Pinching my eyes shut, I cringe away from the glaring light radiating from my phone's screen. I can hear unsettling humming sounds near me in the dark tunnel.

Terrified, my eyes fly open, desperately trying to focus despite the black, phone-shaped spots floating in my vision after the exposure to the sharp light. Someone is moving towards me, stealthily like a cat stalking a mouse, ready to pounce if their prey tries to run.

My inadequate light picks out snatches of details: strands of long hair, a torn piece of lace, pale, dirty skin. I do not like what I see. Why would a girl be hanging out in here in the dark?

"Do you need help?" I whisper in a barely audible voice, and the figure stops... listening. I can see the vague outline of her head tilting to the side and feel her studying me. Most of her remains wrapped in shadows, and when she moves again, I can see she is not alone. Blurry silhouettes are joining her in the jerkily shifting light. "Who are you?"

I have no idea what I'm dealing with here! All I know is that I'm locked in a dark tunnel with unknown people who are not introducing themselves, and they are blocking my way if I should decide to run to another branch. I don't want to run to another branch because I'll get lost. I know there's a door to my room behind me; I don't know where the other doors are. I don't want to become trapped in a dead-end.

Technically, I'm already stuck in one since I have no idea how to open the secret door behind me. My questing fingers couldn't even find a joint when I was frantically running them all over it.

I am sure, with a certainty based on primal instinct and nothing else, that these figures crowding me in, cautiously shuffling towards me, do not have good intentions. There is something decidedly predatory about the movements I can see, and the sounds are crawling like spiders over my skin.

Even if there were no hissing and snarling, even if it were all just my panicked imagination drawing me fictional pictures, misinterpreting what I see, I would still feel the malice vibrating discordantly in the air around me, causing terror to course like liquid fire through my veins.

Why aren't they attacking? Are they playing with me?

"Please," I croak, my vocal cords skidding over the sound, unable to find traction and produce proper speech. I push my back tighter against the wall behind me, my hands clutching my phone, holding it out in front of me as if the light, helplessly dancing with the darkness, could somehow fend off the danger.

Why are they hesitating? I am a trapped bunny, and though they are watching me, their desire to attack me palpable, they are holding back. Perhaps they're not dangerous. Maybe they merely want to ask me for directions. They might be as lost as I am.

I should not have thought that! I jinxed it!

I see a blur of movement, and then the girl, the only silhouette I can clearly define, is on me. The cold fingertips of her one hand brush over my forearm while the fingers of her other hand tangle in my hair. My voice finally kicks in, and a scream bursts from my lips, echoing shrilly down the tunnel.

I fall backwards, landing hard, sliding over a smooth floor as if carried by a strong wind, defensively wrapping my arms over my face to ward off the strands of musty hair dangling on my cheeks. In my terror, I am vaguely aware of the girl being plucked off me. Her hoarse, angry shriek rents the air, followed by a loud bang.

Then there is nothing.

No sound, no cold fingers touching me, no hair whispering against my skin. Too terrified to move, I lie still, gasping for breath. The fall winded me, and the quick, panicked breaths spasming my lungs, are causing me to hyperventilate.

I know I need to calm down, take slower breaths, remove my arms from my face, and get up and run, but I cannot. I'm petrified, involuntarily curling onto my side, cradling my head in my arms and pulling my knees to my chest. My struggling breaths are unable to draw oxygen into my screaming lungs, and I vaguely remember pondering on the necessity for breathing to stay alive.

That was a long time ago.

I can hear myself whimpering in fear, and my head is swirling with darkness. Daring to peek through the gaps between my arms, I can see a painting looming above me on the wall I came through. In the gloom, it appears to be a portrait of a blond woman.

This is not my room!

I must've gotten completely turned around in the tunnels. I have no idea where I am! It is too dark to see my surroundings clearly, but the darkness isn't cloying or impenetrable; I can make out the dark silhouettes of furniture. I don't know where my phone went, but I can tell I'm no longer trapped in the dusty, dark tunnel.

Beneath me is a parquet floor partially covered by a patterned rug. There's no dust swirling about, and as my eyes gradually adjust to the gloom, I can identify more items in the room.

Faint scratching noises reach me from the other side of the wall with the portrait, and when an angry yowl scares me into thinking that the girl who attacked me is about to open the secret door, I crawl under the nearest piece of furniture where I can fit.

