“I want to meet this man Simon’s family has held prisoner for so long. Besides, I plan to take Alek with me in case his father tries to board the ferry. It’s time he went home anyway.” Damon leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. “Stay close to my mother while I’m gone. No one would dare say or do anything to you with her around. They’re all scared to death of her.” He chuckles as he pulls me into his arms.

  I’ve thoroughly, and whole-heartedly enjoyed our intimate times together, but this embrace tells me more than anything about how Damon truly feels. You can lust after a stranger, but you only hold close the ones you care for the most. An unfamiliar warmth stirs inside my heart as I wrap my arms around him too, marveling at the connection I feel to the man in my arms and wondering if this is what it feels like to fall in love.

  “Be careful in Dawn,” I say, squeezing him tighter. “And watch your back. Simon isn’t a bad man, but he’s kept this stranger in his dungeon even after his father died. You don’t think you’re walking into a trap, do you?”

  “I don’t believe so.” Damon starts to rub my back comfortingly. “Simon seems to want to help his son. He knows he can’t do that without our help. He would be a fool to try to trap me anyway. It would ignite a war between Dawn and Midnight that neither of us would survive.”

  I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I hug him even tighter.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” Damon calls out, but he doesn’t let me go and neither do I.

  I hear the door open behind me.

  “We’re ready when you are,” Oliver says.

  Reluctantly, I let go of Damon and turn to face Oliver.

  “Make sure you bring him back to me,” I tell Damon’s best friend.

  Oliver bows slightly at the waist. “You have my word he’ll return to your side before the sun sets.”

  I nod, accepting Oliver’s vow. When I turn back to Damon, he has a pleased grin on his face.

  “So, you do care about me just a little,” he murmurs.

  “More than just a little,” I admit, placing a soft kiss on his lips. I turn and walk out of the room before either of them can see my tears.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fortunately, Margaret and Simon are standing on the other side of the large entrance hall when I walk out of the room. It gives me enough time to wipe my tears away so I can face Simon with at least a modicum of dignity. Even if he wins the fight with Damon and Margaret administers the shot to protect him from my poison, there’s no way in hell I’ll let him touch me much less have a child with him. He’s selfish and arrogant. Two traits I hate the most.

  “Margaret,” I call out as I approach them.

  Damon’s mother stops talking to Simon and turns to face me. A look of relief passes over her features. If I was her, I would find it difficult to have a civil conversation with a man who wants to kill my son.

  Margaret graciously excuses herself from Simon, saving me from having to talk to him at all. As she walks over to me, she makes a motion with her hand that I should turn to face the other way.

  “You look like you’ve been crying,” she whispers behind a smile to distract those around us. I’m sure it’s working since Margaret rarely smiles. It’s probably throwing people off their game.

  “I’m upset,” I say unapologetically.

  “You’ll need to learn how to curb your emotions, my dear, if you intend to be queen here. You can’t show weakness in front of these people. They’ll eat you alive if they discover your vulnerabilities.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” I say as Margaret leads me to a part of the castle on the first floor that I’ve never been to.

  “Do what?” She nods and smiles at a couple we pass. Their startled looks of surprise almost make me laugh.

  “Act normal when Damon has agreed to battle Simon to the death.”

  “My dear, if there is one thing you should know about my son, it’s the fact that he never gives up in a fight. There were so many times I thought he would lose the battle he fought with his father. So, so many times, but he never gave up. He beat his father down until he was able to claim victory. Don’t underestimate Damon. When he sets his mind to something, he always prevails.”

  Margaret’s words ease my worry somewhat, but what I said to Damon is true. Even if he wins, he’ll lose a part of himself, and I don’t want him to lose anything, especially not his soul.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we continue to walk down the west side of the castle.

  “The library, of course. We’re supposed to go find your father, remember?”

  I feel ashamed that I forgot about Boris, but my mind and emotions have been preoccupied with other matters lately. Not that it’s an excuse, just the reason.

  When we enter the library, I can honestly say I’ve never seen so many books in my life. The first room we enter is filled with books on built-in wood shelves from the floor to the ceiling. At least three other rooms the same size branch off from the main room. We find Boris sound asleep in a brown leather chair by the fireplace. The book he was reading is laying open on his belly and his snores fill the space with a symphony of sounds.

  “Good grief,” Margaret says, raising an eyebrow at Boris. “Has he always snored that loudly?”

  “Ever since I can remember,” I confirm. “He even snores that way when he’s in wolf form.”

  “That doesn’t seem natural. How in the world did you ever go to sleep with that noise filling your house?”

  I shrug. “After a while, you get used to it.”

  Margaret shakes her head in dismay. “I’ve heard cats in heat make less noise.”

  I snicker before walking over to Boris and gently laying my hand on his shoulder.

  “Boris,” I say, shaking him lightly. “Boris, it’s time to wake up.”

  Boris snorts and rubs a hand underneath his nostrils as he stirs. When he finally opens his eyes, he smiles when he finds me standing in front of him.

  “Hi, Poppet,” he says, using a nickname for me that I haven’t heard since I was a child. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost time for the change.” I pick up the book from his belly and set it on the table beside the chair, being careful not to lose his place. “You should go to your room and get ready.”

