CRAVES

THE HOUSE OF RAVENCREST

The drive to Ravenwood Manor was quiet.

Amelia sat beside the window, watching the city slowly disappear behind them. The familiar streets gave way to taller trees, wider roads and houses hidden behind iron gates.

Bryan sat opposite her.

He had said very little since they left the café.

That worried her more than if he had been talking.

She looked at him several times.

Each time, he was staring through the window.

His face gave nothing away.

But his hand had remained closed around his phone since they'd left.

She finally looked away.

The car turned onto a narrow road surrounded by trees.

She had been to Ravenwood Manor before, but never this late in the evening.

The place looked different at night.

The tall iron gates opened before the car reached them.

Amelia sat straighter.

Beyond the gates, the long driveway stretched between rows of ancient trees. Small lamps had been placed along the path, their light barely reaching the branches above.

The mansion appeared gradually through the darkness.

Huge windows.

Stone walls.

Tall towers.

Warm light glowing behind several of the windows.

It didn't look like a home.

It looked like a place that had been standing there long before the city around it existed.

The car stopped beneath the covered entrance.

Bryan got out first.

He walked around to her side and opened the door.

Amelia stepped down.

She adjusted her bag.

Bryan held out his hand.

She looked at it.

Then at him.

"What?"

"You'll slip."

She looked down at her shoes.

They were perfectly fine.

Still, she placed her hand in his.

He helped her out.

The moment she stood, he didn't let go immediately.

His thumb rested lightly against the back of her hand.

His eyes moved over her face.

Checking again.

She noticed.

"You've been doing that all day."

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like I'm about to disappear."

His fingers loosened.

"You might."

She didn't know how to answer that.

He released her hand.

Benedict opened the main doors before they reached them.

The old butler's gaze moved from Bryan to Amelia.

Then to their joined hands.

Bryan noticed.

So did Amelia.

They separated almost immediately.

Benedict's expression remained perfectly neutral.

"Your room has been prepared."

Amelia nodded.

She stepped inside.

The familiar warmth of the manor surrounded her.

A fire burned in the enormous fireplace.

The chandeliers cast soft light across the marble floor.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

She removed her coat.

Bryan took it before she could reach for the hanger.

He placed it carefully over his arm.

"Have you eaten?"

She shook her head.

His eyebrows drew together.

"I wasn't hungry."

"You should eat."

She gave him a look.

"I ate at the café."

"What?"

She thought about it.

"A pastry."

His expression became unimpressed.

"A pastry isn't dinner."

"It's food."

"Technically."

She almost smiled.

He turned toward Benedict.

"Prepare something."

Benedict nodded.

Amelia watched him leave.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

He said it so simply that she didn't argue.

...

Dinner was served in a smaller room rather than the enormous dining hall.

Amelia appreciated that.

The large table had always made her feel as though she were sitting in the middle of a museum.

Tonight, there were only two plates.

Bryan sat opposite her.

She picked up her fork.

He watched.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to stare until I finish?"

A faint smile appeared.

"No."

He looked away.

She began eating.

For several minutes, there was only the quiet sound of cutlery.

It wasn't uncomfortable.

That surprised her.

She had expected the tension from earlier to follow them inside.

Instead, sitting across from Bryan felt strangely normal.

Almost peaceful.

Until her phone vibrated.

She stopped eating.

Bryan looked up.

The screen displayed an unknown number.

Her fingers hovered over it.

She didn't answer.

The phone stopped.

A few seconds later, another message arrived.

She opened it.

A photograph filled the screen.

Her stomach dropped.

It was the café.

Taken from across the street.

The photograph showed her standing behind the counter that morning.

Beneath it was a message.

You should have listened.

Her fingers went cold.

Bryan noticed.

He stood.

"What is it?"

She handed him the phone.

His eyes moved over the photograph.

The softness disappeared from his face.

He took the phone with him as he walked toward the window.

His reflection stared back from the dark glass.

He pressed his fingers against the screen.

A second message appeared.

She doesn't belong to you.

Bryan's jaw tightened.

Amelia stood.

"Bryan."

He didn't answer.

She walked closer.

His hand closed around the phone.

"Who are they?"

