"Aubrey, how was your day yesterday?"Liam asks, looking down at me where I'm still seated at my desk. I thought he was about to leave and am taken off guard by the sudden question.

"It was interesting," I shrug, a smile creeping onto my face as I once again think about Ransford and Billy sparring in the yard. "I watched an exhilarating battle with sticks, and then I was treated to a war over a pink bunny T-shirt," I giggle.

"Billy and Ransford," he nods with a grin, impressing me with his powers of deduction. "You were upset when I saw you in the foyer. Is everything alright now?"

"Yes," I frown, trying to remember exactly why I was upset, but the memory is foggy, blurring at the edges of my mind. "I kissed Ransford under the settee."

"Yes, that is rather upsetting," Liam smirks, causing me to giggle again, nervously this time, while my cheeks flare with embarrassment. Why did I tell him that?!

"I don't remember why I was upset." Probably because after giving me an earth-shattering kiss, Ransford ran away, and I haven't seen him since. I really need to talk to him about it.

"Did anything interesting happen last night?" Liam gently probes, causing me to wonder if something bad didn't occur after all.

"Nope," I say, running my mind over my bedtime activities. "Interesting things were happening in the novel I was reading, but that's about it. I had a peaceful, dreamless night, and I feel pretty good this morning. I actually have too much energy today," I assure him, giving him a suspicious look.

Liam slowly nods his head, gazing into my eyes, completely unaffected by my suspicion. I feel a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny for the first time today.

"Why? Did something bad happen last night?" I ask, alarmed and feeling really tense now. "I didn't hear anything."

"No, I'm just checking in with you," he smiles his well-loved, comforting smile and lifts the tray with our empty mugs from my desk. "Are you taking those capsules I gave you?"

Am I?

"I haven't had any night terrors again, but I took them once," I answer, trying to remember why I took them and how often I've done so. I have no idea.

"What are they supposed to do?" I ask instead, feeling more comfortable being the interrogator for now.

"It's a mixture I've made and used with success in treating anxiety disorders," he explains in his soothing voice and looking into his bright eyes, familiar feelings of well-being find my heart again, and I embrace it with relief. "It's nothing fancy; it will just strengthen your nerves, calm any tension you might be experiencing, and give you the strength to deal with memories you're struggling to cope with."

"Oh, I see," I say, frowning, wondering why I would need that if I'm not suffering attacks of sleep paralysis anymore. "I don't have any anxiety disorders, and I have no bad memories to cope with," I assure him, surprised to see his jaw muscles flex in a way similar to what I'd seen on Alaric's face earlier.

For some reason, he doesn't seem to like my answer.

"That's good," Liam mutters, but he does not look convinced, not even when I offer him a bright, happy smile. Perhaps he thinks I'm hiding my distress from him. "Still, adjusting to life in a strange place is a lot to digest. I really believe that you'll find those capsules beneficial."

I can tell that it's really important to him, and he is the one who seems tense and worried now. Perhaps he should take some of his capsules. I don't like being the one to cause him distress when he has only ever shown me kindness.

"If you really want me to take them, I will," I promise him, pleased to see his face relax into a broad, sincere smile.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm glad you'll give them a try and see how they make you feel."

Balancing the tray on one bent arm, he steps away from the desk. "Well, I'll leave you to your work. I'm around if you need to talk."

"Thank you, Liam," I say, looking up into his friendly eyes. "I mean it. You've been very kind and helpful since my arrival."

"Any time," he smiles, and I watch him turn to walk away, a little sad that he's not staying longer.

"Actually," Liam says, pausing on his way to the office door to look at me again. "Some training might be a good idea. Do you have some time now?"

I narrow my eyes, wondering if he is teasing me again, but he appears to be serious, tilting his head, thinking it over in the earnest way he often does.

"I'm not doing flip-flops in the mud while I'm beating you up with a stick," I tell him, giving him a stern look.

"I'm not in the market for that either; I leave getting beaten up to Billy and Ran," Liam laughs, running the fingers of his free hand through his dark, auburn hair. "I'll just show you some stick techniques to defend yourself. It will be handy if you're ever... uhm..." He draws in a deep breath and changes direction mid-sentence. "It will help you burn off some of that energy that has you chomping at the bit to do something unthinkable, such as running."

Handy?! I don't want it to be handy!

"I'm in if you're sure you'll survive it," I grin, getting to my feet and walking towards him when he waves me over. It's hopeless anyway; there is no way I'll be able to concentrate on spreadsheets and presentations right now. I might as well give up and play with Liam. I need my lungs full of fresh air, and chasing him with a stick seems like the kind of delightful activity I require right now.

"Do you have something else to wear?" he asks, looking at my long-sleeved, floral dress. "Something comfortable you can easily move in and won't mind getting a little dirty. A tracksuit, perhaps?"

