Alexia's nightmares become reality: a dead baron, red-eyed wraiths, and forbidden love with a man hunted by these creatures. After an attack close to home, Alexia realizes she cannot keep one foot in her old life and one in this new world. To protec...
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Eighteen
Frenzy
Alexia lay on her back, on something soft—a bed, cocooned in blankets. Warm fingers encased hers. She forced her eyes open.
Raven wisps curtained peachy skin above her, her aunt's lips pressed with concern. Sarah's olive eyes widened, and she gasped. "Charles!"
"Alexia?" He landed at her side, candlelight flicking deep shadows beneath his eyes. "Thank God!"
"What...?" She blinked and focused on him.
Sarah's eyes brimmed with tears. "We searched for you up and down, in and out—!"
"I went for a walk." Alexia lifted a hand to her forehead. Her fingers trailed over smooth skin. But that didn't make any sense. She had been injured in the woods after being chased down. Hadn't she?
"A drink, Alexia?" Father retrieved a waiting glass from a bureau. She stared after him, recognizing the curtains and mounted mirror of her guest room.
Her aunt leaned in. "Charles found you in the woods an hour ago. He said they scared someone off."
Alexia's throat seized.
Father slipped the cup into her hand and propped up her head. "You may speak with her later, Sarah."
Her near-sister glared. Father met Sarah's fury with a clenched jaw. She rose begrudgingly and stomped away, slamming the door.
His focus returned to Alexia. "What happened?"
She shivered. It couldn't have been—not what she remembered.
"Please, Alexia, tell me." His warmth astonished her. Did he comprehend that what had passed seemed ultimately impossible?
"I went for a walk." She swallowed.
"And?"
She bit down. How could she explain to Father that the blue-eyed man had attempted to murder her when no evidence of the attack remained? Had he been trying to kill her?
Father sat quietly, brows low, gaze fixed on her quilt. His shirt and waistcoat were wrinkled, his hunting boots muddying her floor. Deep lines cut beneath his tired eyes. He shook himself. "Are you hurt? Hungry? Sleepy?"
"I am well, Father. You should rest."
He opened his mouth to protest, but nodded instead. "I do not want you wandering alone out there. Not ever. Do you understand?"
She nodded, eager to comply. Satisfied, he secured her inside her room with a candle burning.
She climbed out of bed and paced back and forth. A plethora of questions burst upon her, and she couldn't face them. She had no answers. The window reflected her frown, panes black around her gleaming countenance. She touched her forehead again and turned her arms over, but unbroken skin glistened back.
The attack felt real. What had he done to her—if she wasn't losing her mind altogether? Forced her to sleep and imagine her own demise? Maybe he wasn't human. Perhaps he was a wraith with an insatiable appetite for others' suffering.
She crossed her arms and glared at the dark glass leading to the outside world.
Lightning flashed. She fell back against the vanity, knocking several items to the floor.
This was absurd. She'd survived! He must not want her dead, and yet she could not quiet the thundering of her heart.
She leapt behind the vanity, shoving with all her might. The stubborn bureau groaned across the floor, scraping the wood's finish, rattling in protest until it finally came to a halt.
There. She stood back, pleased that it covered the majority of the window. She seized a blanket from the bed, threw it over the curtain rail and blotted out the storm. She sat, satisfied. Nothing and nobody would come through and seize her. Of that she was certain.
