Chapter Five

Klaus

I sat in the dark wood armchair, my hands resting flat on my knees, every muscle in my body locked so tight it felt like my bones would snap.

In the faint, silver light filtering through the reinforced balcony glass, I watched her bed. She was lying on her side, her dark hair spilled across the white pillowcases, her breathing slowly evening out into sleep.

I looked down at my right hand.

My palm still burned. The memory of her soft, warm skin beneath that thin scrap of lace was seared into my nerve endings. When I had pressed her against the door, feeling the delicate curve of her waist and the sudden, frantic hitch in her breath, every instinct I possessed had roared to turn her around, lift her onto the nearest surface, and claim every inch of her.

I had felt her body react to mine. She hadn't pulled away. She had tilted her head back, offering the sweet, soft expanse of her throat to me like a sacrifice.

You're going to get her killed, I warned myself, my jaw grinding until my teethached. Touch her again like that, and you lose your focus.

I reached into my inner jacket pocket, pulling out my leather notebook to stare at the faded photograph of her from three years ago. I had sworn to protect her from the monsters of her father's past. I hadn't prepared for the reality that the greatest monster in her room, the one most capable of ruining her completely, was the man sitting in the shadows, counting her breaths in the dark.

Anna

Midnight came and went, but sleep remained entirely out of reach.

I lay in the dark, staring up at the intricate molding of my ceiling. Every shadow cast by the moonlight outside seemed to twist and stretch, morphing into the silver skull mask from the gallery. The silence of the estate was loud, broken only by the occasional patter of rain against the reinforced glass and the low, heavy hum of the HVAC system.

And beneath it all, my skin still burned.

I rolled onto my side, wrapping my arms around my waist, trying to shut out the ghost of Klaus’s touch from earlier. My body remembered the heavy, suffocating press of his broad frame against mine in the gallery alcove. It remembered the rough, electric scrape of his thumb against my jaw, and the dark, lethal promise in his eyes when he told me I didn't know what dangerous meant.

He was driving me insane. He was a stone wall that absorbed every blow, every attempt I made to tear through his armor, throwing it back at me with cold, ruthless perfection.

A sharp, sudden nightmare, a flashing blade, a hand gripping my wrist, dark eyes staring through a silver skull, jerked me upright in bed. My chest heaved, sweat dampening the nape of my neck.

I looked toward the corner armchair.

It was empty.

Panic surged through me before I could logically process it. My feet hit the cold floorboards, and I rushed toward the door, pulling it open.

The long, carpeted hallway of the west wing was drowned in dim amber nightlights. And standing twenty feet away, near the grand arched window at the end of the corridor, was Klaus.

He was stripped of his suit jacket. He wore a fitted black tactical shirt that clung to the broad, dense muscularity of his shoulders and chest, the dark fabric hugging the heavy contours of his arms. His leather shoulder holster sat snug over his torso, the black grip of his sidearm resting against his ribs.

He was staring out the rain slicked glass, motionless, a phantom guarding the fortress.

My bare toes sank into the plush carpet as I stepped out into the hallway. "You're not in the chair."

Klaus didn't flinch. He didn't even turn his head immediately. He simply took a slow, deep breath, his broad shoulders expanding before he turned to face me. His dark hazel eyes swept over me instantly, registering my bare feet, my messy hair, and the dark silk camisole and shorts I was wearing.

"The wind shifted to the north," Klaus said, his low baritone vibrating quietly in the empty corridor. "The trees along the east wall create a blind spot for camera four between midnight and two. I am covering the angle manually."

"You haven't slept in three days," I said, walking down the hallway toward him. The air in the corridor was cool, making my skin prickle, but as I closed the distance, the warmth radiating off his massive body enveloped me.

"I don't need sleep, Anna," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the pulse beating at the base of my throat before rising back to meet my gaze. "I need you inside your room."

"I had a nightmare," I admitted, stopping three feet away from him. I leaned my shoulder against the cool stone frame of the arched window, looking up at his harsh, handsome profile. "I woke up and you weren't there. I thought..."

"You thought the ghost came back?" Klaus murmured softly, the harsh edge in his tone softening by a microscopic fraction.

"I thought I was alone," I corrected quietly, holding his gaze.

Klaus turned his full body toward me then. Up close, without his heavy jacket, his physical presence was overwhelming. The sharp line of his jaw was shaded with dark stubble, and I could see the subtle, faint scars tracing across the knuckles of his right hand, proof of a violent life I knew nothing about.

"You are never alone," he said, his voice dropping into a thick, dark register that vibrated straight through my chest. "Not while I am under this roof."

"Because of the contract?" I asked, my voice carrying a faint, sarcastic sting. "Because my father pays you enough money to stand in the dark for three days straight?"

Klaus stared at me for a long, heavy second. The rain beat a steady rhythm against the glass behind him.

"Money doesn't keep a man awake for seventy two hours, Anna," he said softly.

My heart skipped a beat. "Then what does?"

Klaus didn't answer. He took one slow, deliberate step closer, stepping into my space until the scent of cedar, rain, and leather was all I could breathe. He raised his hand slowly, not to grab me, not to push me back into my room, and hovered his fingers an inch above my bare shoulder, where the thin silk strap of my top rested against my skin.

He didn't touch me. The heat radiating off his fingers was so intense it felt like a physical burn against my skin.

"Go back to bed," he whispered, his eyes dark as pitch, blown wide with an intense, agonizing hunger that made my core ache. "Before I forget my place."

"What if I don't want you to remember your place?" I whispered back, my voice trembling with raw, dangerous courage. I took a half-step forward, closing the remaining inch, pressing the bare skin of my shoulder directly against his broad palm.

Klaus gasped sharply through his teeth, his hand freezing against my skin.