"Well," I grimace, looking down at the chiffon skirt softly falling around my legs. "This is really comfortable, but probably not for playing with sticks," I agree and pull a face. "I'm not very fond of trousers. I have some slacks, but they're pretty formal."

I think it over, running my mind over the inventory of skirts, dresses and pretty tops in my closet. I don't even own a pair of jeans.

"The only tracksuit-like thing I have is a fluffy bunny onesie I sometimes wear to bed..."

"Oh!" Liam grins. "That could work! Absolutely. Please wear that." He laughs when I roll my eyes, snorting most unladylike. "Don't worry. I'll see what I can find for you to wear. Do you have something like sneakers?" he asks, indicating the neat beige pumps on my feet.

I have a pair of old but pretty decent lace-up canvas shoes that I plan to wear when I go for a stroll. They should work. I could even drop them in the washing machine if they get filthy.

"Yes, I do have something that could almost pass as sneakers," I smile happily, and Liam holds his hand out to me to join him as he leaves the office.

"Good, if you like you can go put on your shoes while I find you some exercise clothes," he suggests, laying his hand on my lower back, allowing me to precede him from the office. Together, we walk to the landing, where I take the stairs down to my floor while Liam heads to the kitchen to deliver our dirty mugs.

I'm smiling to myself, looking forward to some physical excursion - involving sticks, no less - progressing effortlessly from one corridor to the next. They're all familiar to me now, and I don't make even one wrong turn. A week ago, I would not have imagined myself feeling excited about any form of exercise, but here I am, nearly bubbling over with eagerness.

Turning a corner, I'm suddenly brought to an abrupt stop, my heart accelerating its pace and butterflies fluttering to life in my belly in an unexpected burst of recognition.

Ransford!

He's here, in the mansion... on this floor. I can feel his presence as strongly as if he is calling me to come to him. I follow my instincts, weaving around corners and through corridors where I've never been before as if I know them by heart. I know where to find Ransford, and I don't even question it any more. I simply follow my senses.

Turning another corner, my pulses leap, and I know he is very close now. I can almost smell him. Will he talk to me? Will he be honest, or will he make light of the kiss or run away again? I'm suddenly nervous, but I steadfastly stay on course. pressing onward.

Sensing him around a corner, I excitedly speed up to reach yet another T-junction and am about to turn right when I trip, falling headlong on the antique Persian runner. Too winded to make a sound, I end my journey into humiliation by banging my head against a small table. I have to grab its legs with both hands to stop it from falling over and causing the priceless vase perched on it to crash to the floor.

"Pleased to meet you," I tell the table, and under any other circumstances, I would've meant it. My attacker is an extraordinarily pretty 18th-century French occasional table with delicate satinwood inlays, but I'm really not interested in its lovely design right now.

Though my forehead stings a little, I'm not hurt much. If it had been a heavier piece of furniture I'd bumped into, my head would be bleeding; instead, it is only my dignity that is severely injured. I'm still a little winded, but all in all, it was a good fall... if something like that exists.

Honestly, I thought I was done with falling over my own feet. This is highly disappointing! I push the palms of my hands against the carpeted floor, jacking up my torso, eager to get to my knees.

I could always pretend I was doing yoga if someone sees me.

When I'm unable to rise, I'm relieved to discover that it wasn't my own feet I'd fallen over for a change. In my hurry, the hem of my dress hooked onto the curly handles of a lovely little brass pot, the smallest of a collection of three, artistically arranged beside a large potted plant. The pot is light and got dragged between my feet, sending me sprawling.

I pull my dress free, set the pot in its place and crawl away from all obstacles to make it easier to get to my feet without injuring my self-esteem even more. Hesitating on all fours, getting ready to stand up, I die a little inside, seeing Ransford appear where the corridor I was about to enter runs into another T-junction to my right. I stifle a groan when he walks into the hallway, taking a couple of steps towards me.

Sure, just what I need right now is for him to catch me in yet another humiliating situation. The yoga theory doesn't seem all that plausible to me anymore, and the man has a habit of finding me when I'm at my worst.

Well, at least, I won't be crying snot and tears all over him this time. I'm scrambling to stand as fast as I can - the long skirt of my dress getting in my way - when I pause, really looking at the man who has stopped, no longer walking towards me. It is definitely Ransford, but I've never seen him look like this before.

The expression on his face is knocking the wind from my lungs and setting alarms ringing along all my nerves. He either hasn't sensed me yet, or he's simply too distracted to see me.

He is looking past the intersection where I'm kneeling, and his eyes are focused on the other end of the corridor running before me. He looks utterly devastated, his lips parted on a silent exclamation, and his eyes wide and almost completely black.

Feeling goosebumps creeping up the back of my neck as I break into a cold sweat, I slowly turn my head to look down the left side of the corridor he's standing in, dreading what monster I'm about to encounter. Nothing good could cause Ransford to look that pale and upset. I've seen this guy wield a stick; it would have to be a formidable enemy to make him quake in his shoes.