  Boris closes his eyes. “It seems like only yesterday I would tell you the same thing when you were just a wee one.”

  “I think reliving all those memories with Damon has brought out the marshmallow in you,” I tease.

  Boris opens his eyes and looks at me again. If someone wanted to sketch the love a father has for his child, all they would have to do is look into Boris’s eyes right now.

  “The moment Mabel put you in my arms is the moment my life really began, Poppet.”

  “Who is Mabel?” Margaret asks, slightly startling Boris. He must have thought we were the only ones in the room.

  Now realizing someone else is present, Boris sits up and turns his head to peer at Margaret.

  “Hello,” he says, standing to his feet as he adjusts his shirt and vest.

  Margaret nods in acknowledgment of his greeting. “Hello.”

  “Uh, Boris,” I say, “this is Damon’s mother, Margaret.”

  After we walk over to her, he holds out his hand for her to shake. Without hesitation, Margaret takes his offered hand.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Margaret,” Boris tells her. “Ivy has told me a lot about you.”

  “I can only imagine what was said,” Margaret says with raised eyebrows.

  “Only good things,” he says with an affable smile. “If you ask me, you’re probably the smartest person in either Midnight or Dawn. I tried for years to find someone who could tell me what caused Ivy’s curse. You did it in less than half an hour from what I understand. That’s pure genius level reasoning if you ask me.”

  Two miracles transpire right before my eyes. Margaret’s cheeks become rosy, and she graces Boris with what appears to be a genuine smile.

  “I quite agree. I am a genius.”

  Boris chuckles and Margaret laughs. It still sounds like a dying cat on a hot day, but Boris doesn’t seem to mind. Margaret’s gaze falls to the floor before her eyes cut a rather coquettish look toward Boris. He smiles at her with a twinkle in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

  Hold on. Are they flirting with each other?

  No . . . they can’t be. Yet, all the chemistry between them points toward that being the case.

  “Boris,” I say, attempting to regain his attention. He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Boris!”

  With what looks like a great deal of reluctance, Boris drags his eyes away from Margaret to look at me. He tilts his head in my direction waiting for me to continue.

  “You need to get ready for the change. It’ll be happening soon,” I remind him again.

  “Oh, yes, quite right,” he says. “Umm, I don’t suppose you lovely ladies could escort me back to my room? I’m not sure I can find it on my own. This whole castle is like a giant maze. Why is that, Lady Margaret?”

  “Please, just call me Margaret, Boris. There’s no need for formalities between us. The history of this castle is an interesting story. I can tell you why it was constructed the way it is, if you’re truly interested.”

  Boris holds out an arm for Margaret to take. “Please, dear lady, enlighten me.”

  Margaret accepts his arm and begins giving Boris a history lesson about Midnight’s kings of old as we make our way upstairs to his room.

  I suddenly feel like a third wheel, and I’m not certain I like it. For one, Margaret is the last person I would have picked as a potential love interest for Boris. She’s a Midnighter. He would only be able to see her during the two twilight hours during the day. Secondly, her temperament is nothing like Boris’s. Yet, I can’t help but notice how nice she’s being to him. Perhaps his brand of calm is just what she needs to help her forget the tumultuous years she spent with King Reginald.

  As we walk down the hallway where our rooms are, I half expect the ghost of Damon’s father to step out and put an end to the burgeoning romance I see playing out right before my eyes. When we reach the door to Boris’s room, he takes one of Margaret’s hands and kisses the back of it.

  “Thank you for the history lesson, Lady Margaret. I wish we could speak longer, but I’m afraid my nature won’t allow that to happen.”

  “Just because you’ll be in your wolf form doesn’t mean we can’t still converse,” Margaret says, seeming as reluctant as Boris to end their conversation. “The conversation might be limited, and I would be the only one actually talking, but you could listen. I have more knowledge about the history of Midnight if you would like to hear it.”

  Boris grins. “I would love that.”

  “Then meet me in Ivy’s room after you change, and we can go somewhere private to speak.”

  Boris bows to her. “I will only be a few minutes.”

  He walks into his room and closes the door.

  I look at Margaret in complete and utter confusion.

  “What?” she asks innocently. “Is there something wrong with me speaking with Boris?”

  “It’s not that,” I say. “I’ve just never seen you act so . . . so . . . demure and, dare I say it, nice. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Your father is a handsome and pleasant fellow,” she reasons. “Why wouldn’t I enjoy his company?”

  “No reason, but,” I look her dead in the eyes, “if you hurt him, I’ll find a way to hurt you. Do we understand each other?”

  She tries to laugh it off but fails miserably at it. “For your information, I can say the same to you. If you hurt my son, I’ll make sure none of your remaining days are enjoyable ones. Do we have an understanding where the men in our lives are concerned?”

  “A crystal clear one,” I state.

  Margaret nods. “Good. Now, why don’t we go to your room so I can look at your rash. I would like to make sure it’s healing properly.”

  When we walk into my room and discover what happened in there while I was away, I feel my stomach do flips and turn sour at the sight that welcomes me.