A large settee.

My vision is swimming with twisting shadows, and I can hear my ragged breathing, but no air is flowing into my seizing lungs. I'm shaking so much that my entire body jerks with painful cramps. I don't think I've ever been this afraid in my life. Or have I? Memories are drifting in my mind, like shadowy fish swimming under the murky surface of a fishpond. Recent memories and childhood memories all blur into one. I curl up tighter and tighter, lightheaded and nauseous and unable to stop my breath from coming in loud, shallow bursts.

"Aubrey," I hear my name spoken in clear, precise annunciation. "Breathe out."

The calm voice, speaking so close to me that it feels like the words are formed in my heart rather than my ears, breaks through the thick layers of panic clouding my mind. Hearing it flips a switch somewhere in my core, quieting my heart rate slightly, and after a startled gasp causes me to hold my breath, I shakily let it out, clearing my lungs of all the trapped air.

"And in... slowly."

There is no way I can disobey Alaric's husky voice, speaking to me in a mellow tone I haven't heard him use before. Following the rhythm of his gentle instructions to breathe in and breathe out, my head gradually clears, my lungs stop burning, and my muscles relax enough to stop the painful spasms.

"It's alright, Aubrey; you're quite safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you. I promise"

I believe him. I don't know why, but I believe him.

I also know that I am so fired now. I am 100% sure that using secret tunnels violates my contract, and I have nothing to say in my defence. Removing my arms from my head, I peer into the gloom, squinting to search for Alaric, but there is no sign of him, not even a flicker of movement in the shadows.

I am completely alone in here!

"Alaric, please find me," I whisper in a tight, frightened voice, and I know that once this numbing fear dissipates, I'm going to ask myself if I'm insane. Alaric is the last person I want with me right now. He is going to kill me for trespassing in the forbidden areas, for breaking the rules... and for calling him Alaric and not Mr Slatherty.

My stiff muscles are unable to move, and I'm still struggling to regulate my breathing when a light turns on, causing me to tense and grimace in alarm. Though the light, like all the others in this mansion, is not bright, my retinas have had enough abuse for one day, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a few moments and blink many times to restore my vision. When I can finally see again, I notice the crumpled-up rug where I'd landed, as if the tunnel spat me out, sucked the girl back inside and shut the entrance.

It is a beautiful rug covered in dark blue and grey designs, but seeing it makes all this craziness too real, and I'm starting to shake again. All the upholstery and drapes of this neoclassical-furnished salon reflect the same blues and greys of the rug on the dark and light wood patterned floor. It looks nothing like my gothic-inspired black, red and white bedroom with its dramatic furniture and high-arched windows.

"Not a drop of blood left," an agitated voice bites out, and I can see two pairs of shoes in the doorway. The other furniture displayed around me hides the bodies attached to these feet from my view. If Alaric came to get me, he brought help, and what is this man saying about blood?!

I know that voice, but it is out of context and in my current befuddled state, I struggle to place it. Panic is again starting to build inside me like rising yeast, and I can imagine it bubbling thickly from my mouth, nose and ears, suffocating me.

"It wasn't Saoirse!" I immediately recognise Liam as the second speaker and want to call out to him, but my voice is frozen, locked up tightly like all my muscles. "She hasn't left the grounds since... the incident."

"Aye, but people are scared, Liam. They are lookin' for answers."

Billy!

My heart leaps with relief, and I'm about to knock on the floor or make some kind of noise to draw his attention when their words slam the breath from my lungs again, freezing me in place.

"They need to look elsewhere..."

"A baby died, Liam!′ Billy grumbles, sounding upset and angry. He is a far cry from the warm, witty man I spent time with yesterday. No wonder I couldn't quite place him at first. "One baby is one baby too many. We cannot have a repeat of history!"

"No, I agree, we cannot," Liam sighs, stepping into my line of sight and running an agitated hand through his hair. "None of us wants that, believe me, Billy!"

"I do... I'm not the one who needs convincin'." Billy joins Liam in the middle of the floor, and for once, I am grateful for the bad lighting in this mansion, casting solid shadows for me to hide in. My heart lurches when I see his thick red hair catch the light, his strong profile and his healthy game-ranger-good looks so out of place in this demure room with its delicate artwork.

