HOUSE RULES

CHAPTER 4

Greta found me at breakfast and set a folded sheet of paper beside my plate like she was serving another course.

"House rules," she said. "Formalized, since you seem fond of ignoring the verbal version."

I unfolded it.

Meal times.

Curfew.

Restricted areas.

No leaving the estate without an escort.

No entering the Alpha's study.

And one line that immediately caught my attention.

WEST WING ACCESS FORBIDDEN UNDER ALL CIRCUMSTANCES.

I looked up.

"West wing."

"Yes."

"That's it? No explanation?"

"Some things don't require one."

"According to who?"

Greta's expression didn't change.

"The Alpha."

Of course.

I looked back at the paper.

"Does everyone here follow these rules?"

"Everyone who intends to remain here."

There was something about the way she said it that made me glance at her.

But she had already turned away.

"Breakfast ends at eight."

Then she walked off.

I stared after her.

Everyone in this house is allergic to straight answers.

And after what I'd overheard in Roman's study yesterday, I wasn't sure whether that was because they were hiding something from me or because they were afraid of what would happen if they told me.

I touched my wrist beneath the table.

Nothing.

No silver mark.

But I could still see Roman's face in my mind.

The shock.

The fear.

The words he'd whispered after I left.

She has the mark.

Whatever it meant, I knew one thing.

He hadn't been surprised to see it.

He'd been afraid.

And that frightened me more than the mark itself.

I found the kitchen an hour later, mostly because I was tired of sitting alone in my room.

A girl about my age was elbow-deep in flour, humming softly as she worked.

She looked up and startled.

"Oh you."

I stopped.

"Me?"

She wiped her hands on her apron.

"Sorry."

She offered a nervous smile.

"You're the surrogate."

"Mira."

I shook her hand.

"You don't have to say it like that."

"Sorry. I'm Tessa. I work in the kitchens. Sometimes laundry too."

"Is everyone here required to sound like they're reciting a script?"

Her eyes widened.

"Or is that just Greta?"

Tessa laughed.

It was quick and nervous.

Then she glanced toward the kitchen door.

"Greta's not so bad."

"That's not what her rules suggest."

Tessa smiled faintly.

"She's careful."

"Everyone here is careful."

The smile disappeared from her face.

"Yes."

"Careful about what?"

She hesitated.

Then leaned closer.

"Talking too much."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds healthy."

Tessa almost laughed.

"You're new. You don't know how things work here."

"Then tell me."

She looked toward the door again.

"What do you want to know?"

I thought about Roman.

Then the west wing.

"Does the Alpha eat with everyone?"

"Never."

The answer came immediately.

"He eats alone. Works constantly. I don't think I've ever seen him laugh."

She stopped.

"Except..."

"Except what?"

Her fingers tightened around the dough.

"Since Lyra."

The name landed strangely.

"Who's Lyra?"

Tessa's voice dropped.

"His mate."

I stared at her.

"Roman had a mate?"

"Had."

The single word carried enough weight to make my stomach tighten.

"What happened to her?"

Tessa looked uncomfortable.

"She died."

"When?"

"A while ago."

"How?"

Her eyes flicked toward the doorway.

"Nobody talks about Lyra."

"Why?"

"Because it upsets people."

"And Roman?"

Tessa swallowed.

"Especially Roman."

I waited.

She finally continued.

"The west wing was hers."

My attention sharpened.

"The west wing?"

"She lived there."

"And nobody uses it now?"

"Nobody is allowed inside."

"Why?"

"I told you. Nobody talks about it."

"That's not an answer."

Tessa sighed.

"Furniture. Clothes. Everything is still there, I think."

She lowered her voice.

"Like she's expected to come back."

A chill moved through me.

"Has nobody ever gone inside?"

Tessa looked down.

"Someone did."

"Who?"

She hesitated.

"Callum."

The name immediately caught my attention.

"Who is Callum?"

Tessa's face changed.

"Forget I said that."

"Tessa."

"I really have to finish this."

