comes to me and takes me for hours, in positions I’ve never imagined, before he carries me to the bathroom to clean me up. Most mornings, he’s gone before I wake.
I’ve not yet seen his bed, which I suspect is his way of ensuring that I remember what this is between us, and I do. But I want more, and I hate that about all of this. I hate that his touch lingers for far longer than I care to admit, and that the sound of his voice consistently leaves my panties a soaked mess, as if I’ve somehow been primed and trained to respond to it that way. The dreams of him, in his absence, have grown more vivid, darker than before, and I’ve begun to fear them less. Just as the sounds and shadows in my room at night no longer startle me awake.
My cravings have also intensified.
This morning, during my shower, I let the water from the spigot run over my face, as I touched myself, aroused by the lack of breath. The memory of Lucian’s riveted expression in the cave that night, sparkling with some kindred understanding, swirled inside my head while the evidence of my climax ran down my leg.
I haven’t decided yet, whether I’ll go home for the weekend, or spend it at the manor, as Lucian insisted. Aside from the brief visit to the bar, I haven’t seen much of Aunt Midge. But maybe I need a couple days away from him. To distance myself from this growing obsession that’s sure to destroy what we’ve established between us.
I don’t know what’s happened to me in the last week, but since that night in the cave, my preoccupations with the master of this manor have brought me to a heightened need that scares me a little. As if he’s the only one who could possibly understand my sudden fascination with this newfound thrill.
Outside, a black object flutters by my window, breaking my thoughts. It hobbles and flits about the sill on the other side, but the black wings are unmistakable. A raven, or crow. When it finally settles, it tips its head, and I stare down at the bird with the missing eyeball. Perhaps the one I saw the first day, while riding with Aunt Midge. The strange bird caws and flaps its wings again, and in seconds, it takes flight, smacking into the glass.
My muscles flinch, and I step back, frowning. The bird hits the window again. And again. As if it’s trying to come inside, not aware of the barrier there. Its squawks grow louder, and its determination to come through has me backing farther into the room, until the door on the opposite side hits my spine. The obnoxious cawing continues, and I slip out of my bedroom, deciding to head to Laura’s room early today. A tremor hums beneath my skin as I glance back to my room, to be sure it didn’t break through, before shuffling down the hallway to the first floor.
When I enter Laura’s room, Dr. Powell is packing up his bag, stuffing a stethoscope inside. Laura smiles as she sits watching him. The new nurse, who I’ve not yet met, bustles about the bed, and pauses to toss the blue pad into the trash.
“Ah, look who’s here, Laura. Your babysitter has arrived!”
“Companion. And she isn’t terrible. I suppose.” She seems to have her wits about her more today. Perhaps the doctor’s presence has this effect? Or maybe the new nurse is a welcomed change.
“I’ve altered her dosing a bit, so she should be less …” Dr. Powell circles his finger next to his ear, his words confirming my observations of her. “Cuckoo.”
“Stop it.” Laura slaps his arm and gives a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m not losing my mind just yet.”
“You were for a bit, there.” I tuck the blanket around her legs, and smooth down a flyaway hair.
“Well, I certainly haven’t forgotten in that time what a nuisance you are.”
“She’s warming up to you nicely, I see.” Brows lowered, the doctor jerks his head. “May I have a word with you? It’ll only be a moment.”
“A word? Alone? Is it about me?” Running her fingers over her necklace, Laura smiles up at Dr. Powell.
Bending slightly forward, he takes Laura’s hand and leaves a kiss to her knuckles. “Of course not, darling. I’m sure it’ll come as a surprise to know not every topic is about you. I’m off to my next appointment, so you stay out of