"She's not turning," Liam says with a finality that doesn't invite any arguments. "I don't think she ever will." His voice breaks on a sad note, and he lowers his head to study his feet. Billy's handsome features twist with sorrow, and then he visibly steels himself against the emotions flitting across his face.

"Liam, yer loyalty to the Slatherties is admirable, but..."

"They are my family, Billy!" Liam implores, grabbing Billy's shoulders. "Our family. Saoirse is our blood; she's all we have left of Ambrose..." He drops his hands from Billy and turns away, crossing to a beautiful writer's desk near windows covered in blue and grey jacquard damask drapes. A shuddering sigh escapes him, and he steadies himself with his hands flat on the desk's surface.

I can feel his anguish all the way to where I'm curled up under the settee. Even in my freaked-out state, sympathy rises like soda bubbles in my chest. I do not understand this conversation at all. Isn't Saoirse the three Slatherty brothers' little sister? The late Ambrose's sister?

"To be sure, to be sure," Billy says, following Liam, placing a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. I didn't know that Liam and Billy were close.

"Billy, if anything happens to her, it will break Alaric and Ransford... and me..." Liam says, straightening and turning to face Billy. "We cannot afford that. Alaric and Ransford are our only hope."

"Naw, we cannot afford that," Billy grunts, his features tight with tension. "We need them strong. If they fall, Peace Haven will fall... and where to from there?"

"The world would burn..." Liam takes a deep breath, shakes his head and turns away again to open the desk. I watch him remove an intricately carved wooden chest from it and carefully hand it to Billy. "You'd better go. The mist is coming in, and it is getting late."

"Aye," Billy grunts, turning towards the door. Then, he stops, narrowing his eyes on Liam's face when he joins him. "What about Aubrey."

What about me?! Why am I being mentioned in this weird conversation?! Don't mention me!

"I'm handling it," Liam assures him, and I don't know what Billy sees on his face or hears in his words, but his expression darkens, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as splotches of angry red break out all over his face.

"Naw! Liam!"

"It's the only way, Billy!" Liam says with a note of regret in his voice. He turns away from Billy's anger and strides to the door, exiting into a hallway beyond.

"Naw!" Billy growls, following him from the room, turning off the light along the way. "There has to be a better way!"

"You know there isn't; the alternative is so much worse. Besides, this is meant to be. Think about it, Billy, we..."

Their voices fade along with their footsteps, leaving me stunned and horrified, blinking slowly, my mind suffocating in the muddy thoughts churned up by their words.

I barely dare to breathe; I just lie still, begging my muscles to work again so that I can get out of here. What do I do now? Where can I possibly go?! I trusted Billy and Liam... Suddenly, I am just a woman, alone in a strange mansion with weird corridors and threatening shadows filled with murky people.

Is anybody on my side?!

I should take the car, drive to the harbour and get on the first boat back to the UK. All my dreams of a wonderful future working on the Slatherty collection and discovering my roots are going up in flames of sheer terror.

What is Liam doing to me?

It must be something horrible for Billy to be that distressed. Perhaps he would help me if he does not agree with whatever is being done to me.

"You can come out now, Miss Dankworth," Alaric's voice does not calm me this time; it causes me to hit my head on the underside of the settee. It comes from a spot near my hiding place rather than from my heart, and I can even see his shoes when I turn my head. I am so distraught I didn't notice the light turning on again.

"I can't," I whisper.

"It's alright now, just come out." His voice still holds that gentle tone I'd heard in my head, and I'm suddenly too exhausted even to wonder how I heard him before. Did I hear him? Did I just wish to hear him? I should fear him; I know I should, but I don't.

"Can't..."

I nearly scream when he kneels and looks under the settee, his face inches away from mine. I am grateful for the gloom because I don't think I would survive having his glittering eyes so close to me right now.

"Let me help you."

"No, I'm quite comfortable here, thank you."

I gasp in fright when he reaches out and works one arm behind my back and the other under my knees and pulls me towards him as though I weigh nothing. I'm shivering as if I'm caught in a freezer, and though the room is quite cool, it is really not cold enough to justify it.

"It's alright now," Alaric murmurs, pulling me into his lap and wrapping his arms around me. While my brain is screaming at me to run away because Alaric is a beautiful praying mantis, and I'm about to lose my head, my body nestles into his surprisingly muscular chest rather happily.

