The Manor Bride

2. The Cut

I woke to cold sheets and the heavy quiet of the manor. The fire had burned down to ash, and the air tasted faintly of smoke and stone. My skin was damp, my heart racing — though I didn’t remember why. A dream, maybe. Or something darker.

When I touched my neck, I felt a sting. I pulled my fingers back and saw blood. Just a small smear, but fresh. I stood quickly, went to the mirror. A thin scratch ran just beneath my collarbone.

Had I done this to myself in my sleep?

The door creaked open. I froze.

He entered without a word, as if the room belonged to him — and maybe it did. Lord Ashbourne. Elias.

He wasn’t dressed formally this time. His shirt was loose, the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked less like a lord, and more like something wild pretending to be tame.

“You’re bleeding,” he said softly.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, covering the scratch with my hand. “A bad dream. Or a restless night.”

His eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

I didn’t move.

Then he was in front of me, so close I could feel the cold of his body. He gently pulled my hand away and tilted my chin with two fingers. His touch was cool, but not unpleasant. I let him.

He stared at the wound like it was something sacred. Or dangerous.

“It’s such a small cut,” he murmured. “But the scent…”

“What scent?”

He didn’t answer.

His thumb brushed over the blood, slow, almost reverent. Then he lifted his hand and brought it close to his lips — but stopped, his jaw tightening.

“You should be careful,” he said, his voice lower now. Rougher. “There are things in this house that wake at the smell of blood.”

“Are you one of them?”

His gaze snapped to mine.

“Yes,” he whispered.

I didn’t flinch. I should have. I wanted to ask more, but I couldn’t find the words.

He leaned in, just a little, and I felt his breath against my skin. Warm, but there was something cold beneath it. A hunger.

“Eliza,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Then he pulled back sharply, like he’d touched fire.

He turned away from me and went to the door. Before leaving, he said one last thing — barely audible.

“This place changes people. Be sure you want to stay.”

And then he was gone.

But even after the door clicked shut, I could still feel him. His hands. His breath. His hunger.

And a strange truth settled deep in my chest:

I wasn’t afraid.

I wanted more.

⸻

In the silence, I lifted my fingers again to the cut. It had already stopped bleeding. The skin beneath felt different — not tender, not wounded. Sensitive. As if marked.

I turned back to the mirror and studied myself.

Something about my reflection felt… off. My eyes looked darker, my cheeks flushed. I touched my lips and realized they were parted, breath shallow. He hadn’t kissed me, hadn’t touched me beyond that single brush of his thumb — but it felt like something inside me had shifted.

This house held secrets, yes. But Elias held something worse.

Something that whispered to the parts of me I didn’t know existed.

And maybe… I wanted him to wake them.