J. Geissinger - Shadow’s Edge

The sheen of parquet floors was interrupted constantly by thick Persian rugs, a marble fireplace burned bright in every room they passed, Chinese porcelain and cut-crystal bowls filled with fragrant peonies and masses of orchids adorned marquetry tables, a vast drawing room was lavished in gold. Clocks ticked and fabrics rustled and voices murmured from deep within the labyrinth of the mansion, and always the potent reminder of the creatures that walked the halls of this magical place:

There were statues of panthers—slinking and hunting and prowling in polished onyx, marble, and bronze—everywhere.

“Please allow me to lead you to your chambers, Lady Jenna.”

Another liveried servant was speaking to her, bowing at the waist while he kept his gaze down and gestured toward dual winding staircases that climbed to the second floor. He also exuded the fine, humming power of Ikati , and Jenna guessed everyone at Sommerley was, even the servants. Judging by how Morgan spoke of Others, humans would be the last creatures invited here.

“Oh, please,” she said to the bowing man, “you can just call me Jenna.”

This seemed to startle him, though he recovered quickly, blinking just fast enough to let her know this was a most unusual request. “Yes, madam, if it pleases you,” he murmured, then glided silently away toward the stairs.

Jenna frowned at his retreating back. Lady Jenna?

“They’ve been expecting you,” Morgan explained, pausing to pluck a fig from a Waterford crystal bowl on a cherrywood console a few feet away. She turned it in her fingers, lifted it to her nose, then set it back down in the bowl with a sniff. “I’m starving. That little bit of caviar I had on the plane didn’t even put a dent in my appetite.”

She brushed an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of her black taffeta blouse and sighed, glancing over the gilt-edged mirror above the console, the wall painted ivory and cream, the vaulted ceiling towering above. Her expression soured.

“Who’s been expecting me?” Jenna asked.

“Why, everyone,” Morgan said. A smile stole over her face, and Christian, standing beside her, arms crossed and legs spread wide, gave a gentle snort.

“We have a meeting to attend, Jenna, please forgive us for leaving you for a while,” he said, shooting Morgan a look. She nodded. “But we’ll be having a late supper afterward, if you’re hungry. Or you can ring the kitchen to have something brought to your room.”

Morgan called a farewell over her shoulder. “I have to freshen up. See you later, Jenna.” The servant holding Morgan’s bags snapped to attention as she passed, then fell in two steps behind her, a lethal creature outfitted in black stiletto heels, taffeta, and cashmere, down the airy corridor toward a set of carved doors inlaid with panels of mother-of-pearl.

“Stay out of trouble now,” she said with a low laugh as she closed the doors behind her.

Jenna looked to Christian.

His body vibrated with a crackling, electric tension that seemed to heat the air all around them. He smiled at her with an intensity that lent fire to his eyes and made her heart skip a beat.

“I’m sure I couldn’t get into any trouble here,” she said, vaguely embarrassed, though she didn’t know why.

“Really?” His gaze was steady. “Out of the frying pan as you are?”

She made a little noise of irritated disbelief. “Is that your way of trying to make me feel better? Because it isn’t working.”

There was a long pregnant pause, then he stepped closer, slowly, fire still burning in his eyes. He stopped just feet away, almost as tall as Leander, muscled and substantial, and she had to look up to hold his gaze.

“It’s my way of saying be careful, Jenna,” he said. “Alphas are known for getting what they want. By any means possible.”

Embarrassed by that, her face flamed. “Duly noted. And not that it’s any of your business, there’s nothing between Leander and me, and I have no intention of letting that change.”

Christian stared at her for several seconds, head cocked as if weighing the truth of her statement. Then hesitantly, with a conflicted look as if he didn’t want to but just couldn’t help himself, he reached out and lightly touched a finger to her hot cheek. She stiffened, and seeing her unease, the expression on his face changed from conflicted to pained. He dropped his hand and his eyes grew terribly sad.

“He doesn’t need your permission,” he murmured. “You’re in his world now. There’s no one that will stop him from doing anything he likes.” His gaze drifted over her face, down her throat, to the open collar of her white silk blouse, and his own cheeks grew ruddy. “Anything at all.”

She resisted the urge to step back and instead squared her shoulders. “I can take care of myself.”

His gaze flickered back to hers and he nodded. One corner of his mouth lifted. “I know you can.” The lopsided smile disappeared and his brows drew together. His next words came out in a fumbling, disjointed rush. “But...if you need...anything...I’m here for you...I’d be happy to...you can always...what I mean to say is that I want...I want...”

He stammered to a halt and she frowned at him, waiting. He flushed even redder, looked away, and blew out a hard breath. Then he cursed and hid his face behind a hand as if he was embarrassed, and that was when several things fell into place at once.

She realized Christian was offering her more than just his assistance.

Her pulse went jagged. She was caught between empathy—she knew the terrible toll loneliness and longing could take—excruciating self-consciousness, and the strong desire to run away into the moonlit night and leave all this insanity behind.

Answers , she reminded herself. I came here for answers, and I’m not leaving until I get them . No matter how weird this gets .

She put on her resolve like armor and remembered what her mother would say when things got especially rough—“Remain calm and carry on.” She groped for the right thing to say, and it wasn’t until she spoke that she knew she really meant it.

“Thank you,” she said.

Christian’s head snapped up and he stared at her, expectant.

“I mean...” She was momentarily distracted by his molten aura, flaring bright as danger between them, and tried to compose herself and say something coherent that wouldn’t make the situation worse. “I mean I hope we can be friends because I need all the friends I can get. And you seem like someone I can trust.”

She was immediately sorry she chose that particular phrase.

His eyes closed for just longer than a blink and an urgent sorrow contorted his face, here then gone. He opened his eyes and his gaze raked over her figure with a naked hunger so palpable she felt it like a hand on her skin.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he said, his voice rough. “If I were Alpha I’d have already claimed you for my own, regardless of what you wanted. At least my brother is showing some restraint.” He paused, his breathing gone ragged. “I wouldn’t.”

Now she did step back, not just one step but two, thankful suddenly for the servant waiting by the stairs who was looking quite pointedly down at his own shoes.

“I don’t believe that,” she said, startled. “You’re a gentleman.”

He laughed, a dark, ruthless sound, and closed the distance between them in one long stride. He loomed over her, large and male and menacing. “Am I?” He snatched up her hand, pulled open his shirt with one hard yank that sent buttons popping, and pressed her palm flat against his bare, muscled chest. He held it there when she gasped and tried to pull away. “You can read minds, so tell me what you see, Jenna,” he said, eyes searing. “Tell me exactly how much of a gentleman I am.”