At first, I don't see anything. The left side of the hallway is wrapped in shadows so deep that even my enhanced eyesight cannot completely penetrate it. The dark is slowly spreading in my direction along the corridor, swallowing the subtle light as it approaches.

I try to get to my feet, but fear has me paralysed, and all I can do is stare dumbstruck into the darkness, watching it draw closer and closer.

There is movement in the thick shadows coming towards me, and I shrink away from it, trying to make myself as small and invisible as I possibly can. Surely, if whatever is approaching decides to grab me, Ransford would try to save me. He would definitely notice me then, right? He won't flee and just leave me here, would he?

Clenching my teeth to stifle a building scream, I look to where I'd last seen Ransford and the naked fear on his face destroys my confidence in being rescued from impending doom. He hasn't snapped out of his terrified trance yet and doesn't look remotely ready to fight if he has to. He is still standing rooted to the spot near the start of the corridor, and the look on his face is making the last bit of courage I have left drain away.

The sweet fragrance of Jasmin unexpectedly surrounds me, and I breathe it in, wondering about its origin. I've caught hints of it on several occasions while in the mansion and have always ascribed it to whatever polish is used on the furniture since it is early autumn, and Jasmin doesn't flower in autumn.

If I were smelling cleaning materials, I would've smelled it long before this moment, though.

I can hear soft popping sounds to my left and catch movement - much closer now - in my peripheral vision. All my muscles fuse together as I tense up, my breath leaving my lungs in terrified huffs. Pressing my lips together to keep the anguished whimper from escaping and giving away my position, half under the small table, I long for Liam's anti-anxiety capsules. Will they work as a repellent for light-sucking monsters, creating darkness in their wake?

Close to hyperventilating, I nervously turn my head to try once again to see what has Ransford frozen in place. My breath catches in my closing throat, my heart stampeding wildly in my chest, as I see a figure made of moonlight and mist gradually taking form in the gloom. I don't think I'll ever be able to move again. I am now just as stunned and frozen as Ransford.

The most beautiful apparition I've ever seen steps into the flickering light of the globes near me, valiantly trying to light the corridor from sconces set in the wood panelling. As the young woman passes, they flare up and die with a soft pop.

She has flawless, creamy white skin and delicate features, and her cherry lips are slightly parted with unexpressed emotion. Her blue eyes, large and soulful like a deer's, are scanning the corridor as if she's searching for something. She seems desperately focused on her quest. Nothing about her inspires any fear, and yet, my pulses are all going wild with trepidation.

The woman is slender, almost fragile in appearance, and she's wearing a beautiful white wedding dress. When she's level with me, passing in front of my stunned eyes, I'm astonished by the intricate details of exquisite lace, like cobwebs draped over white satin. Her hair is a glorious halo of flaming ringlets cascading down to her lower back.

She doesn't pause when she reaches me; she barely glances down my corridor while she carries on past me and the sweet fragrance of Jasmin intensifies, becoming overwhelming. Yet, there's no breeze in her passing, no rustling of fabric. I stare after her as she continues walking towards Ransford; the only sound accompanying her is the popping of the dying light bulbs as she crosses beneath them.

Searching in confusion for Ransford's face, I realise that I was wrong.

He is not afraid! He is utterly lost in despair!

He is breathing heavily, his powerful chest heaving with emotion. His beautiful features are twisted in an expression of pure anguish, and I can feel his sorrow piercingly strong, cutting through my heart, taking what's left of my breath away. Suddenly, I can remember why he ran away after kissing me; his pain is familiar.

What the hell is this?!

I don't think the woman can see Ransford. She passes him without acknowledging his presence and turns left into the hallway at the T-junction. I hate the broken expression on Ransford's usually nonchalant face, and I swallow against the tension in my throat when he turns to gaze after her, shouting something - a name perhaps - before his voice breaks on a distraught sob.

The woman stops, her head tilting as if she's listening to the walls around her. She slowly turns around, her eyes scanning the environment. She is still not acknowledging Ransford's presence, though she's standing right in front of him, barely a breath separating them. Her lips part, trembling, and I can see her shouting, but there is no sound.

Mesmerized, I watch helplessly as Ransford longingly looks into her eyes, his shoulders shaking with silent emotion. He is falling apart; I can feel it. I want to run to him and comfort him, but my body has turned to stone. I'm horrified to see tears sliding down the woman's cheeks, her features finally reflecting Ransford's pain. Her tears don't glisten in what is left of the light; they just flow dully from her eyes, in a phenomenon that makes no sense to me.

I finally manage to drag myself to my feet, holding onto the table that has become such an important part of my life in the last few minutes. It feels as if my body is moving through thick molasses, and I freeze again before I've even given one step.

This time, it is disbelieving horror keeping me rooted to the spot as, sagging with defeat, the woman steps forward, walking through Ransford.

And then she's gone.

~~~