My favorite was the one right in the center though, an elegant woman with wings and angular features. Two small fangs dipped over her bottom lip and stone eyes stared at me with interest. I stood up and narrowed my eyes at the statue, trying to work through the odd feeling of it watching me, because that was clearly irrational. Right?
Shaking myself from my insanity, I found my way back through the maze, the sky a slightly darker tone for only being mid-afternoon, darker than when I’d entered. As usual, it seemed as though hours had passed without notice while in the twisty, ever-blooming, maze. To be fair, that was one of the less freaky things that had occurred to me. At least time gaps could be explained away by being distracted or having daydreams. These other occurrences? Not so much.
I nibbled my lip, stepping through the back door and slipping off my jacket and boots. I squeezed out my hair that seemed to always attract moisture before walking into the kitchen. Immediately, my eyes traced the many shadows that seemed to float right out of sight. The same ones that scared and comforted me when they stood around my bed at night, whispering things I didn’t understand.
Maybe I had lost it.
“What do you do when you’re out there?” Alice asked from where she sat at the kitchen table. In front of her laid a large sketchbook. She was a fantastic artist, from what I heard, but she never showed anyone but her sister her work.
I didn’t blame her, I didn’t like to play harp around other people. That almost made me smile because I had played massive concerts for people, yet a private performance was somehow very different. Felt more intimate.
“Nothing much,” I admitted with a shrug, “I mostly relax.”
She watched me with an expressionless face, “What’s at the center of the maze?”
“You’ve never been?” I wondered authentically, her dark eyes stayed focused on me attentively. Sometimes their gaze felt far older than how they appeared, something that made me feel very apprehensive.
“No,” she sighed, closing her sketchbook and running a hand through her blonde hair, “I always get lost.”
“Do you want to go?” I asked my brow dipping.
“No.” She stood up and walked out of the kitchen without another word. So odd.
Really though, how the heck did I get pegged as the weird one in this situation? I shook my head and went to make myself a cup of tea.
The entire house was so dark and shadowed, especially as the afternoon stretched on. Antique furniture, dusty and covered in sheets, paired with dim lighting, made the space feel heavy and the stench of old perfume practically suffocated me.
I placed the tea bag inside my mug and hit the instant hot water, the cup turning a deep blue that matched the blueberry flavor of the tea. I had to admit, that was an improvement and change Denise insisted that I agreed with. A brand-new kitchen. Just made sense to me.
I could feel eyes on me as my skin prickled, but as I’d stated, that had become somewhat of a norm for me. Walking towards the massive staircase, I shook my head trying to not feel immensely creeped out. I’d never been one to believe in the paranormal, but I couldn’t deny that the house seemed to be living and breathing in shadows. Making me feel both scared and comforted, which shouldn’t have been possible.
As I trailed up the stairs, my eyes tracked the two flights I still had to climb. I wasn’t positive why my stepmother had placed me in such a large suite on the top floor, originally the attic, except that it could ensure that I wouldn’t be able to sneak out. It also kept me out of sight of the others. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of me, at least not fully, but I was like the moon compared to her sunlit daughters. I imagined she had no idea what to do with me.
A sound, like someone on the stairs, creaked behind me and I snapped my head around. My breathing hitched but there was nothing. No one.
I inhaled, shaking my head and walked just a bit faster until I came to a massive door in the foyer of the third staircase landing. I gripped the big handle and yanked it open. Sliding into my room, I slammed and locked the door securely.
Exhaling I shook my head. I hated that panicked feeling, like something was right behind me, right about to reach out and grab me. I mumbled a curse and turned on the lights that had replaced candles in my chandelier.
The living room suite and attached bathroom occupied most of the room. Except for the hand-carved, wood-framed, glass doors that led to my bedroom, everything was in dark rich tones. The fireplace had me imagining that I was somehow living in a different world than everyone else. Sometimes I would see the fire dance as if it was little figurines turning and twisting.
I could create entire worlds in my mind. Sometimes when I was dreaming, or I dozed off in class, the room would explode in color. Those boring cream-colored walls would change into vibrant rainbows, and plants would break through the windows, filling the space with life and breaking the dull stiff air.
My cell buzzed from the coffee table in front of a pair of light green velvet couches, drawing me out of my thoughts. I picked it up, the smooth device cool in my hand, and frowned, not recognizing the number. I shook my head and hit ‘decline,’ if it was important they would call again.
“What if that had been important?”
A masculine voice had me letting out a small scream, jumping, and dropping my teacup. Boiling water and shards of ceramic landing everywhere, including my sock-covered foot.
“Fuck!” I stifled a cry, pulling my foot back and hitting the wall near my fireplace. My eyes blurred with tears, trying to focus on a rather large shadowed figure. Panic pulsed through me and pushed away the pain. My heartbeat was rapidly firing because…there was a huge fucking dude in my room.
“Hell!” he snarled, his voice low and rough, appearing in front of me, impossibly fast and making me flinch back. “I didn’t think you would be so goddamn clumsy and manage to hurt yourself.”
Instead of saying anything, I froze. Absolutely went still, because the energy radiating off this man was otherworldly…I couldn’t describe it any other way. It was natural and raw.
The scent of lemon surrounding the space as I inhaled sharply, his rich green grass eyes examining my expression. His body was tense, but he didn’t move forward or even say anything, both of us clearly at a loss at what the hell was going on.
My biggest question? Why was I not more panicked? Why was he so hot? No seriously. This guy had shoulders that were twice as wide as mine, and stood at least 6’2. His artfully styled, black hair messy and a sharp contrast against his pale skin.
Dark tattoos littered that alabaster skin of his arms. His pushed up Henley and jeans made him look all that much more dangerous. My eyes fell on a scar that he had running through his left brow and I had the inappropriate urge to kiss it.
Oh, god. I had officially lost it.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded softly, my voice squeaking at the end.
Instead of answering at first, he just stared at me. He had crouched down in front of me and his eyes were searching my face looking an odd mixture of concern and pissed off.
“Oliver Grimald,” he stated just as quietly, his head tilting in a predatory movement.
I felt my center tighten, and my skin broke out into shivers, the pain mostly forgotten. Crap this guy was sexy.
He lifted a hand and cupped my jaw gently, a dark look passing over his bright eyes before he pulled back.