Heart Thief - The Sinister Fairy Tales

His gaze is focused so intently on me, my feet fidget.

“You look like her.” He turns to face the fire. Silence befalls the room, all but the crackling of the embers.

“Who?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.

“Your sister.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“How did you know her?” My heart races.

“You come here to get money from us for her death?” he snarls, pouring himself another drink of burning liquid.

“Are you all like this?” I ask, walking closer to him to show him I’m not afraid.

“Like what? Assholes?” His brow raises, and for the first time, I notice his eyes are dark brown with a smudge of green through one iris. It’s bewitching.

“Cruel,” I correct him.

“Cruel?” he barks out a humorless laugh. “If I were cruel, would I have invited you in? Offered you warmth and a drink?”

“You gave me fire liquid and spat words at me to sadden me, anger me…”

He closes the space between us, and I refrain from moving, although my body is willing my legs to flee. He smells like citrus and rainwater fresh on the tree leaves.

His forefinger and thumb grip my chin, I gasp at the contact, the brutal pinch. Tilting my head back, his other hand strokes my neck so delicately, such a contrast to his grip. He descends down my chest before curling around my necklace, holding the chain up and inspecting the heart.

“How does someone from Cult Island make it here with our jewelry around their pretty little neck? Don’t your people frown against such pleasantries?”

I pull from his grip, my hand clutching my pendent. “You recognize where this came from?”

He scoffs, then turns his back to me as he lounges in a large chair, propping his foot propped up on his knee, his hands gripping the fabric of the arms.

“Of course.”

“I need to know please,” I plead, taking a few steps toward him.

His appraisal of my dress incites a shiver racing up my spine. “You need some fresh clothes.”

“I lost what I had.” Embarrassment for my attire and situation heats my cheeks.

“There will be things here you can use.” Getting to his feet, he summons me with a crook of his finger. My eyes dart in the direction of the front door, then back to him. Should I trust him? Who else do you have?

“Are you coming, little islander?” he calls.

“Yes.”

We ascend a beautiful staircase that swirls almost in a complete spiral, leading to a vast hallway. I’ve never seen so many pretty ornaments in my life.

Huge windows adorn every wall looking out to the ocean.

It’s breathtaking.

Lush red carpets feel like velvet beneath my feet. “This way.” He smirks like he holds secrets and is going to taunt me with them.

“How many people live here?” I ask, mesmerized by the size of the place.

He unlocks a door and enters a room, holding the door open for me.

It’s another huge room. Centered in the space is a bed with poles on each corner covered in drapes. There are more doors in here. It’s beautiful and probably the same size as my whole house.

I don’t realize that I’m wandering around the room, touching and exploring freely, until my eyes collide with the ominous silhouette of the man.

“Is this your room?” I ask, feeling small under the weight of his stare.

“No. It’s yours. For tonight anyway.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t.” He moves toward another door, opens it and gestures inside. “Closet. Choose something to your liking.” He steps to another door that opens into a bathroom. “Shower.”

“Your generosity is appreciated. But I have to ask why.”

“Why what?”

“Why offer me a place to stay and clothes?”

Maybe this is normal for these people.

“Because, sweet little islander, it would be cruel not to.”

His words incite a bubble of happiness to float inside me. Is this man the monsters my father is so afraid of us discovering? Maybe because there aren’t men who look like him on our island. My eyes drag over him. The suit he wears pulls taut in all the right places. Why doesn’t every man dress this way? He looks like a dream. Maybe I am dreaming…or I capsized and this is heaven. “What’s your name?”

He’s silent for a few moments, his gaze boring into me, heating my skin.

“Colt.”

Colt. I like it.

“I’m Mo—”

“Mona,” he finishes for me. My mouth pops open in surprise. With that, he leaves the room, closing the door with me inside. I want to chase after him, ask a million more questions, but the chill on my skin makes me aware of my attire. I’m so tired and sore, and in desperate need of a shower and fresh clothes.

My heart thunders in my chest, but the pull of the shower and clean clothes force me push down my anxiety. Going to the bathroom, my mouth almost unhinges. It’s immaculate white, the brightness almost blinding. Tiles cover all floors, walls, and ceiling. There’s no small, cramped cubicle, it’s just one massive space. A pipe protruded from the ceiling. A basin covers the entire back wall with a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A toilet sits in the back corner. Slipping out of my tattered dress and underwear, I go to a panel on the wall with buttons and glowing numbers. “How do I work this thing?” I muse. Suddenly, water begins to spout from the pipe and then from holes in the walls, jetting over me from everywhere, massaging my skin. It’s otherworldly. A small shelf protrudes from the back wall, stocked with shampoo that smells like spring flowers and body wash that reminds me of summer.