down a body that had pure steel beneath the T-shirt and jeans he wore, every muscle sculpted and defined, the strength of him fighting the seams of his clothes. He’d filled out in the ten years since I’d seen him last and had become something that froze me in place.
Dragging my eyes up to his face, I swept them across a square jaw shaded by stubble as black as his hair, across lips that were a perfect shape. His cheekbones cut beneath his eyes like blades, and our stares locked again in such a bitter hold that the shock of seeing him bled away like he’d sliced skin and had extracted every ounce of bravery inside me and replaced it with healthy fear.
He was beautiful in a terrifying way. A predator that draws you in and snaps your neck while you admire him.
How could this be the same boy I had treated so badly all those years? This wasn’t the same mouse that had scurried the halls in a rush to do as I told him. If anything, this man was a stain on the lush surface of the Rose estate, a dark entity that wouldn’t be contained.
I didn’t dare strike out at the person Callan had become. If anything, I wanted to run from him.
The room around us snapped back into focus, my momentary shock lost to the flurry of activity as the staff rushed past with my suitcases in their hands, the meager belongings I’d brought with me and neglected to unpack.
Finding my voice, I called out to them to ask what they were doing and flinched when a strong hand wrapped around my arm. Lifting my eyes back to Callan’s face, I saw the scowl curl up into a smirk.
“What are you-“
He tugged me forward before I had the chance to ask the question. More glass cut into my foot, and I cried out.
“I’m barefoot and there’s broken glass.”
Callan didn’t seem to give a damn about the pain I was in, he just kept dragging me forward until we were out in the hall, my feet tripping over themselves to keep up with his powerful stride.
My attempts to tug my arm from his grip only caused him to close his hand tighter, and I yelped in response to the punishing hold.
“Stop, damn it. What are you doing?”
The complaints fell on deaf ears, apparently. He didn’t speak to me to tell me what was going on. He kept dragging me along to leave bloody footprints in our wake, turned a corner once we hit the service hall, and hurried me along toward the servant’s wing.
Dragged down another hall, we only paused long enough for him to open a door, his grip finally releasing my arm when he shoved me inside with such force that I fell on the floor, pain shooting up my tailbone, while at the same time, my head snapped back and hit something hard.
I opened my eyes to stare up at him, expecting some explanation about what he was doing, but all he did was glare down at me as another man rounded him to stand at my bloody feet.
Callan turned and left before the second man said a word.
“Miss Rose.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I yelled, unconcerned that my behavior would be unbecoming of a lady according to my mother. I was pissed off and hurting with all the glass now embedded in my skin.
“Bring me my uncle right this fucking second. I will not let you treat me this way.”
The man grinned a practiced smile that only pissed me off more. “I haven’t done anything to you,” he answered calmly, his posture prim and expression unreadable.
“Mr. Rose, on the other hand, has decided this will be your room from now on.”
“Mr. Rose?” Confusion flooded me. “Why would Franklin want me kept in a servant’s room?”
The man didn’t bother with an answer, he simply ran his eyes down my body like I was nothing better than trash, his gaze pausing on the blood seeping from my feet before dragging his eyes back to my face.
“You may want to deal with your wounds before Gretchen arrives. She’ll want to begin your training as quickly as possible.”
A maid rushed in to drape a uniform over the twin bed shoved against a far wall, her gaze meeting mine with apology before she rushed back out again.
“I hope we selected the proper size for your uniform. If I were you, I’d be dressed and ready to go.