Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“So, you never bring people here?” I ask when I’m finished.
He lifts his gaze. “Not since my mother died.”
“Oh.” I glance down at my lap. “I’m sorry. I…I lost my mom too a few years back.”
He scowls at his cereal bowl. “I know.”
“What? How?”
“Nosy reporter asking me questions? I looked you up.”
I swallow hard. “And you found out about my mom…how?”
“Obituary mentioned you.”
Wow. Okay. Why am I surprised? It’s not like I’m the only one who knows how to use Google.
“What else did you learn?”
“You’re a good writer.” He sets his spoon down and folds his arms over his chest. “You seem like a smart woman. Why’d you move from serious news to podcasting ghost tales.”
“I don’t have a podcast,” I grumble, swirling my spoon in my leftover milk which I am absolutely not going to slurp out of the bowl in front of Declan. “I have a YouTube channel. They’re very different things.”
“Are they though?” he says with a head tilt and an edge of sarcasm.
“Are you going to tell me why you dragged me here?” I hold up my wrist again. “And what the hell this is?”
He stares me straight in the eyes. “Let’s see if we make it through the night first.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Declan
If we make it through the night.
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
Emery sets her spoon down, the faint scrape ringing in the cavernous kitchen. Her gaze weighs on me, searching for answers I’m not ready to give her yet. The mark on her wrist burns like a beacon, pulling at the tethers inked into my skin. But it’s more than that. I’ve been vibrating with the need to touch her, to put my hands on every inch of her since she got on the back of my bike. I shouldn’t have brought her here but having her here feels so right. Like she’s meant to be with me.
But I know damn well she has no intention of staying in Crowsbridge Hollow and I can never leave.
I shouldn’t have admitted I’d done any research on her. It probably gave her the wrong idea.
Irritated with myself, I stand and snatch both bowls off the table, dump the milk in the sink, then scrub everything until there’s no other way to stall.
“Come on.” I jerk my head toward the hallway. “You need sleep.”
Without a word—which feels suspicious, based on the little I know of Emery—she follows me. With her at my back, my pulse pounds hard enough to rattle my ribs as it rushes south.
The hallway leads to a grand staircase. The maps and portraits so familiar, they’ve faded into the background for me. Emery pauses, studying one after another with her shrewd, curious eyes.
“Why the maps?” she asks.
I shrug. “Sterlings used to like to travel.”
“Used to?”
Before we pledged to protect the town. Before we stopped being free. “They’ve always been here,” I say instead. “I barely notice them now.”
She lingers in front of the family portrait of my parents, Lena, and me. Doesn’t ask any questions. Smart. She should be scared of the answers.
I’m better prepared now. I’ll keep Emery safe.
The staircase opens to a long corridor with heavy furniture but fewer family portraits. I flick on the lights and sconces along the walls flare to life, pushing some shadows back, while creating others.
I stop at the second door from the end of the hallway. “I’ll have you stay in here.”
She frowns at me as I turn the knob and push the door open. “Where are you staying?”
“I’ll be right there.” I point to the door at the end of the hallway. Next to her room.
I shove the door open before she asks another question. This has always been a guest bedroom. I can’t bear the thought of anyone staying in my sister’s old room across the hall.
No one’s slept in here since my aunt last visited, but it’s clean and furnished. A four-poster bed made of iron, painted gold to match the heavy velvet curtains. A wardrobe with clean linens. A chair, a desk, nightstands, lamps. At the foot of the bed sits a massive iron-bound trunk, heavy enough it would take both of us to move it.
“There should be extra blankets in the trunk.” I nod toward it. “I’ll find something for you to sleep in.” The thought of her in one of my shirts and nothing else sends heat streaking down my spine. I clear my throat. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”
She steps past me and trails her fingers over the pointed arches of the bed’s footboard. “Looks more like a throne than a bed.”
“All of the furniture has…history.”
She lifts an eyebrow.
“It’s old,” I clarify.
“You’re sure I’m safe here?” she asks quietly.
Safe? The questions drills into my gut. I want to swear an oath to her that I’ll keep her safe no matter what. But the truth claws at my throat. She’s been marked by the Rider and he won’t stop until—