Earlier today, I would've been flustered, blushing and giggling at the prospect of sitting on the floor in Alaric's lap - it is utterly unthinkable, after all - but right now, too many strange and frightening things have happened to allow me to question it.

I'm cold and scared, and Alaric is warm and strong... who cares if he chews off my head?

"It is generally the females that eat the males after mating with them," he tells me matter-of-factly. "I think you're safe. As am I, since we feed you enough not to turn to cannibalism... and there's no mating activities planned for today that I'm aware of..."

I stiffen in shock. Not only did Alaric Slatherty just make a joke (I think), but he made it in response to something I'm pretty sure I didn't say out loud... did I?

"Please don't read my mind," I gasp hoarsely, horrified and yet unable and unwilling to free myself from his arms and get up.

"Please don't think so loud."

He is stroking my hair with gentle hands, and despite this being an alarming situation, I have never felt this safe in my entire life, even if his breathing sounds a little strained and his heart is pounding loudly against my cheek.

"This is not the weirdest conversation ever..." I mutter.

"No, the one between the praying mantis couple was much weirder."

My mind is racing, my heart beating too fast to be healthy, and yet I can feel my treacherous body relaxing into Alaric's embrace, a soft chuckle escaping from my cold lips. It's as though I am two people. One is a terrified woman who lives in a normal world where people don't read each other's minds and girls don't chase you in secret tunnels.

The other is a strange female who likes to lie in the arms of the most disturbing man she's ever met, laughing at his jokes and longing to see his eyes, which she knows suck her soul right out of her body each time they land on her.

Still, I yearn for it now.

"Do you work out," I ask, running a hand over his pecs and biceps, seeking his strength to draw on. I might as well enjoy myself since I'm never escaping from this place and will soon be devoured by the beautiful man cradling me so tenderly in his arms.

"Yes, let's call it that," he says, his hand moving to the back of my head, tangling its fingers in my hair, and he is either trying to comfort me, suffocate me or stop me from talking. I'm not sure which, but I shift my position to free my face from the folds of his shirt.

He smells like Heaven... a seductive, dark heaven filled with forests, musk, galloping horses and nymphs playing with lemons. I don't ever want to leave his arms. I am so incredibly sleepy right now. I'm only shivering sporadically, and my pulses are leaping for entirely different reasons now.

"She's beautiful," I remark, forcing my drooping eyelids to open so that I can study the painting of the woman on the wall where I came from in more detail now that the light is on and I'm no longer crammed under the settee.

The woman in the painting looks like a beautiful actress from a long-ago era, her long, luxurious blond hair flowing over one shoulder and her eyes startlingly blue under thick black lashes.

Man, I would love to have my portrait done by this kindly artist. Surely, she was not this stunning in real life?!

Sadhbh Slatherty - 1729

"Yes, she was," Alaric murmurs hoarsely, burying his face in the hair at the top of my head.

"Who was she?"

"The last Duchess of Ulaidh," he sighs, his breath whispering over my scalp and down my neck, calling goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

'The last one?"

"The Slatherties gave up their titles; she was the last one." He hesitates a couple of seconds as if he's making up his mind about what to tell me, and then his tense muscles relax under my fingertips, drawing lazy circles on his chest. "When she passed away, the duke never married again, and about a decade or so later, he gave up all his titles."

"He must've loved her a lot never to remarry," I remark, thinking about society's expectations in the 1700s. "Or was he simply too old for marriage?"

Alaric is silent for a long time, and my eyes slip shut while I listen to his strong heartbeat and his steady breathing, a strange hunger stirring in the pit of my stomach. I've never been in a man's arms in this way. I can remember my grandfather sometimes hugging me as a child, but that was very different. I never once had the urge to sink my teeth into his skin and taste him.

What is wrong with me?!

Ten minutes ago, I was terrified, planning my escape. Now, I'm content and sleepy and, apparently, a cannibal. If I'm turning into a praying mantis, I want their ultrasound communication skills, not their lust for each other's flesh!

"He cared about her," Alaric says in a far-away voice. "But back then, arranged marriages were the way of the world. Love seldom featured in marriage."

That's depressing.

"Yes, it is, but they were fortunate. They got along well... and marrying her was an act of rebellion."

He did it again! I'm sure of it! He responded to something I only thought! Didn't he?

"Most people get a tattoo or a piercing when they want to be rebellious," I point out the very important fact.