  The doors to my wardrobe are wide open, but none of my dresses are inside it. Instead, they lay scattered across the room in shredded pieces. Anger fills my heart, and all I want to do is find the culprits who destroyed the expensive gift Damon gave me.

  “Who would do such a thing?” I ask, holding a fist to my stomach at the sight.

  “Oh, I think we both know who would do exactly this, my dear,” Margaret says knowingly. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “Anya.”

  With Margaret’s nod, I know that’s the person she thinks did it too.

  “I can’t have her in this castle anymore,” I say. “She has to go.”

  “I whole-heartedly agree. In fact, I’m going to go tell her that right this instant.”

  Margaret storms to the door of my room. She looks back at me before stepping out into the hallway.

  “Are you coming?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No. I would rather not be involved. She hates me enough as it is without me rubbing her nose in her dismissal from court.”

  “Very well. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’m sure Anya and her gang of gossipers are downstairs waiting to see your reaction to this mess.” Margaret looks at everything in disgust. “I’ll send a servant to help you clean this up and salvage what can be repaired.”

  “Thank you.”

  I turn my attention back to the disaster inside my room as Margaret leaves to execute her errand. I would almost feel sorry for Anya if she wasn’t such a total bitch. Now I know why she and her friends weren’t at the challenge this morning. They must have snuck up here to remind me I’m not one of them. As if I would ever want to be so cruel and vindictive.

  I bend down to pick up one of the ruined dresses. A whirlwind of mixed emotions tumble inside me, warring with each other for dominance. Obviously, I’m mad, but I’m also saddened. I couldn’t care less what Anya and her crew think of me, but these dresses . . . they were my first gift from Damon. For someone so miserly with his money, he showed his affection by making sure I had beautiful clothes to help me fit in with the crowd at court. Maybe, he even thought I would be more accepted by the people of Midnight if I looked the part of their future queen.

  Well, screw that. I don’t need to change myself so I fit into a mold designed by people I have zero respect for. People have rejected me all my life because I wasn’t what they considered to be normal. I can understand being frightened of my ability, but it’s not like I asked to be born this way. For the first time in my life, I’m all right with the fact that I’m not like every other person in this world. If I had been born a shifter, I never would have met Damon, and that would have led to a life that never met its full potential.

  I stand to my full height, feeling more empowered than when I first walked in here.

  That is . . . until the ghost materializes right before my eyes like a pillar of light. He grabs me by the throat, lifts me off my feet, and slams me against the nearest wall.

  As I gasp for breath, I grab for the hands around my neck and feel something warm and alive. How can a ghost feel warm? Unless it isn’t a ghost at all, but something made of flesh and blood. But if that’s true, why isn’t he feeling the effects of my curse?

  I start to kick my legs at the human-shaped being trying to strangle the life out of me, but the dress I’m wearing makes it almost impossible. My field of vision begins to quickly darken, and I know I’m about to pass out. I desperately try to think of something else I can do to save my life, but a solution never presents itself.

  Out of nowhere, I see a blur of orange launch itself at the creature trying to kill me. Boris slams his body so hard against the not-ghost that it loses its grasp on my throat. As I fall to the floor on my hands and knees gasping for air, I hear Boris ferociously attack my assailant. While I attempt to catch my breath, I watch Boris savagely twist his head back and forth with what looks like a booted foot attached to nothing inside his mouth. A few seconds later, the person who attacked me comes into full view.

  He’s wearing a white leather outfit from head to toe. I can clearly see his face through a transparent mask that is somehow lit on the inside from an unknown light source. I watch in horror as he slips a dagger from a sheath attached to his hip and sinks its point into the side of Boris’s neck. Boris squeals in pain. The man pulls his blade free and rears his arm back, preparing to stab Boris again. I try to regain my feet in time to stop him, but I’m two seconds too late.

  As the dagger pierces Boris’s neck a second time, all I’m able to do is kick the man’s arm so hard that he releases his weapon. He ends up grabbing my ankle instead, pulling me down beside him causing my head to hit the floor with a loud thud. By this time, Boris lays on the other side of the man, either unconscious or dead. It’s hard for me to tell which.

  When I try to roll over onto my side, the man jumps on top of me. He’s reclaimed his dagger and has it poised in the air, ready to stab me with it.

  The next thing I know, someone knocks the man upside the head with the iron chair that was sitting in front of my vanity. There’s a distinct crack as the man’s neck breaks and his head lolls to the side. His body goes limp as he falls off me and onto the floor.

  Frantically, I sit up and scoot over to Boris.

  “Who the hell was that?” Alek asks, having been my savior with the chair. “I was just walking by and happened to hear the commotion in here.”

  By this time, tears are blurring my vision. I rest a shaky hand on Boris’s side and let out a sigh in relief when I feel his ribs move up and down. I grab the longer strips of fabric around me to make bandages to help stem the flow of blood from his wound.

  “Go get help!” I scream at Alek.

  Alek scrambles out of the room.

  I do my best to stop the bleeding, but Boris is losing so much blood I’m not sure if what I’m doing is helping at all.

 

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