LORD RONAN

I don't know why I'm headed for her room. Don't know why I'm walking these dark halls in search of a woman that shines so bright she's setting my fucking world on fire.

A month ago, I didn't know who the hell she was. But with just a few encounters, she has shaken me like no one else has.

The kiss has been seared into my memory. She doesn't know what she has started. Her innocent curiosity has sparked the interest of two dangerous men: me, and the hooded stranger she kissed in town—also me.

She has been laying low lately, not escaping the estate or walking the halls at night. I'm curious about why she's hiding. She was so adamant about breaking the rules. Why is she now obedient?

I stomp the dark halls determined to get an answer. I suspect that someone found her jumping the wall and is threatening her. The idea doesn't bode well. It makes me crave blood.

I knock on her door, frowning into the darkness. From the crack beneath the door, I can see there are no lights inside the room. She must be asleep.

After a minute, the door slowly creaked open. Her scent hits me first. Vanilla soap.

"Ronan," she whispers.

I freeze. Although I gave her my name, I never expected to hear it come from her lips.

"How do you know that name?" I ask, feigning surprise. I can't let her make the connection between the hooded man and I. I can't let her know that I kissed her.

"I...um, I've been asking about you. I've been curious for years."

She breaks the rules and is honest about it. She's unable to lie to me—such a good yet bad girl.

"You know that asking about me is forbidden," I say firmly.

She jolts away, intimidated by my tone.

My hand reaches out and grabs her slim shoulder, keeping her where she is at. I'm not done with her yet. She's not running away.

Memories of the kiss roar back. Fuck, she felt so small when I pinned her against the wall. I could have done anything to her, and she would have let me. Because this curious, innocent woman is needy for answers and male touch.

Her shoulder feels padded.

"What are you wearing?" I ask, keeping my hand where it's at.

"Um.... A hoodie I made for a friend."

A friend. She's talking about me. The hooded man who she needs to stop following.

"What friend?" I ask, wanting to hear what she thinks of that version of me.

"He's just...helping me. We had a deal, so I made him a hoodie."

I regret not taking the hoodie when she offered it, but it was the right thing to do. I wanted to intimidate her. Make her think that I'm dangerous for objectifying her body.

Like an idiot, I craved the hoodie. I wanted to run my fingers over the stitching and admire her craft.

"Give it to me," I say. "And tell me why you've been laying low these past few days."

I came here to find out if she's being threatened, but I've latched onto the hoodie like a child.

"N—no. I can't give it to you. It belongs to my friend."

Crazy, bewildering jealousy fills me. She doesn't want to give me the hoodie because she made it for the hooded man—for me. But she doesn't know that the men that roam the daylight and moonlight are the same. She's being protective of her so-called-friend. That makes me fucking jealous. I'm jealous of myself.

If father knew I was acting so foolishly, he would roll in his grave.

"Do you know who you're denying?" I ask, my body tense.

"I'm sorry, lord," she whispers.

Goddamn it!

I yank her forward by her shoulder, and she collapses against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and lower my head. I run my nose across the nape of her neck.

Does she recognize the bulk of my body? Will she connect the dots? We're the same man.

She tips her head back and turns toward me, trying to get a glimpse of my face. But the darkness conceals the truth.

"You should have given me the fucking hoodie," I grit.

Another servant would have given it to me. Another woman would give me anything to further her status. That's what they all do. But she's not like that. She's loyal to a man she barely knows. She's willing to reject her lord—a man so powerful he could ruin her—to keep a promise to a friend. That makes her precious. I wish she would have just given me the fucking hoodie out of fear or to be opportunistic, but she defies all of my expectations.

I hate that she's so unique, because it makes me want her more.

"I'm sorry, but my friend is important," she says.

Her small hands lift to my biceps, subtly squeezing. She's getting curious again.

"Answer my other question," I demand. "Why have you been so quiet lately?"

"You've been watching me?"

"I watch everyone."

"Um...I just don't want to raise flags. No one has been threatening me."

I release her and straighten, but her hands remain on my biceps. They inch higher until they reach my shoulders and then the base of my neck.

I cut her off before she reaches my face.

"Greedy girl," I grunt.

She sighs. "Lord, but you are the one demanding a gift I made for another."

"Handing the hoodie to me would have benefitted you, not me."

She's quiet for a second, thinking of my words. "How?"

Because I would have lost interest. I would have seen you as just another servant eager to please me. But you are so much more than that, aren't you?

"Go to sleep, and never say my name again."

I take a step backward, and her hand shoots out into the night, pressing against my chest to ensure I'm still there.

"Wait. When can I speak with you again?"

"You won't see me again. Stay away from me and your hooded friend. We're no good for you."

I melt into the darkness, and I hear her take a step into the hall, searching for me. She makes a small sound of distress and my chest tightens.

I walk away, leaving this wing of the estate that I never have any business in. I'm relieved that she's fine and no one is threatening her, but I'm worried about my growing attraction.

"Should have just given me the fucking hoodie," I mutter under my breath.

Should have just acted like any other servant. Predictable and opportunistic.

The dark halls that have seen my every move for years don't say a thing. Tonight, the halls are quieter than ever.