He looked at her.

"Someone who wants me angry."

"Why?"

"Because anger makes people careless."

She folded her arms.

"I'm already involved."

His eyes remained on hers.

"I know."

"Then tell me the truth."

Silence.

He looked away.

She waited.

He seemed to be struggling with something.

Not whether to tell her.

Whether she could handle what he wanted to tell her.

Finally, he placed the phone on the table.

"There are people who don't want this marriage to continue."

She stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because of who I am."

She frowned.

"You're rich. I already knew that."

His expression changed slightly.

Not amusement.

Something else.

"You don't know everything."

"I know."

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then stepped closer.

She didn't move.

"You're in danger because of me."

Her voice was quiet.

"Are you dangerous?"

The question caught him.

For the first time that evening, Bryan looked genuinely uncertain.

His gaze lowered.

Then returned to hers.

"Yes."

She swallowed.

"To me?"

A long pause.

"No."

She believed him.

That frightened her more than anything.

Because she couldn't explain why.

...

Later that night, Amelia stood in the hallway outside her bedroom.

She couldn't sleep.

The manor felt different.

She had spent enough nights here to know its sounds.

The occasional creak of the old floorboards.

Wind moving against the windows.

The faint ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs.

Tonight, there was something else.

Footsteps.

She opened her door.

The hallway was empty.

She stepped out.

The sound came again.

From downstairs.

She moved quietly toward the staircase.

Halfway down, she saw Bryan.

He stood near the front entrance.

His coat was already on.

A black leather glove covered one hand.

The other rested against the door.

He looked toward the windows.

Amelia descended another step.

He turned immediately.

Their eyes met.

"You should be sleeping."

She shook her head.

"Couldn't."

His expression softened.

He walked toward the staircase.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking something."

"At midnight?"

"Yes."

She looked at the coat.

"You're leaving."

His gaze remained on her.

"I'll be back."

She descended the remaining steps.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't answer.

She stopped in front of him.

"You're the one who said I was in danger because of you. Now you're leaving me here without telling me where you're going?"

His eyes softened.

"I won't be gone long."

She crossed her arms.

He looked at her for a moment.

Then reached toward her.

His fingers caught the sleeve of her shirt.

Not her wrist.

Just the fabric.

He gave the smallest pull.

Enough to bring her a step closer.

She looked down at his hand.

Then back at him.

His mouth curved slightly.

"Go upstairs."

She shook her head.

"You're impossible."

"I've been told."

She almost smiled.

He released her sleeve.

Then his gaze dropped.

She was barefoot.

He frowned.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I took them off."

"On the stairs?"

"I wasn't planning to go anywhere."

He crouched.

Amelia froze.

Bryan reached toward her foot.

She instinctively stepped back.

He stopped.

His eyes lifted to hers.

"You have a small cut."

She looked down.

A tiny scrape ran across the side of her foot.

She hadn't noticed.

Bryan's gaze remained fixed on it.

For one strange second, his expression changed.

His pupils seemed darker.

His jaw tightened.

He stood abruptly.

"Stay here."

He turned away.

She stared after him.

"Bryan?"

He stopped.

His shoulders were rigid.

When he finally looked back, his face was composed again.

Almost.

"Please."

The word was quiet.

She nodded.

He disappeared through the front doors.

The sound of the lock echoed through the entrance hall.

Amelia remained where she was.

She looked down at her foot.

The cut was barely anything.

Yet whatever Bryan had seen...

Had frightened him.

She slowly walked back upstairs.

She didn't know it yet, but that tiny wound had given her the first glimpse of something Bryan had spent weeks trying to hide.

And outside Ravenwood Manor...

Bryan stood beneath the trees with his head bowed.

His hands were clenched at his sides.

The scent of her blood still lingered in his senses.

Fresh.

Warm.

Close.

His eyes had turned crimson.

He closed them.

Breathed in slowly.

Then again.

He could hear her heartbeat through the walls.

Steady.

Unaware.

His fingers curled tighter.

The stone beneath his palm cracked.

He stepped farther into the darkness.

Away from the house.

Away from her.

Because for the first time since the contract began, Bryan was terrified of what might happen if he stayed too close.