"He probably did that too," Alaric chuckles softly. "Sadhbh was the daughter of... a servant... Marrying her made the woman he was supposed to marry very angry... which suited him just fine."

I am not sure what to think about the Duke of Ulaidh. Was he just being mean and difficult, or did his betrothed deserve to be betrayed? How did his wife feel about being used to upset the woman he was promised to? I would really like to know more about this strange story. If only I could stay awake long enough to ask all my questions.

"Was he a bit of a rogue?"

"Maybe," Alaric mutters, sounding even further away now, and I wonder if I'm really sitting here on the floor in his arms or am I lying in my bed, dreaming this entire adventure. It all feels rather fantastical, and he is not staying in character at all.

"He mainly just hated powerful people," he shrugs. "He made an arrangement with Sadhbh's father, and she agreed to it."

I'm glad it was not against her will.

"Perhaps she was in love with him."

"Perhaps..."

"Or with his wealth and standing."

"No, she didn't care for the glitter and glory of being the duke's wife..."

"You speak about her as if you actually knew her," I smile, enjoying story hour in the lap of my employer... That might be the title of a smutty romance novel!

"We have extensive records."

Oh, yes, Diarmuid told me about the Slatherty's obsession with documenting their history.

"Was he at least good to her?" I genuinely hate the idea of a servant's daughter marrying into a viper's nest of power struggles and things she probably did not understand. She must've been awfully lonely. She doesn't look lonely in the portrait, though; she looks contemplative.

"Yes," Alaric sighs again, sounding somewhat weary now. "He might've even loved her in his own way. She was his last attempt at having a wife. He had many before her without much luck. Some died of disease, others in childbirth, accidents... things he couldn't control or prevent. Life was-."

When he stops talking on a sharp intake of breath, I realise that I'm weaving the fingers of one of my hands with his. I would care, and I probably will very soon, but right now, I'm enjoying his skin against mine. It makes me feel secure, and he is not taking his hand away or disentangling his fingers. My hand, so small in his, looks right. They fit together really well.

"He lost many children too," Alaric continues his story, deepening the embrace of our fingers. "He'd had enough of people he cared about dying on him. When Sadhbh died a couple of weeks after giving him a son, he promised her, on her deathbed, that he would dedicate the rest of his life to raising that boy and making sure that he became strong and didn't die or become swayed like the ones before him."

"Become swayed?"

"Swallowed by power and greed."

"Sigh-Ve." The woman's name falls whisper soft from my lips. "It's a lovely name; it suits her. It sounds like breathing, like life."

I can barely keep my eyes open now. Alaric's voice floats in and out like a soothing lullaby on a radio that periodically loses the station. Are we even really having this conversation? It seems highly unlikely. Am I drugged?

I'm not so sure that any of this is real.

"Yes, it did suit her. It means sweet and lovely lady or goodness."

I run my eyes over the woman's gentle profile, sad to think about how young she probably was and how hard it must've been for her to leave her baby boy behind.

"Was he able to keep his promise to her?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad."

Perhaps I'm dying, and that is why I simply do not care about anything. Not the girl chasing me in the tunnel, not the strange conversation between Billy and Liam and not the fact that gazing up at the portrait, the woman's lovely features growing dim, I realise that she seems familiar. I just cannot put my finger on it right now.

I'm not surprised that when I gaze up at Alaric's face, reaching out to touch his cheek, he supports my head with his hand, and his searching lips find mine. If I am being devoured, let me be devoured every minute of every day forever because this is sheer bliss!

His lips are soft and supple, and his tongue is gentle, and I can hear myself groan as I surrender completely to the kiss, stealing the last of my logical thoughts from my mind.

Gasping in a deep breath, trying to wake myself up, I force my eyelids open. I have many more questions I want Alaric to answer. I cannot fall asleep now. I want to see his face, and I want him to kiss me some more, but his face is not there, and I'm lying in the lonely embrace of my bed.

There are no strong arms wrapped around me and no forceful heartbeat near my ear. I smell the familiar fragrance of my own perfume and shampoo; the forest, the lemons and the horses are all gone.

Through the narrow slit between my eyelashes, I recognise the carved vines and grapes of the heavy dark wood canopy with its white silk and red brocade drapings.

"How-?"

I swallow the rest of my words with a startled gasp when I see movement to my right, and a needle sharply punctures the skin of my arm.

~~~