Watching from the Shadows Part 2

She knows, I thought with a mixture of exhilaration and terror. Somehow, impossibly, she knows exactly what I am.

But instead of the fear I'd expected to see—the recoil that any sane human should display when confronted with predatory attention—she simply inclined her head. A small nod that could have been acknowledgment, acceptance, or something else entirely.

Then she turned away and continued down the path, leaving me staring after her with my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal.

"Did you see that?" I asked Lucas, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I saw a woman looking around at an impressive piece of architecture," he replied carefully. "Nothing more."

Liar. He'd felt it too—the moment of connection, the impossible recognition that had arced between the tower and the path like lightning seeking ground. But Lucas had spent forty years learning to temper my worst impulses, and admitting that Catherine Montgomery might be everything the prophecy promised would only feed the obsession that was already consuming me.

"She's not afraid," I said, still tracking her progress as the mare picked her way down the slope toward the castle proper.

"She's terrified," Lucas corrected. "Any creature with sense would be terrified in this place. She's just better at hiding it than most."

Better at hiding it than most. The observation hit home with uncomfortable accuracy. Catherine Montgomery had been raised in London society, trained from birth to present an appropriate facade regardless of her inner turmoil. Of course she would mask her fear—just as she would mask whatever other emotions my presence might inspire.

The thought was both reassuring and frustrating. How was I supposed to court someone who'd been taught to hide her true feelings as a matter of survival? How could I build trust with a woman who'd learned that vulnerability was weakness?

"She's stronger than I expected," I murmured, watching her navigate the final approach to the courtyard.

"Strength can be a liability as much as an asset," Lucas warned. "Strong people resist captivity. They fight back, they escape, they find ways to turn situations to their advantage."

Good, the wolf purred. We don't want weak prey.

But the man in me understood what Lucas was really saying. A strong woman wouldn't be content to simply accept her situation, no matter how comfortable I made her captivity. She would test boundaries, seek weaknesses, look for ways to reclaim control over her own fate.

She would be dangerous.

All the more reason to win her loyalty honestly, I told myself. To prove that she's safer here than anywhere else in the world.

The mare had reached the courtyard now, picking her way across the ancient stones with familiar ease. Catherine sat straight in the saddle despite what must have been hours of uncomfortable riding, her gaze taking in the fountains, the walls, the impossible architecture that surrounded her.

I found myself cataloguing her reactions with predatory focus. The way her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the rose gardens—recognition, perhaps, of flowers that bloomed out of season. The way she tilted her head when she heard the fountains—surprise at finding such luxuries in what her father had probably described as a remote wilderness estate.

The way she stiffened almost imperceptibly when she looked toward the main gates, as if she could sense the weight of destiny pressing down on her shoulders.

"She knows this is permanent," I said. "Look at the way she's studying everything. She's not expecting to leave."

"Her father was thorough, then." Lucas's tone carried approval and regret in equal measure. "She understands the terms of the bargain."

The bargain. Such a civilized word for what amounted to slavery, however gently disguised. I'd bought her with gold and threats, purchased her presence with promises I intended to keep and warnings I hoped never to fulfill. The fact that her father had needed little convincing didn't make the transaction any less ugly.

But necessity had its own morality, and I'd been dancing on the edge of madness for too long to let conscience interfere with survival.

The mare stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the main gates, and Catherine dismounted with movements that spoke of fatigue carefully controlled. She stood for a moment beside the horse, one hand resting on the saddle, and I could see her gathering herself for whatever came next.

Brave, I thought with admiration that surprised me. She's afraid, but she's not letting fear control her.

The observation should have been comforting. Instead, it sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the evening air. Brave people made choices based on principle rather than expedience. They chose death over dishonor, sacrifice over survival.

They chose duty over love.

What if she never learns to love me? The thought crept in like poison, undermining the confidence I'd been building for weeks. What if she honors the bargain out of duty but never feels anything deeper? What if the prophecy requires genuine love, not just presence and compliance?

Lucas seemed to sense the direction of my thoughts. "Patience," he said quietly. "Whatever else she is, she's here. The first part of the prophecy is fulfilled. The rest... the rest will unfold as it's meant to."

As it's meant to. But what if it was meant to end in tragedy? What if the prophecy was another trap, another cruel joke played by the magic that had already destroyed so much of my life?

Catherine lifted her head then, looking directly at the gates that barred her way. Even from this distance, I could see the moment of decision in her posture—the straightening of her shoulders, the lifting of her chin. Whatever fear she felt, whatever doubts plagued her, she was choosing to move forward.