Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(8)

A woman sits at the heavy cherry desk, facing us with her back to the windows.

Her face is stern, her hair is faded, but I can see that it used to be red. It’s pulled into a severe chignon, not one strand out of place. Her cashmere sweater is buttoned all the way to the top, decorated by one single strand of pearls. Her unadorned hands are folded in front of her and she’s waiting.

Waiting for us.

How long has she been waiting? Months? Years?

For a reason that I can’t explain, I feel suffocated. The room seems to close in on me, and I’m frozen. Dare has to literally pull me, then pull me harder, just to make me move.

I feel like I can’t breathe, like if I approach her, something bad will happen.

Something terrible.

It’s a ridiculous thought, and Dare glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

We come to a stop in front of the desk.

“Eleanor,” he says tightly.

There is no love lost here. I can see it. I can sense it. I feel it in the air, in the formality, in the cold.

“Adair,” the woman nods. There are no hugs, no smiles. Even though it’s been at least a year since she’s seen him, this woman doesn’t even stand up.

“This is your grandmother, Eleanor Savage,” Dare tells me, and his words are so carefully calm. Eleanor stares at me, her gaze examining me from head to toe. My cheeks flush from it.

“You must be Calla.”

I nod.

“You may call me Eleanor.” She glances at the door. “Wait outside, Sabine.”

Without a word, Sabine backs out, closing the door. Eleanor returns her attention to us.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she tells me stiffly, but her voice lacks any sign of emotion, of sympathy or sadness, even though it was her daughter who was lost. She didn’t know Finn, so I can understand that, but her own daughter?

She looks at me again. “While you are here, Whitley will be your home. You will not intrude in rooms that don’t concern you. You may have the run of the grounds, you may use the stables. You won’t mingle with unsavory characters, you may have use of the car. Jones will drive you wherever you need to go. You may settle in, get accustomed to life in the country, and soon, we’ll speak about your inheritance. Since you’ve turned eighteen, you have responsibilities to this family.”

She pauses, then looks at me.

“You’ve suffered a loss, but life goes on. You will learn to go on, as well.”

She looks away from us, directing her attention to a paper on her desk. “Sabine!” she calls, without looking up.

Apparently, we’ve been dismissed.

Sabine re-enters and Dare and I quickly follow her, jumping at the chance to leave this distasteful woman.

“Well, she’s pleasant,” I mutter.

Dare’s lip tilts.

“She’s not my favorite.”

Understatement.

We share a moment, a warm moment, but I shove it away.

I can’t.

I can’t.

Sabine stops in front of double wooden doors.

“This was your mother’s suite,” Sabine tells me. “It’s yours now. Dare’s room is across the house.” After she says that, she waits, as if she’s expecting a reaction from me. When she doesn’t get one, she continues. “Dinner will be at seven in the dining room. Be prompt. You should rest now.”

She turns and walks away, shuffling down the hall on tiny feet.

Dare stares at me, tall and slender. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” My answer is immediate and harsh.

He’s startled and he pulls away a bit, staring down at me.

“I just… I need to be alone,” I add.

I’m not strong enough to resist you yet.

Disappointment gleams in his eyes, but to his credit, he doesn’t press me. He swallows his hurt and nods.

“Ok. I’m wiped out, so I’m going to take a nap before dinner. I suggest you do the same. You must be tired.”

I nod because he’s right, I’m utterly exhausted. He’s gone, and I’m left alone in the long quiet hallway.

I take a step toward my bedroom, then another, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to turn the doorknob. Something settles around me, dread, I think, and I just can’t do it.

The look on Eleanor’s face emerges in my head, the way she was examining me, and I can’t breathe. Something crushes me, that dark thing that I felt in the driveway. It feels like it’s here, pushing on me, lapping at me.

I know it doesn’t make any sense.

Something pulls me.

It pulls me right into my mother’s old rooms.

And there, I sit, surrounded by her memories.





Chapter 4





My mother’s rooms are as lavish as the rest of the house. There are no childhood posters taped to the walls here, no teenage heart-throbs, no pink phones or plush pillows.

The suite is carefully decorated, with heavy off-white furniture and sage green walls. The bed is massive, covered in thick blankets, all sage green, all soothing.

But it’s not the room of a child, or a teenager, or even a young woman.

It lacks youthful energy.

But I still feel her here.

Somehow.

Sinking onto the bed, I find that I’m surrounded by windows.