Five Years Later

I stumbled out of the woods, struggling to catch my breath. Sweat-damp hair stuck to my temple and irritated the back of my neck. My legs shook with every faltering step before I collapsed with utter exhaustion into a messy heap at the edge of the lawn.

Thankfully, the thing that lived inside me had curled up into a tight knot inside my gut, sated and spent.

I mentally sighed in bliss as a welcome breeze gently rustled through tall, wild grass and caressed my hot, sweaty skin. The burning in my lungs eased as I dragged cool air through my throat. Dredging up the energy to change my position, I rolled over to lie on my back and rest within the lengthening shadows of the woodland tree line that hugged our estate.

I'd burnt myself out, needing to since House Pelan was about to arrive at our home any minute now. This coming weekend was going to be a grueling task, keeping that strange power prowling beneath my skin tamed and unseen from our guests. Tamed, that was a joke. The creature lurking beneath my skin ran wild and unchecked. All I could do was unleash it and burn it out daily. And now I was older—it maturing with me—the creature needed to be let loose twice a day.

Aware I'd received a few texts while finishing up in the woodland, I slid my phone from my skirt's pocket.

At the foot of a gnarled oak, Sage—my wraith-wolf—padded forward, glaring in the direction of the grand mansion beyond the long stretch of lawn. A ridge of mist-wisped fur hackled along Sage's spine as he shimmered in and out of existence, drawing my attention from my phone to him. He'd been my constant companion these past few years and my best friend. The wraith-wolf's massive paws dug into the earth as he bared vicious teeth and snarled. Every muscle in his powerful body tensed.

My stomach sank and I bit back a groan. There was only one person who drew that kind of savage reaction from Sage—Graysen Crowther.

With a tap of my finger, two messages appeared on my phone's screen. Sure enough, both from the same jerk. I'd saved Graysen under my contact list with a more appropriate name than what was given to him at birth.

LordofDarkness: Meet me at seven sharp at your front door. And for fuck's sake remember to wear shoes this time.

And here I thought I could spend my evening without his miserable company. Godsdammit.

At 7:02 p.m. he'd sent another message.

LordofDarkness: Typical. Simple instructions, Wychthorn. Get. Your. Ass. Here. Now.

Sage shifted closer, placing his ghostly body in front of me. Obviously, Graysen was making his way here since I hadn't met him on time at the front door as so courteously requested.

Sage had been my protector for the past few years and his presence had eased back security on the family estate. No one had to shadow me since I had my wraith-wolf. Strangely, he'd been gifted to me by the Crowthers after signing the farce of a marriage contract all those years ago. It was the nicest thing Graysen had ever done for me and, funnily enough, Sage hated Graysen. My wraith-wolf was a great judge of character.

Sage erupted into motion, dancing on the spot, snapping and snarling.

Expensive leather shoes stepped into view. A low rumbling voice, like sliding rock, gritted out, "Call off your fucking dog before I kick it."

My smile faded into a thin line. Graysen always gave the same threat. But he never had kicked my wraith-wolf. Though I suspected that this time would be no different from all the others, I whispered, "Sage," and snapped my fingers.

Sage gave Graysen a threatening growl, but the wraith-wolf listened to my command and backed away.

Graysen leaned over me, squinting. "Gods you're a mess."

"Charmed," I puffed out, glaring up at him.

The intoxicating masculine scent of him, a woodsy cedar with a faint nuance of leather and smoke, drifted over me. My enhanced senses were dulled from burning out the creature, but not to the point where I couldn't feel his strange essence that sang to me every time we were in each other's company. He was a contradiction—darkness wrapped in light.

I was also hyper-aware of him, and I hated it.

It didn't help that the creature inside me was intrigued. As always, it stirred, its power stretching out to twine around him much like a cat rubbing against a wooden post before it reluctantly withdrew.

Graysen's shoulder twitched as if he felt the interest like a tangible caress. His black eyes were obscured by the angle of where he stood, but I couldn't mistake the dislike for me rolling off of him in heavy waves.

The lean, gangly boy he'd been when we'd signed the marriage contract five years ago, had been shredded away. He was tall and muscular, broad but in a more streamlined way. His voice was deeper, dark, and always bored-as-fuck.

