Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(53)

I look around again, double checking I haven’t missed anything. Satisfied, I look at a hallway to my right, that leads to a room I know all too well, or a hallway to my left. I decide to go left, knowing I’ve been down this hallway before, a long time ago, but it’s better than going the other way. I pass the entryway to my left, with two massive wooden doors that lead to a world I wonder if I’ll ever see again, then reach an open door on my right and stop, frozen at the threshold. The beast sits behind a desk—a desk I’ve seen before—going through some papers. When he looks up, I blink, not recognizing the Shayne I grew up with. His face really has changed. I realize I’m staring at him, then look down in a panic.

I looked at him.

I looked at him.

My heart begins pounding in my ears and a sweat instantly breaks on my skin.

“Off-limits,” he says in his quiet voice.

I nod and leave in a hurry, my feet almost tripping over themselves to get away. Down the hall, I come across another door to a half-bath that I clean quickly, then onto a laundry room where I wipe things down. Beyond that, is another door that’s locked, that I think leads to the garage.

I go back and get the dry-mop and do a hasty run-through of the hallway, looking down as I move past the open door, fast, fast, fast, but I still feel his eyes on me. I move through the living room to the other hallway. I have to stop a minute and let my breath settle, then look down both sides, seeing two doors to my left, and one to my right. I know what’s behind the first door on the left—the one with the big deadbolt, so head past that one, to the door at the end.

When I enter the room, the wind gets sucked from my lungs. It’s the master, where he first took me. I stare at the large bed, with the thick, black, iron box frame and the huge view of the mountains beyond. But I don’t see the view. Because I remember. I remember it all—how he took me, hurt me, then slid the ring on my finger while I slept.

Strange though, the bed looks no different than how it was left. It even still has the roughed up space from where he’d left me curled up. I let the memories go, knowing it won’t do me any good to linger, and walk to the large bathroom, the shiny browns and sparkling silvers a disturbing memory of when I first had to shower with that burn on my hip.

I clean the bathroom fast, tears making their way down my cheeks, tears I can’t seem to stop. But I keep moving. And just like everything else, it looks almost untouched, so doesn’t take long to clean. I vacuum quickly, and when I go to vacuum the walk-in closet, I stop in the doorway. It’s empty. Completely empty. I know there were clothes here once—because of that black tie—but not anymore. That’s when I realize, the beast doesn’t sleep here.

When I leave the room, my tears are just starting to dry. I move past the room with the deadbolt, then onto the next door at the other end of the hall. When I walk in, I’m struck hard with another memory from long ago, where I hugged a corner tight while the beast raged in the room next door.

The bed is bare, not even any sheets. I clean it all quickly, not letting myself get lost in the past, then leave the room and close the door.

I stand there, trying to figure something out—something that’s nagging at my mind. If the beast doesn’t sleep in the master, or this other room, then where does he sleep? It’s when my eyes drift to the left that I notice the hallway doesn’t end, it turns.

His lair must be that way.

I walk slowly, carrying the supply bucket in my right hand and dragging the vacuum with my left. When I turn the corner, there’s another view of the hills through the windows on the right. I hadn’t been paying attention before, trying not to let myself get taken with the outdoors, a place I’m not sure I’ll ever get to visit again—but I see it’s getting late now, almost dark, except for the slashes of reds and oranges across the sky. I’m struck by the sunset, staring at it while I walk, until I’m struck by something else.

I blink, not sure if I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole. The bucket drops from my hand and the vacuum falls to the floor. It’s a room, an enormous room, with a glass dome ceiling that lets the vibrant colors of the sky come through. That alone should hold my attention, but all I can see is—all I can focus on—are the books. The shelves and shelves of books. Shelves so high, a ladder sits hanging on all four sides, leading up to a narrow landing that lines the entire room, with another set of ladders giving access to the shelves above it. All I can do is stare. Stare at the books. So many books.

Then I hear a noise. A strange noise. A noise that sounds like water. Running water. I turn around and only then do I see the fountain in the middle of the room, centered under the dome. It’s large and round, with a stunning statue of three rearing horses in the middle, with water coming out their mouths and falling into the pool below. I walk to it, only to find myself walking through the circle of roses that surround it. Red roses. Their sweet aroma lingers in the air, while thorn covered branches reach out wildly, looking unkempt and ragged, but still managing to bloom in places, making me realize…it’s spring, or summer. I’m not sure, until I remember the view out the windows—the way the grass in the hills had been a deep shade of gold. It’s summer.

Summer.

I don’t know why that hits me like it does. Maybe because the last time I remember, it was winter.

Then I see everything else. The leather sofas and chairs, all scattered around in little vignettes, the lamps, the Navajo rugs, the greenery all about. Everything around me blurs while tears spill quietly down my cheeks. Because I know. I know what this is. I know who this is for.