She, Whom He Loves

Prologue

Emmaline could smell death in the air—the tangy scent of blood mixed with sweat and saliva.

Blackthorn Castle was large and dank, its inhabitants hardly perturbed by the chill of the stone structure, but its size should allow for oblivion, and for the family who resided in the shadows here, oblivion was very important.

There were many secrets—old, dark and dangerous—and it was in everyone’s best interest to leave them in the shadows.

Which was why when she smelled it, given her meager human senses, she realized that death must’ve been at her door—literally.

She wasn’t afraid.

Growing up in this household, she knew of far more sinister things than death, but it made her oddly curious.

Slipping off the bed in only her paper-thin, white cotton nightgown, she kept her eyes trained on the door, wondering whether what was behind it was going to get her first before she could take a step further.

She could hear harsh, uneven breathing and a shuffle of steps from the other side but that slight indication of distress didn’t lower her guard. If what was waiting for her was anything like the residents of Blackthorn Castle, nothing could save her except the creature’s own sense of mercy.

Tugging on the door handle, she twisted it open, letting the heavy weight of the wood and metal panel swing it inwards on its own.

The hall was dim and empty.

She frowned, certain that she hadn’t been dreaming. In Blackthorn Castle, reality and fantasy blurred into an ambiguous secret world.

She poked her head out and caught the retreating figure silhouetted by the pale light coming from a solitary sconce lamp at the end of the hall. 

The figure was that of a tall, broad-shouldered man—his powerful physique highlighted by his silhouette.

He was Blackthorn Castle’s most elusive resident, as well as its most dangerous.

“Nikolas?” she said, he voice barely above a whisper.

The figure had already long stopped walking but he didn’t turn around until she called his name.

A shaft of light fell on half of his face, revealing a dark, golden brow, an amber-colored eye and a high cheekbone splattered with what looked like dark, drying blood.

Emmaline’s heart jumped to her throat—a normal reaction any human would have during an encounter with Nikolas Avanti—but hers did, not out of fear but a near-paralyzing longing instead.

For the past sixteen years of her short, human life, she had loved him from afar, whether he was out scouring the earth or here seeking solace in Blackthorn Castle.

Whether he noticed or not, she wasn’t certain. If he did, he certainly did nothing to acknowledge it.

Besides, Nikolas’s obsessive rage and quest for vengeance were all that kept him preoccupied—there wasn’t any room for him to notice anything else—much less the timid girl who served as his sister’s redemption project and companion.

It was this fact that made Emmaline wonder what he could be doing then outside of her bedroom at this time of the night, fresh from a kill.

“Are you alright?” she asked, stepping out into the hall, silently cursing the biting cold of the stone floor that was exposed on the edges of the dark red carpet. She made no sound of distress, aware that it only highlighted how weak she was in comparison to Nikolas and his kind.

“Of all questions, why ask me that, little Emmaline?” his voice came out in a rasp whisper that resonated down the hall, sending a shiver down her spine.