"Looking sharp," I said, taking in the elegant black suit hugging his body. He wore no tie tonight. Supposedly this evening was a casual get-together, but I knew everyone who'd attend would be dressed in fine custom suits. Graysen's black shirt had the top buttons undone and it allowed me a peek at the tattoos that coiled up from his chest, up along one side of his neck, grazing just beneath his jawline. His wavy black hair needed a trim and an untamed cowlick dipped in front of his right eye. I'd never admit it, but I liked his hair slightly ruffled. It suited him.

Graysen's irritated gaze slithered over me. "You sure as fuck don't."

"Gods," I snapped. "I don't know why I bother."

"Me either, Wychthorn."

I angrily tore blades of grass from the earth and ground the handful until it was a sticky, green clump in my fist.

Graysen spun away and retreated to lean against an ash tree. He bent a knee and rested a foot against the tree trunk before shoving a hand into the pocket of his pants. Both of his wrists were thick with leather straps and thin silver chains. He dug his free hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and fished out a blunt and zippo. Clamping the blunt between his teeth he lit it, dragging in a breath, and expelled it a few seconds later. The sweetly rancid smoke swirled from his mouth.

I'd always thought it was deceptively casual, the threat Graysen carried with him. His size, the glimpse of tattoos coiling up his throat, and the sharp intelligence in his dark eyes gave him away. He practically hummed with dark intent, promising violence he could deliver. An arrogant self-assurance that no one could touch him.

He was a thief and killer with devastating good looks.

And I was going to marry him.

Marry? I almost snorted in derision.

Not if either of us had our way.

Silence settled between us like a scratchy, threadbare blanket.

Averting my gaze from him, I stared up at the sky and the clouds stained ocher with the sun's descent, while I regained my strength. I just needed a little more time for the shaking in my limbs to abate. Thankfully, it seemed that Graysen wasn't in any hurry to join the family gathering.

In the periphery of my vision, Graysen's movement caught my attention. He pocketed the zippo and turned his head toward the mansion, lost in thought. Good. If he was ignoring me he wasn't suspicious. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip with the hand holding the blunt, a frown creasing his forehead.

He'd only smoked a handful of times in front of me.

Part of me was curious. What was it like? Why did he smoke weed? Did he need it or merely desire its effects? The other part didn't want to ask him anything, not even if it allowed me to poke into his mind and find out a bit more about the man to whom I was promised.

Ever since I'd turned nineteen, we were forced to spend the last day of every month together. On the very first occasion, I'd tried to talk to him just to be polite. He'd merely cocked an arrogant brow and went back to messing on his phone, ignoring me. And that was how we'd spend those obligatory days in each other's company. Strangely, it had settled into something comfortable. There was the odd time we'd talked, or rather snarked at one another. But more often he'd join me wherever he found me, sit down, and use his phone to check and reply to his emails or make business calls. Sometimes he used the time to sharpen his blades or pretend to read while he kept an eye on the comings and goings of our household. Once I'd caught on to that fact, I kept him confined to places that denied him of intel on my family—much to his annoyance—like the library or the aviary or woodland. One day he'd been forced to spend the entire time in the kitchen while I baked endless batches of cookies. I'd even boxed a special batch for him to take home. He'd strode to the rubbish bin, his narrowed gaze fixed on me as he dumped the box in the trash, growling—I never eat sugary crap.

Pity, because those cookies, I'd purposely replaced the sugar with salt.

Graysen tipped his head back and heaved a weary sigh.

I blinked. Astonished. He rarely showed anything but barely concealed contempt. I levered myself up by my elbows. "Bad day at the office?"

He usually didn't answer me, so it came as another surprise when those dark eyes slid my way. "The worst."

Snorting, I poured distaste into my words. "People not die easily enough for your liking, Crowther?"

Some dark feeling washed over his features, then he shuttered it away.

I stilled, my brows nudging together with intrigue. Something clearly had unsettled him. Pushing up, I sat with my knees bent, genuinely interested in what was bothering him. "What happened?"

He glowered, shaking his head, and pressing his mouth into a firm line.

Ah, of course, he'd never explain—

Except, tonight was an exception. After a lengthy pause, he answered, "People did die. Not by me." And before I could ask, his hand cut through the air. Thin threads of smoke curled from the blunt clamped between his fingers. "You don't want to know, little bird."

