one that had sniffed her.
It watched her. She fought the tightness in her lungs and tried not to run—sudden movements were a huge no-no when it came to large wildlife. Harlow looked around for something to defend herself with, but besides her fork and bowl, there was nothing she could use.
When she bent down to grab both items, the creature shifted. Her heart leapt up in her throat as she swallowed down a scream. But it stilled, as if sensing her terror. Then, without warning, it dematerialized back into the trees. Its footsteps were far lighter than of any creature that size should have been.
Still trying to draw in a full breath, Harlow darted inside and locked the door behind her.
Back inside the house, she debated where to sleep. She wanted to wait for Rex to come help her move things; mainly, she intended to take her sister’s old room, which would require moving a great many things around.
She was still shaken by the bear—or whatever it was that had watched her—when she curled up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate. From the cabinet she grabbed several throw blankets and settled in, leaving all the lights on.
Sleep shouldn’t have come so quickly, but being back in her old family home was like being wrapped in their arms once again.
And so she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Warm light tickled Harlow’s face. Outside, the birds chirped merrily. She sat up, tangled in the blankets, and stretched.
A knock sounded at the door.
Rex.
She grimaced, checking the time on her phone, which was only minutes away from dying. The knock came again, punctuating the fact that she hadn’t showered, and she’d slept on an old couch which had no doubt left creases on her face.
“Just a minute,” she called as she got to her feet and tossed the various knitted throws from her body and onto the couch. With a yawn she hurried for the front door, pulling it open to find Rex, glowingly handsome, with his signature smirk that made her stomach do silly things.
In each hand he held a paper cup. His eyes swept up and down her disheveled appearance, his smirk widening. He held out a cup for her, which she took with a small, muttered, “Thanks.”
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Um, come in. Would you mind just hanging out down here while I run up and take a shower real quick?” she asked.
Rex stepped inside and looked around the foyer, eyes lingering on the staircase. “Not at all,” he said.
Harlow smiled, taking a sip of her beverage as she turned. The coffee was strong and sweet, just how she liked it. She groaned, marching up the steps.
Rex’s chuckle followed her, making her keenly aware of the energy that still sizzled between them. Of the desire that still coursed throug
h her. Briefly, she considered inviting him to join her, but it seemed entirely too soon for such things.
She’d downed the last of her coffee before stepping under the delicious hot spray that washed away the sticky feel of the previous night. Her scare had undoubtedly caused her to sweat; and she’d been more than a little warm under so many blankets, but she couldn’t be bothered to kick them off.
When she was finished washing with just the brand-new bar of soap left on the bathroom counter, she patted herself dry with a towel then wrapped it around her midsection before tiptoeing to her sister’s room to look for something to wear.
Luckily she and her sister were roughly the same size, though fashion had certainly changed. Harlow selected the least offensive yellow sundress that stopped high on her thighs and slid into it before tying her hair up into an elegant knot and heading back downstairs to meet Rex.
He sat on the couch she’d slept on, hunched over something she couldn’t see. She approached cautiously, spying a book in his hands before he whirled around. His eyes widened at the sight of her, their blue darkening perceptibly.
“Wow,” he said, then seemed to realize he’d spoken aloud. He cleared his throat and closed the book before getting to his feet.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
He flashed her the sun-bleached cover. The title, once a deep red, was now more pink, but still she recognized it instantly: The Magic of Cooking. Harlow snorted a laugh. It was her mother’s favorite recipe book.
“My mom loved to cook.”
Rex smiled, though something in his eyes appeared guarded. “My mom does too—or did, anyway.”
Harlow’s smile faded, but Rex tossed the book onto the couch. “Are you ready to head back to the city to get your stuff?”
She nodded. “It’s not much; I’m having everything else shipped here.”
Rex shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well let’s get on the road then. It’s a long drive.”
Marked for Darkness Page 7