She turned away.

"Tessa."

She picked up the bowl and moved to the other side of the kitchen.

Conversation over.

I stared at her back.

Callum.

Another name everyone suddenly became afraid to explain.

I was beginning to think secrets were part of the furniture in Blackthorn.

I told myself I was only exploring.

Nothing more.

The east wing connected to a long gallery, and the gallery connected to a corridor I hadn't walked before.

I knew I probably shouldn't have followed it.

But curiosity had never been my strongest weakness.

It had always been questions.

And Blackthorn had too many of them.

The corridor became quieter the farther I walked.

Then I saw them.

Two enormous double doors.

Dark wood.

Iron hinges.

No windows.

No visible handle.

I stopped.

The air felt different here.

Colder.

Heavier.

That strange quiet settled around me like the entire house was holding its breath.

Then the familiar hum stirred beneath my skin.

My pulse jumped.

I looked down at my hands.

Nothing.

But the sensation grew stronger.

Almost like something on the other side of the doors was calling to me.

I reached toward the wood.

"You shouldn't be here."

I spun around.

A guard stood several feet behind me.

He was broad-shouldered, tense, one hand resting near the weapon at his belt.

"I was just looking."

"Then look somewhere else."

His voice was too sharp.

"I wasn't aware this hallway was restricted."

"It is now."

I frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you need to leave."

He moved between me and the doors.

I glanced at them.

"Is someone in there?"

His face went completely still.

"No."

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous."

"You are."

His jaw tightened.

"Miss Calloway."

The warning in his voice made my stomach twist.

"What happened to Callum?"

His eyes widened.

Only for a second.

Then the expression vanished.

"You need to return to your room."

"Did he go inside those doors?"

No answer.

"Did he?"

The guard stepped closer.

"Go."

I held his gaze.

Then something happened.

The hum beneath my skin suddenly stopped.

The corridor became completely silent.

The guard looked over his shoulder.

His face lost what little color it had.

I turned toward the doors.

Nothing.

They hadn't moved.

But somehow, I knew something had changed.

The guard grabbed my arm.

Not painfully.

But firmly.

"Now."

I let him lead me away.

As we walked, he kept looking over his shoulder.

Not at me.

At the doors.

Like he was afraid they might open.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I kept thinking about the guard's face.

Tessa's fear.

Callum's name.

And the west wing.

But most of all, I kept thinking about Roman.

You have the mark.

I pulled back my sleeve and stared at my wrist.

Still nothing.

Maybe I'd imagined it.

Maybe the stress was finally getting to me.

Maybe Roman had been wrong.

I wanted to believe that.

Then I heard footsteps.

I sat upright.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Coming from somewhere beyond my bedroom.

I held my breath.

The footsteps continued.

Not downstairs.

Not in the hallway outside my room.

They were farther away.

From the direction of the west wing.

I climbed out of bed.

The house was completely silent.

The footsteps continued.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then stopped.

I waited.

Nothing.

I was about to convince myself I'd imagined them when they started again.

Closer.

My heart hammered.

They crossed the floor above the silence.

Paused.

Then continued toward the far end of the sealed wing.

I stepped toward my bedroom door.

Then stopped.

Because beneath the footsteps, I heard something else.

A faint sound.

Almost like a whisper.

My skin prickled.

I couldn't make out the words.

But I could feel something.

That same pull I'd felt at the gates.

At Roman's desk.

At the west-wing doors.

The sensation moved through my chest.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time.

A heartbeat that wasn't mine.

I backed away from the door.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence swallowed the house.

Then came a single knock.

Not on my door.

From somewhere deep inside the west wing.

Knock.

I froze.

Another.

Knock.

My breath caught.

Whatever was inside that sealed wing knew I was here.

I stared into the darkness.

And suddenly, Tessa's warning wasn't the thing frightening me anymore.

Neither was the guard.

Neither was Roman.

It was the question I couldn't escape.

If the west wing had been sealed since Lyra died, then who or what was walking through it now?