Chills spider-walked down my spine. He was right. I didn't want to know. Yet...my mind imagined things...terrible things. This world of ours skulked in the shadows. And what we were, what we did serving the Horned Gods... I'd never felt comfortable with it.

I glanced around the endless lawn, at my family mansion so far away and lit up like a doll's house, while chewing on my bottom lip. Whatever it was that happened today, disturbed even him, a seasoned enforcer.

Maybe that's why he'd lit his blunt?

Movement drew me back to Graysen. He pushed off the tree. Jerking his chin toward my home, he asked, "You ready?"

I smiled, not for him, but for my sister, Evvie. Her fiancé was about to arrive with his family—the Pelans. This weekend their engagement party was to be held at our home which was the reason Graysen was here. As my intended, his presence was mandatory at family gatherings.

My elder sister, Annalise, would arrive tomorrow with her husband, Aldan.

And my friend, Danne Pelan, might even be here, right now.

My smile bloomed into a grin.

Graysen caught me beaming and scowled. "What the hells are you grinning at?"

My grin faltered. None of your business—sat on the tip of my tongue. But not even Graysen Crowther was going to spoil my good mood. Ignoring him, I drew in a deep breath, gathering my strength and steeling myself for what I needed to do—get back on my feet.

Pushing upright, I took a moment to brush the sticky locks from my forehead and peel the sweat-damp fabric of my dress from my legs. The dress needed to be thrown away. It was torn in several places and filthy with splatters of mud. Part of the skirt's sooty hem had been singed. I wasn't sure how to explain the soot and scorch marks if Graysen noticed. Which he didn't. He never noticed.

I began looking for my bag. I'd dropped it here in my haste this afternoon. Sage padded up to my side and nuzzled my hip with his nose as I poked about the long grass.

Graysen raked his gaze over my messy state. As far as he knew, I rambled the woods on daily runs. "Ever hear of activewear?"

"I don't like activewear," I tossed back as I crouched down to search the dim depth of the woodlands for my canvas messenger bag. Activewear was too tight. I didn't like tight clothing. It felt constrictive, smothering. Loose-fitting dresses of natural material that didn't cling, that's what I preferred.

I unfurled, turning back to find Graysen taking a long drag on his blunt as he considered me with half-hooded eyes. "You're always in those too-big dresses. As if being bound in material is...suffocating." A silvery haze wisped from his lips and nostrils like dragon smoke. His gaze became calculating, shrewd. As much as I liked to push him, he did the same. He shot me a smug smirk. "Don't like clothes that are too tight, little bird?" He ducked under a low-hanging tree branch as he prowled closer, swiping his gaze all over my body. Those dark eyes of his flared with intense interest. For once that bored tone was dropped, changing into a rough purr. "Please tell me you're wearing underwear."

I almost rolled my eyes. Of course, I was. Instead, I gifted a sly smile. "Maybe...maybe not." I regretted teasing him the moment something sensual and predatory glinted in the depths of his gaze.

I made a disgusted noise at the back of my throat. Gods, he was a pig—and whirled away to return to my search.

Ah, there. My bag.

I'd tossed it into the tussock that feathered the roots of a willow. I spent so much time out in the woodlands I usually packed a supply of snacks and a bottle of water, a book, and a cozy blanket. Scooping out the water bottle, I drank deeply, relishing the cool liquid that soothed my parched throat. Capping the bottle, I spoke to Graysen. "I'm good now if you want to go."

His head swiveled my way, staring at me as if I was stupid. You know what, he was right, I was stupid in actually talking to him like he was a nice guy. Because Graysen Crowther was not a nice guy. At all.

He flicked his finished blunt at me. It fell short, smoldering in the wild grass beside my left foot. "I'm not going anywhere with you looking like that."

What could I say to that, seriously? "Gods, you're an asshole."

He ran a hand through his thick hair, shrugging as if to say—yeah, so?

I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder and walked away. I would have liked to have stalked across the lawn as fast as possible, but that wasn't my reality right now, so my steps were slow and measured. Sage kept pace beside me while I heard Grayson grumbling something so low even I couldn't make out what he'd said, but he quickly caught up and the three of us headed toward the mansion.

***

Tonight, Graysen was full of surprises.

