“Then I’ve achieved my goal,” Marabella approves, setting fresh espressos in front of us and casting her attention on me. “Before I head to bed, there’s a whiteboard on the counter. Leave me a list of anything you like and I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

It’s a pleasant revelation to realize I know what I like. Chocolate. Coffee. Cheese. Pasta. “I’m allergic to shellfish,” I say, glancing at Kayden.

“That’s a good thing to remember,” he says.

“And before you have a reaction,” Marabella adds.

“I might not want to remember who I am,” I comment, “but apparently my mind still wants me to survive.”

“We’ll protect you and be your family,” Marabella promises. “And now I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be in early to take care of the dishes.”

“Thank you for the wonderful meal,” I say. “And for all you have already done for me.”

“Taking care of this castle and the family inside is my life, as it was my husband’s. Eduardo was with Kevin before he knew me, and before Kevin adopted Kayden. And like him, I’ll be here until the day I die, if Kayden allows it.” She blows him a kiss and rushes away.

Kayden’s energy shifts, thickening the air. “Kevin adopted me when I was ten and brought me here. He and my father were both Hunters and best friends, so when my family was killed, he took me in. And because I know you’re going to want to ask, but will be afraid to, they were murdered while I hid in the closet my father stuffed me into. The case was never solved.”

He stands and takes his cup with him, and it’s all I can do to contain a gasp, the pure horror of a young boy hiding while his parents were slaughtered inconceivable. Suddenly everything I’m going through seems like nothing. Kayden walks to the sink and places his cup there, his hands settling on the counter in front of him, and I can almost feel the past cut through him.

I don’t even think about staying in my seat. I cross to stand beside him, my hand settling on his back. The instant I touch him, he drags me in front of him, caging me between him and the counter, his hands setting back on either side of me, but nowhere is he touching me. “Every time you’ve asked me why, it came back to one thing. You were alone in a strange country with no family or friends. Things I know all too well. And the moment you opened your eyes and knew nothing but me, I had to protect you.”

My eyes burn, and not with my pain. With his. “That’s why you feel familiar. It’s a bond of shared experience you knew we had, but I didn’t.” I reach for his cheek, but he grabs my hand, holding it between us.

“Every time you touch me,” he says, his voice laden with some unidentifiable emotion, “I forget you don’t know who you are or what you want.”

“You said yourself that a name doesn’t define me. I know who I am. And I know what I want, and that’s you and whatever this is between us.”

“I’m not a hero, Ella. But I’m not the asshole who is going to take advantage of you, either.”

“Whiplash again, Kayden. One minute it’s ‘I’ll fuck you until you don’t know your name.’ The next, it’s this.”

“You know damn well what that was about. You thought I was him, and it pissed me off.”

He pushes off the counter and takes a step back, running a rough hand through his hair and leaving it a tousled, sexy mess. “I’m going out for a while.” He doesn’t wait for a response. I blink and he’s gone. And I am suddenly cold and painfully alone.

twelve

I linger in the kitchen for a long while, finishing off my coffee and inspecting the contents of cabinets and the refrigerator, and in general killing time while hoping Kayden will return, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. I’m here and he’s wherever he is, forgetting I’m here, and I have no right to care. He’s helping me. He’s not obligated to me.

Finally, I accept that I’m going to bed alone, and do so with foolish stamped all over my heart that shouldn’t even be involved. I dim the lights in the kitchen to a glow, and then do the same in the living area before walking the chilly hallway. It’s a path that comes with plenty of creaks and moans of the castle, and who knows, maybe a ghost or two is watching, considering this place has to be three centuries or more old, but I have far more to fear in my own head right now to worry about such things.

I open the door to my room, finding it colder than I remember despite leaving the fireplace running. Bigger and emptier, too. Shutting myself inside, I don’t lock the door when there’s no one to keep out anyway. I go straight to the tub and run another bath¸ eager to sink into the warmth. Soon, bubbles surround me as I replay my encounter with Kayden. It doesn’t take me long to decide his pain is too raw to be about the death of his family when he was ten. There’s more.

Leaning into the bath pillow, I close my eyes and intend to keep my thoughts on Kayden, looking for answers. Instead, I keep seeing myself naked and tied up on that damn bed, and then sitting in front of that drawer, staring at that gun. Frustrated, I stand up, grabbing a towel, not sure why my mind keeps showing me the same thing over and over instead of the complete picture. I hate it. I hate it so much.

I dry off and pat on honeysuckle lotion before slipping on a silk button-up sleep shirt in a soft pink, and brushing my hair. Walking into the bedroom, I stare at the journal on the nightstand, and I want to throw it out the one window in the corner. I don’t want all of these pieces of the puzzle. I want the completed story. My story. And I want Kayden’s, too, neither of which appears willing to be explored.

Grimacing, I stop resisting and grab the stupid journal, sinking down on the floor and opening it. I have no idea why, but I start drawing a butterfly. A butterfly, of all things! It’s just odd and I have no real thought to drive the action. I finish an elementary image and give it a disapproving eye. “You are definitely not going to make your fame and fortune as an artist, Ella.” I shut the journal and leave it on the floor, pushing to my feet to glance at the clock. How did it get to be midnight?

Feeling claustrophobic, I need out of this room and my own head. Deciding to go make a shopping list for Marabella, I hunt for a robe I don’t find, and settle for slippers and a zip-up hoodie I wear over the top of my silk nightshirt. Opening the door, I listen, and I’m not really sure for what, but all I hear are more creaks and moans, disappointment filling me when there are no lights or any other sign of Kayden’s return.

I enter the hall and hurry toward the archway to the living area and kitchen, and when I reach it I end up staring toward Kayden’s room. I bite my lip, telling myself to go the other direction, but I think of him standing at that window, at the torment rolling off him, and I’m not sure if it’s me who needs him or him who needs me. Somehow my feet are moving toward his door. He’s not even here, so it won’t matter anyway. Still, my heart races, thundering in my chest, and it’s pure adrenaline that pushes me to his door. I stop and look at it, but I can’t seem to get myself to knock. I shouldn’t knock. Or maybe I should. No. I shouldn’t.

“Ella.”

At the sound of Kayden’s voice I whirl around to find him standing only a few feet away, his light brown hair tousled, his dark jeans and T-shirt paired with black boots and a sleek black leather jacket that confirms he’s been gone, somewhere, perhaps with someone.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks, an air of the rebel about him, of danger, that I perhaps find far too sexy.

My fingers twist together in front of me and I drop them, afraid I look as nervous as I feel. “Nothing is wrong. Or not really. I just wanted to talk to you.”