Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
She stepped back again. Why did it feel as though she’d just been found out? Like actually found out—not just that he was being spied on, but that she was doing the spying. Not even shifters had that kind of perception. No one did.
Eyes narrowed like his had been, she hurried to follow, with Ivy House leading the way. This was an act; it had to be. Part of his swagger. He knew how to react in such a way that anyone would think he’d marked them personally.
The next room would become the art room, and she decided she was done hiding in the walls.
“Let me out into the hall,” she whispered firmly.
The house didn’t balk, and the lights guided her around a corner and to a dead end. She paused, waiting, and Ivy House waited with her.
“Can you help?” she whispered. “I don’t have enough light to find a latch.”
Wind blew through the tunnel, the effect sounding like shhh.
Too distracted to be freaked out, she waited until the latch popped. Moving slowly, she snuck out and then turned back, not entirely shutting the door. If she had to make a run for it—for whatever reason—she wanted to get back into the relative safety of the tunnels. She’d endure Ivy House’s taunting via murals about her cowardice later.
Light from around the corner cut through the dark hall. She stopped just out of sight, listening for sounds. A door creaked, and then the floor. He’d entered the room.
Heart pounding when usually the sneaking game calmed her into an almost meditative state, she peered around the corner. A boot and the tip of a wing were all she saw, slipping behind the doorframe into the room.
Moving swiftly with silent footfalls, something that would be the case even without the potion, she reached the door and flattened to the wall. Another board creaked within the room, way off to the side. The rooms up here were all large—this one in particular. She clearly had some wiggle room.
Slinking closer, she saw him hovering near the wall, looking at a picture that hung just below his eye level.
Naomi—Nessa hadn’t earned the rare privilege to call her Mimi—had rehung most of the house’s most valuable paintings in here. There was no rhyme or reason behind the positioning of the paintings, since they’d all be moved. The goal had simply been to put the pieces that would be in the museum in the space earmarked for it. After much contemplation, she’d decided against wrapping them in plastic or encasing them in glass, worried she’d somehow upset whatever phenomenon had kept their aging at bay.
She hadn’t yet realized that the phenomenon was Ivy House. The house protected what belonged to it, especially the things that had value. If Nessa had been on that list, she probably wouldn’t feel as nervous as she did at this particular moment.
Holding her breath, she slipped into the room, staying near the wall.
He can’t see me, she thought, her heart still thumping. He can’t see me. He can’t see me.
He moved to the next painting, leaning closer. His hands didn’t move from his sides. There were zero intentions to touch. Then the next, as if he were in rapture.
She mirrored his movements until she was within ten feet, far enough away that a turn and grab would have his hand sailing close but not touching. The twist would leave him momentarily off balance, giving her enough time to dodge the grab and stick a knife in him or turn and run like hell back to the safety of the tunnels.
His wings didn’t flutter. His hands didn’t move. He continued on to the next painting; this one was stuck to the wall above another. Unhurried, he studied them both. She watched from a distance. Why wasn’t he reacting? He’d found her behind that wall. Both times!
Or was this a ruse by Ivy House? Had the house somehow given away Nessa’s presence and this big sucker was going along with the joke? Had to be, because there was absolutely no sign he sensed her behind him. No tension in his shoulders. None of the smooth gliding shifters did when they prepared for attack. No random sniffing or jerks of his head to the side.
Still curious, she drifted a tiny bit closer as she relieved her bosom of the hidden knife stashed there. She was in his striking distance now, and she wasn’t the type of girl to take chances unarmed.
The next couple paintings consumed his attention. He barely moved, leaning close to look, bending to study the pieces up close. She had a sudden desire to see his expression. To see what he found so utterly fascinating.
Making a wide sweep, she moved in toward his side. She still couldn’t get a good look at his face, though. Six feet away, edging closer, her heart hammering so loud it was pounding in her ears. This was her instincts telling her to back off. She was too close to a very dangerous thing. A naturally unpredictable thing.