A Cut so Deep (Thornes & Roses 1)

31

Nesrin

The hallways are like a maze of cool brick and dimly lit bulbs. The eeriness of the castle itself makes me shiver. I find a door, push it open, and step into a library that looks like heaven for a book lover. Books line three of the four walls, with colorful spines from floor to ceiling. I shut myself inside and move deeper into the room.

I’ll find you, even in the dark.

Damien’s words linger in my mind, as I find myself at the window overlooking the grounds that stretch into the distance. Even in the dark, I can make out just how large the property is.

Heavy velvet curtains hang on either side of the arched window, and I smile, knowing I have my hiding spot if the door were to whoosh open. This night has taken on a sinister feeling, which has me shivering. Soon enough, the snow will arrive, and we’ll be in the throes of winter, but for now, the mild weather seems to be holding out. I wonder if that’s why they have this ball so early.

“Gotcha.” A deep voice startles me, causing me to spin on my heels and come face to face with Creed Haven. In the darkness, he looks sinister as he approaches me. A salacious grin breaks on his ruggedly handsome face and a shiver races down my spine, making me tremble. My throat is thick with a lump of worry, and my stomach somersaults when his head tilts to the side, his eyes taking me in from head to toe.

“How?” I glance at the door; it’s still shut. I didn’t hear him enter. I didn’t even notice him until he spoke.

He turns, gesturing to another door, which I didn’t notice earlier. It’s hidden in the corner of the room nestled between two bookshelves. “My bedroom is on the other side,” he tells me when his dark gaze lands on me once more.

“So, you hide out here to scare girls?” I ask, trying to sound confident, but the slight squeak that escapes my lips when he closes the distance is unmistakable.

“I do. The fear that I see dancing in those pretty eyes makes my dick hard.” He chuckles, and his hand grabs at his crotch as if he’s proud of the admission.

“You’re sick,” I bite out. Damien was right; he’s definitely nothing like Creed. I know they were friends for a while, but something tells me that Creed wouldn’t think twice about taking what a girl isn’t offering.

“I like to call it, determined,” he tells me, before turning away. A breath, I had been holding, escapes in relief. I watch him move through the room toward the trolley, holding decanters of all colors. He pours himself a drink and glances at me over his shoulder. “Drink?”

I shake my head, unable to find words. When we’re around others, he comes across as normal, but here in the dimly lit room, he definitely scares me.

“Why are you in here?”

“I sniffed out prey, and as a hunter, I wanted to peek at the pretty girl who entered my library.” He speaks, but his focus is on his glass. Even though he’s not looking at me, I feel his eyes roaming my frame. The silver light from the moon streams through the moment a cloud passes, allowing the illumination to cast a spell around us.

“Your library?”

“Yes, my father gifted it to me when I turned thirteen,” he tells me. “I have a love of the written word.” He swallows back the drink, before setting the empty glass down and turning his attention on me. “Are you in love with him?”

His question stills me for a short moment, before I realize he’s asking about Damien. I don’t know about love, but I do have feelings for him.

“Love is a wasted emotion,” I mimic Damien’s words from the first night I spent at Thorne Manor.

“I see my best friend has been rubbing off on you,” Creed murmurs. “It is wasted, but only on those who don’t offer it back. Damien is a special breed of male.”

“And you?”

“Oh, Darling, I’m nothing like him. You see, Damien may want to appear dangerous, feral, but he’s not. Down to his core, he’s a gentleman.”

“And you’re not?” I know the answer, but I ask it anyway. Creed is something else entirely, and now I see why Damien didn’t want me around him. He doesn’t seem apologetic when he glances at me. I watch him settle on a long black couch that faces the window. He crosses one ankle over the opposite knee and drapes his arm across the back.

“I don’t like not being obeyed.” His words drip with malice. “I don’t like being made a fool of, and I certainly don’t appreciate being lied to.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this. “I’m sure you’ve seen the redhead who follows Damien around like a puppy.”