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You did it to save Dad.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I lean heavily on the banister and slowly make my way toward the main floor. Despite doing my best to keep the pressure off my injured foot, each step makes me wince, and I have to pause to catch my breath only halfway down.
The intense smell of fresh burning wood hits me, and I inhale deeply.
I’ve always loved that scent. It reminds me of fall and sitting beside the fireplace with Dad, reading a story or playing a board game when I was a child.
Tears prick my eyes, but I brush them away with my hand and descend to the foyer. A huge living room with a vaulted ceiling and a fireplace that ascends all three stories of the house draws me to the right.
Damn.
Flames roar in it.
In here, that smell of charred wood, coupled with all the deep, rich leather and upholstery, give the space an almost homey feel. Though that’s the last thing I want to feel about this place. There’s nothing warm and cozy about The Beast’s lair, or at least, there shouldn’t be.
But that bed was comfortable despite everything. My lack of sleep had nothing to do with the accommodations and everything to do with the uncertainty of the situation.
A flicker of movement to the right catches my attention, and I turn toward The Beast as he steps out from behind a massive wood beam.
In the light of day and the flames leaping in the fireplace, the man is even more intense and stunning than I thought he was. Thick head of silvery hair. Strong jaw covered with a matching beard. Heavy muscles barely contained in the dark T-shirt stretched across his barrel chest. Large, powerful-looking hands fisted at his sides.
His steely gaze lands on me and travels from head to toe, pausing an extra few seconds on my injured foot before he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
“Come.”
One word.
And, again, that doesn’t seem like a fucking request.
Following The Beast’s broad back, currently covered with a black T-shirt that’s pulled taut over bulging muscles, I limp through the living room around the left of the fireplace and pass into a massive dining room with a table big enough to seat at least twenty.
High-backed leather chairs surround it, but only one place setting rests on the glistening wood table surface—at what must be the foot. At least a dozen cloches cover plates on that end, and my stomach rumbles.
He stops and motions for me to take a seat without a word.
I keep my eye on him as I make my way around the table, grabbing the back of each chair to help support my weight and keep it off my injury.
The Beast watches me carefully until I finally lower myself into the plush leather seat. He points to the cloches. “Eat.”
Spinning toward the living room, he starts to stalk away.
I slide forward on the chair, though there’s no way I could chase the man on this foot even if I wanted to. “Wait, where are you going?”
He freezes, his shoulders and neck tensing, but he doesn’t look back at me. “Away from here.”
“You’re not going to eat?”
My question goes unanswered for long enough for me to squirm, waiting for his response.
His hands flex and fist at his sides, but he keeps his back to me when he finally decides to answer. “What I do or don’t do isn’t your concern, Beauty.”
Beauty?
I recoil slightly at the term, my own hands curling around the armrests, trying to ground myself to something when it feels like I’m lost in some horrible waking nightmare. “What is my concern? Because I don’t know what the hell is going on. I came up here for a reason—”
He whips around to face me, anger flashing deep in his gaze that shifts from its usual color to almost onyx. “A fucking stupid one, sacrificing yourself for your father.”
His words boom around the large space, bouncing off the metal cloches and pristinely polished silverware beside them and the candelabras at the center of the table.