He was waiting for me outside my bedroom. Leaning his back against the hallway wall, a deep scowl creased his forehead and features as his thumbs stabbed a message on his phone.

My mouth gaped a little, stunned to find him there. "You waited for me?"

I'd quickly showered and slipped into a dress of ivory, excited and skitterish with anticipation to be seeing my new friend—Danne. I'd slicked on lip-gloss and mascara and hastily tamed my hair into a fishtail braid. Pretty, I hoped.

Graysen glanced up, squinting as if something was different about me but he couldn't work out what. His gaze lowered back to his phone and his thumbs recommenced moving, as he replied, "I'm in no rush to meet those wanker Pelans."

I hissed through my teeth. Of course, it was about the Pelans and nothing, whatsoever, to do with me. I strode past with Sage at my heels.

Behind me, I heard a low, irritated growl that didn't come from my wraith-wolf.

I spun back. Graysen was still leaning against the wall but his head was tipped toward the ceiling, staring upwards with a black glare. "Shoes. For fuck's sake—shoes."

Glancing down at my bare feet, I burst into laughter, that bounced down the hallway. Traipsing back to my rooms, I rummaged around in my walk-in closet and found a pair of high heels. Right before I left my quarters, I snatched up one of the dusty old tomes I'd unearthed recently in my family library.

When I rejoined Graysen outside in the hallway, my smile was gone and my jaw clenched tighter with every annoyed step as I fell in beside him. I shot him a dark look, one he returned.

I really hated shoes.

Perhaps I hated Graysen more, which was certainly saying something.

Liar—the creature chuckled.

Mentally, I huffed back at it in irritation refusing to acknowledge the truth in its opinion.

Graysen and I strode in silence through the vastness of my home. We left the emptiness of my wing to traverse the endless hallways and elegant open spaces that showcased our wealth and long reign in antiques and treasures, heading toward my mother's favorite room where we all were gathering tonight.

Even before we reached the smoky-glass doors at the end of a long stretch of hallway, a wave of noise crashed over me. Clashing sounds fought for my attention. It was like quickly scrolling through the bandwidth of a radio—opposing stations cutting through minuscule pockets of silence. A reckless symphony with no melody.

With my enhanced hearing, I could hear every single person behind those doors and what they were saying and doing.

Gushing over Paris—its fashion and nightlife.

Polite comments on the room, the estate, and our taste in furnishing.

Questions regarding our family—When was my elder sister's baby due?

How was the journey from the Carpellean mountains to our estate?—Long and dull.

I hummed a low note.

Graysen cocked an eyebrow, giving me an odd look, but I ignored him to concentrate on the humming vibration in my throat. I latched onto the low timbre to drown out the chink of crystal and pouring liquid; chewing mouths and swallowing throats; whispers of fabric, footsteps, and conversation.

Just focus.

Focus on silence.

It took as long as the walk down the hallway, Sage keeping pace by my side, to push aside all those sounds and bring up a wall of white noise.

Our family's guards stood on either side of the smoky-glass doors and on our arrival, they opened them up for us, and then we were sweeping past, stepping inside my mother's favorite room.

This was a smaller, more intimate room than many others that graced our home. Gold embossed paper with a garden motif adorned the walls; a theme that was followed through by the many potted plants beautifying the room. Light spilled from a crystal tear-drop chandelier onto parquet flooring, polished cane, and rattan seating.

My mother greeted me with a slight slur to her speech. "Nelle, sweetheart." She never drank, but she chewed back those tiny, white pills like tic-tacs.

Graysen bowed. "Marissa."

She gave a slight dip of her head and replied politely, "Graysen." Her fingers twitched nervously as she brushed a hand over the graying hair at her temple, averting her gaze quickly as if the sight of him scalded her.

Her gaze returned to me and she frowned. "Oh, come here, Nelle. Let me fix your hair." I hugged my book to my chest, trying not to squirm as she fussed with the tendrils that I hadn't quite managed to weave into my fishtail braid. She tucked them into place before drawing a step back to gaze at me with wonder. "You look so pretty tonight."

I tried to ignore the dark eyes by my side studying me. A slash of inky brows drew forward as Graysen finally took me in—how I looked and what I was wearing. Surprise flared briefly across his handsome features. Yes, it wasn't often I played up my looks with makeup. But tonight was different. Tonight, Danne was here.