CRAVES

WHAT HE WAS HIDING

Amelia didn't sleep.

She tried.

She turned onto one side, pulled the blanket over herself, then threw it back a few minutes later. The room was warm enough, but she couldn't stop thinking about the way Bryan had looked downstairs.

He had been afraid.

Not angry.

Not annoyed.

Afraid.

And somehow, that bothered her more.

She sat up and looked toward the door.

Nothing.

The corridor beyond it remained silent.

She reached for her phone.

12:47 a.m.

She placed it back on the bedside table.

A minute passed.

Then another.

She finally got out of bed.

The floor was cold beneath her feet.

She opened the door carefully and stepped into the hallway.

The manor looked completely different at night.

During the day, sunlight softened the old walls and made the place feel almost welcoming. At this hour, the shadows seemed deeper. The portraits along the corridor watched from their frames, their painted faces illuminated by the faint lamps between them.

She walked downstairs.

The front doors were locked.

Bryan wasn't there.

She looked through the glass.

Nothing but darkness and trees.

She turned toward the sitting room.

A fire had been left burning.

She sat on the edge of the sofa.

Her thoughts returned to the cut on her foot.

It had been tiny.

Barely worth noticing.

Yet Bryan had reacted as though she'd handed him a loaded weapon.

She rubbed her arms.

There was something about him she didn't understand.

Something everyone else seemed to know except her.

The way Benedict sometimes went quiet when Bryan entered a room.

The way Cassian watched her whenever she was near Bryan.

The way Bryan avoided certain questions.

The way he never ate properly in front of her.

The way he always seemed to know when she was coming before she made a sound.

And now this.

She leaned back against the sofa.

Maybe she had been too trusting.

The thought made her sit upright.

She remembered the contract.

The money.

The promise.

She had signed it because she needed an escape.

She hadn't expected to care about the man she'd married.

That was the part she hadn't planned for.

The front doors opened.

She jumped.

Bryan stepped inside.

He stopped when he saw her.

His coat was damp.

A few dark strands of hair had fallen over his forehead.

His expression softened.

"What are you doing here?"

She shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep."

He closed the door.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then he walked toward her.

She noticed something immediately.

His eyes looked normal again.

No trace of the strange darkness she'd seen earlier.

He stopped in front of the sofa.

"You should go back upstairs."

She looked at him.

"You say that a lot."

A faint smile appeared.

"I have good reasons."

"You're not going to tell me what they are."

It wasn't a question.

His smile disappeared.

He sat on the opposite chair.

The fire crackled between them.

She studied him.

He looked tired.

Not physically.

Something deeper.

As though he'd been carrying something for a very long time.

"You can tell me."

His gaze lifted.

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever you're hiding."

Silence.

He looked toward the fire.

"Everyone hides something."

"Not everyone disappears into the woods because their wife has a tiny cut."

His eyes returned to hers.

She hadn't meant to say it so bluntly.

But she didn't regret it.

A small breath escaped him.

Almost a laugh.

"You noticed."

"I notice a lot."

"I know."

There was that tiny smile again.

The one that always appeared when she caught him paying attention to her.

She leaned forward.

"Why did you leave?"

He didn't answer.

She waited.

Eventually, he said, "Because I didn't trust myself."

Her expression changed.

"With me?"

His eyes held hers.

"Yes."

The answer was quiet.

It should have frightened her.

Instead, it made her curious.

She looked down at her hands.

"Should I be afraid of you?"

Bryan didn't answer immediately.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer.

"Not tonight."

She looked up.

"That's not exactly comforting."

"I know."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

She smiled despite herself.

The tension eased slightly.

Then Bryan noticed the way she was sitting.

Her bare feet rested against the cold floor.

He frowned.

"You're still barefoot."

She looked down.

"So?"

He stood.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he disappeared into the hallway.

He returned with a pair of soft house slippers.

He placed them beside her feet.

She stared at them.

Then at him.

"You went to get slippers?"

"Yes."

"You could have just told me to wear shoes."

"I did."

"You didn't."

"I told you to go upstairs."

She laughed quietly.

He looked pleased with himself.

It was barely noticeable.

But she saw it.

She slipped her feet into the slippers.

Bryan sat again.

For a while, neither spoke.

The fire warmed the room.

Outside, wind moved through the trees.

Amelia watched the flames.

"You know..."

Bryan glanced at her.

"I thought you'd be horrible."

One eyebrow lifted.

"Thank you."

She smiled.

"When we first met, you looked like someone who'd never smiled in his life."

"I don't smile often."

"I noticed."

He looked at her.

Then, very deliberately, the corner of his mouth curled upward.

She laughed.

"There. That's better."

He shook his head.

She noticed the small change in his expression.

He liked hearing her laugh.

That realization came quietly.

She wasn't sure why it mattered.

But it did.

...

The following morning, Amelia woke to sunlight.

For a few seconds, she forgot where she was.

Then she remembered the manor.

The threats.

Bryan.

She sat up.

A folded piece of paper rested on the bedside table.

She reached for it.

Her name was written across the front.

She opened it.

Breakfast is downstairs. Don't skip it.

No signature.

She smiled.

Of course.

She dressed and went downstairs.

Bryan was already there.

He stood near the large windows, dressed in a dark suit.

She stopped at the entrance.

He turned.

His eyes moved over her briefly.

Then his expression softened.

"Morning."

She nodded.

"Morning."

She walked toward the table.

A plate had already been prepared for her.

She looked at it.

Then at him.

"You did this?"

"I asked Benedict."

She smiled.

"Still counts."

He pulled out the chair for her.

She sat.

He pushed it back gently.

Then took his place opposite her.

She began eating.

Halfway through breakfast, Bryan's phone rang.

He answered.

His expression changed almost immediately.

He listened.

Then looked toward Amelia.

She noticed.

He ended the call.

"What?"

He placed the phone on the table.

"The council wants to see me."

Her fork stopped.

"About me?"

"About the marriage."

She lowered it.

"Why?"

"They've started asking questions."

"About what?"

Bryan looked at her.

"Why I chose you."

She frowned.

"Can't you just tell them you needed a wife?"

"I did."

"And?"

"They don't believe me."

She looked down at her plate.

"What do they think?"

His answer came quietly.

"They think you're more important than you realize."

She stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

Bryan didn't answer.

A knock sounded at the dining room door.

Benedict entered.

He looked serious.

"There is a visitor."

Bryan stood.

"Who?"

Benedict's gaze moved briefly toward Amelia.

Then back to Bryan.

"Your father."

The room went still.

Bryan's expression changed.

For the first time since Amelia had known him, genuine anger flashed across his face.

"He's not welcome here."

"He insists."

Bryan's jaw tightened.

"Where is he?"

"At the front gate."

Amelia slowly stood.

"Who is your father?"

Bryan looked at her.

The answer seemed to weigh on him.

"My father has been dead for three hundred years."

Her face went blank.

Benedict lowered his eyes.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then Bryan walked toward the door.

Amelia followed.

He stopped.

"Stay here."

She shook her head.

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and gently caught her hand.

His fingers closed around hers.

"Please."

This time, there was something different in his voice.

Not authority.

Not command.

Fear.

She squeezed his hand once.

Then released it.

Bryan left the room.

Amelia remained standing there.

Three hundred years.

His father had been dead for three hundred years.

Yet someone was waiting beyond the gates.

Someone who apparently knew Bryan well enough to use his father's name.

And somewhere inside the manor, beneath the calm surface of everything she'd begun to trust...

Another secret had just opened its door.