NICKOLAS
I steal a glance from the road, my eyes drawn to Amelia as she sits silently in the passenger seat of my sleek Bentley. Strands of her damp hair cling to her porcelain face, still wet from the rushed shower I had insisted she take. My own hair is barely dried, dark locks plastered against my forehead. I know she must be starving, her stomach hollow with hunger. But all of that has to wait. Her safety is the only thing that matters now.
She turns to look at me, baby blue eyes wide and searching as my fingers reach out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. Those eyes tug at my heart, begging me to explain why I pulled her from the castle and now speed her away to some unknown destination. Sighing, I pull my hand back, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. As much as it pains me to keep her in the dark, to see the confusion and hint of fear swirling in her gaze, I know it’s for the best. She can’t know where we’re going or why. Not yet.
The Bentley purrs to a stop in the driveway of a stately two-story mansion. I climb out, and Amelia follows, her eyes growing even wider as she takes in the unfamiliar house looming before her, elegant and imposing. Grasping her small hand in mine, I lead her to the grand mahogany front doors and knock, the sound echoing through the quiet air.
A maid, close to Beatrice in age, opens the door, her welcoming smile faltering as she notices Amelia at my side, no doubt sensing the young werewolf’s presence. Without a word, she steps aside, pulling the door open wider in silent invitation. She understands. A witch herself, she knows I would only dare bring Amelia here, to this place, if the situation was truly dire.
“Where are they?” I ask brusquely as we step into the foyer.
“The living room,” the maid replies softly before turning to walk away.
I tighten my grip on Amelia’s hand, feeling her pulse flutter against my palm as I guide her to the living room. I sense her gaze on our joined hands and glance over to see her transfixed by the sight. Mere months ago, you would have literally had to cut off my hand if you wished to join them with hers. But now, I find myself loathe to let go as we walk, craving her touch, her closeness.
We enter the living room to find Aunt Ava and Uncle Leo on the couch, the flickering light of the TV playing across their faces. Amelia stiffens beside me, her grip on my hand becoming almost painful. I snake an arm around her slender waist and lean in close, my breath stirring the fine hairs by her ear.
“She won’t lay a finger on you. Not while I’m here,” I murmur, my voice low and fierce. I pull back to meet her eyes, willing her to see the truth, the promise in my words.
“Junior,” Aunt Ava says, drawing my attention. I see the smile on her lips quickly fade as her eyes land on Amelia.
“Hello, Uncle, Aunt Ava.” Uncle Leo looks away from the TV at the sound of my voice, his brow furrowing as he notices my unlikely companion.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, switching off the television and focusing his full attention on us. My unannounced arrival with Amelia makes the gravity of the situation clear.
“Let’s speak in your office.”
“Of course, you know the way,” Uncle Leo replies, rising from the couch. I turn to Amelia, grasping her shoulders gently.
“I need to talk to them, but I’ll be right back,” I assure her, guiding her to sit on the sofa. She nods, accepting but uneasy.
I start to follow my aunt and uncle from the room when I feel a tug on my shirt. Glancing back, I see Amelia’s fingers twisted in the fabric, her blue eyes round and imploring.
“Please don’t be long,” she whispers, her voice small and vulnerable.
Bending down, I press a tender kiss to her forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of her freshly washed skin. “I promise.”