smooth spines. Some are old, first editions, others are newer, with sleek glossy covers, and I can’t help but giggle at some of the romances she’s collected over the years. I find an old copy of fairy tales. The one of Red Riding Hood piques my interest, and I slide it out.
The cover doesn’t have an image; instead, the title is engraved in gold on the dark green jacket. I flick it open and find a handwritten note, which I scan with furrowed brows.
My darling, Grace,
As the wolf loves his damsel, so I love you.
Yours always,
C.S.
I’m not sure who C.S. is, but I must ask my gran when she returns. My grandad died before I met him, but his name was Randolf Thurston. I recall Gran telling me she would never take another man’s name, and that’s why she was always Grace Bardot.
It must be an old friend. It’s a beautiful gift. She’s always loved the old stories by the Grimm Brothers instead of the newer, less scary retellings.
Settling in one of the amber leather armchairs, I curl my legs under my butt and open the book.
A sound startles me, causing the book I’d fallen asleep holding to tumble to the floor. Another heavy crunch sends my mind reeling. The room is now drenched in black, and I glance at the fireplace where a clock hangs above the mantle. I’m not sure if the hands are correct, but if they are, I’ve slept most of the day away.
It’s almost six, which means dinner will probably be served soon. Pushing to my feet, I move to the window, wanting to find the sound that woke me, but all I see are shadows in the garden ahead. A shiver takes hold of me, and I force my sleepy body up the stairs to my bedroom to find a hoodie. Perhaps some fresh air will help me wake up.
I still can’t believe I spent my first day in Crimson Falls asleep. In my room, I discard the sweater I’d been wearing and grab the red hoodie and pull it on over my T-shirt. Donning the hood to cover my hair, I race down the stairs and out the patio doors onto the stoop, which is hard beneath my sneakers.
Light streams from the spotlights, illuminating the garden just like they did last night. A howl from somewhere in the forest has a gasp falling from my lips. There isn’t any staff outside, but I should be safe since Estelle told me there are traps for any foxes wanting to get onto the property.
I take one step off the stoop onto the lush grass, which feels as if I’m walking on a cloud.
A sound to the left of where I’m standing startles me, and I wonder if the gardener is outside doing work. “Hello?” I call out, but there isn’t any response. Shrugging, I move farther into the garden, to where I recall two of the staff picking vegetables this morning. The patch is dimly lit, and I can make out a few types of lettuce and some carrots which have been pulled out. I don’t recognize a few other plants, and I make a mental note to ask Jean-Pierre about them.
A branch cracking has me whipping my head behind me, but I don’t see anyone there. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I hear another scrape of what I can only guess is a shoe against concrete. My gaze snaps to the stoop, but there’s nobody there either.
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working!” I call out to who I can only guess is the gardener attempting to freak me out. Shaking my head, I move toward the house, and that’s when I see a large figure at the door. A scream is stuck in my throat when he moves slowly, predatorially toward me.
I can’t see his face properly, but from the shadows, I can tell he must be at least six-five with broad shoulders, and he’s wearing a dark hoodie that covers his face. Then I notice the glint of a blade in his hand. And that’s when I race through the garden.
8
Lycan
Being back in Crimson Falls is intriguing, but also, I’m anxious to get this contract in motion. The home I grew up in, the one where my memories now lie, is where I’ll bring her. Even though I haven’t been here in a long time, I know it will be the perfect place