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And I won’t be able to protect her from what’s to come.
Chapter Twelve
CALLISTA
The ache in my neck, back, and shoulders finally forces me to rise from my seat in the library. Muscles groan and joints pop as I stretch my arms high above me, twist side to side, and bend over to touch my toes to release all the tension.
Rising again, I rub my eyes, noticing how the brightness of the library has dimmed considerably since the last time I took a break.
“Shit, what time is it?” I glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the valley, where fading, orangey light streams through and onto the worn floors. “Crap…”
That doesn’t look like afternoon sun, which means I’ve been so engrossed in reading the diaries, journals, and ledgers that I completely missed lunch.
Weston won’t be happy about that…
Regardless of his self-imposed solitude the past two days, the man hasn’t stopped ensuring I have expansive meals—even if he won’t join me for them.
It’s insanely frustrating and endearing at the same time.
I move over to the massive glass panes and stare out at the setting sun that still sends tendrils of light across the mountain peaks and illuminates the tops of the trees spread across the Barker property.
Breathtakingly beautiful…if you ignore what else is out there. Yet somehow, despite the secrets buried here—physical and the ones Weston keeps locked inside him—looking out at it, surrounded by this room, Barker Mountain still feels almost like home at times like this.
Or maybe it’s that Stockholm syndrome creeping up again.
It’s a very real possibility I’ve considered over the last few days—that my attraction to Weston and ability to look past what he’s done and the threat he still poses to Dad are all tied to something fucked-up in my head that is causing me to seek affection from my captor.
But I’ve dismissed it each time the thought crosses my mind, unwilling to accept that my feelings can be so easily manipulated.
Just thinking it now is enough to give me the urge to go out and get some fresh air. Walking around would further work the muscles I’ve ignored all day, and that is what finally turns me away from the view and back to the open diary on the desk.
The third I’ve read today alone.
Not to mention the other half-dozen I’ve binged in the two days since I set out on my mission. But I’m nowhere near finished with this volume, nor do I think my eyes or body will tolerate coming back tonight for any more reading.
I could leave it out for tomorrow.
But Weston would know you’re reading them if he came in.
Something tickles at the back of my mind, telling me not to let him know. Warning me to let him believe I’m merely examining the books that need restoration and care and doing what’s required to maintain them. Not getting lost in the stories of the Barker family that are finally starting to give me hints at some answers he’s striven so hard to keep from me.
Hours and hours spent buried in these books might pay off, but not if Weston discovers what I’m doing and bans me from the library. Thus far, he seems to be sticking to his promised return to avoidance, which makes my task far easier. But he comes every night after I leave, and I don’t need him flipping out on me when I’m not technically doing anything I shouldn’t be.
Better to be safe than face backlash from The Beast.
I tuck a scrap of paper between the pages and slip the diary back into the cabinet, closing the glass in front so he hopefully won’t even notice I’ve been in there, just as I have the past two evenings before I left the library.
This place has become the source of so many mixed emotions.
Burning desire every time my eyes drift to his worktable or the shelves he fucked me against.
Gratitude when my gaze bounces over the countless volumes of classics and impossible-to-find treasures.
Hatred each moment I remember why I’m scouring these journals so thoroughly in the first place.
Some time away and out in the fresh air will do me good, might help me sort through the jumble in my head.
I switch off the lamp and make my way down the steps all the way to the first floor, pausing at the bottom to listen for any sounds that Weston might be in the house preparing dinner already.
