Chapter 4 Chapter 3

Sierravalle glanced toward the right side of the bed, drawn by the unmistakable weight of another’s presence. Her fear dissolved instantly the moment she saw the masked man standing in the darkest corner of the room. He stood tall and straight, leaning one shoulder against the wall but unlike the first time they had met, he was now fully clothed from the waist up in dark, rough-spun fabric.

The skull mask remained fixed in place, hiding every feature of his face.

Sierravalle swallowed hard, her heart thrumming a strange, frantic rhythm against her ribs. “You… You are real,” she whispered, still half-disbelieving. “I saw you in the forest… and I saw you again in my dreams.”

“Are you truly not afraid of me?” he asked, his voice deep, rough, and resonant as distant thunder. “Tell me the truth. Do you feel no fear at all?”

She shook her head firmly. “No. If you were truly evil, you would never have carried me back to the mansion and kept me safe,” she answered steadily.

A low, dry laugh rumbled in his chest. He moved closer, their gazes locked through the hollow eye sockets of his mask as he climbed slowly onto the bed toward her, stopping only inches away where she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Truly not afraid… yet you do not even know who I am,” he said, his tone turning sharp and edged with menace. “You know nothing of what I have done.”

“Will you tell me who you are? Can you show me your face?” Sierravalle asked quickly, leaning forward almost against her will.

“I can show you every inch of my body, Valle. Every scar, every line—naked before you. But never my face,” he purred, his voice thick with dark temptation. “That part remains hidden.”

Her breath caught sharply in her throat at his words. A sudden, thrilling heat coiled tight in her chest, spreading slow and warm through her limbs. She bit her lower lip, hesitated only a moment, then slowly lifted her hand to brush the edge of his mask.

The instant her fingers grazed the cold bone, he jerked back violently. Before she could react, he seized her wrist in an iron grip, his other hand curling firm and cold around her throat, shoving her hard back against the mattress.

“You foolish little thing!” His eyes burned brighter, darker with sudden, blazing rage.

Sierravalle gasped, choking as his grip tightened just enough to warn her. She struggled weakly against him, but his weight was crushing, immovable. She breathed out in shaky relief when he finally released her and stepped back off the bed.

Sierravalle sat up quickly, pressing one trembling hand to her sore throat.

“I could end your life right here, right now,” he threatened coldly, his voice flat and deadly. “Just as your mother was killed.”

For the first time, genuine, ice-cold terror seized her. Her face drained of all color as she stared at him, stunned—how did he know? How could he possibly know the truth of her mother’s death?

“Believe me when I say you do not want to know me,” he said, his tone dropping low and hollow. “I am nothing but a ghost from your past, Sierravalle.”

“No… You cannot hurt me,” she whispered, though her hands still trembled. “And how do you know my name?”

“I hear it spoken everywhere within these walls,” he answered sharply. “Do not test me, Sierravalle.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Sierravalle watched his broad figure vanish into the shadows. The moment the latch clicked, she scrambled off the bed and hurried silently after him.

She froze the second she stepped beyond the doorway—every wall of the long corridor was lined floor to ceiling with tall, gleaming mirrors. Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks as she stared at her own reflection, and then beyond it: there in the glass, she saw her mother, the agony etched deep into her face, the blood staining her dress.

Sierravalle had spent most of her life turning away from mirrors. She looked so much like her it hurt to look.

Suddenly, a large hand clamped gently but firmly over her eyes from behind. She reached up, gripping his wrist, her feet rooted fast to the floor.

“Do you want me to tear these walls down for you?” he asked low in her ear.

She gave no answer. The next sound that filled the corridor was the deafening crash of shattering glass. When he pulled his hand away and she opened her eyes, she saw him swinging his axe again and again, smashing every mirror into shards of light and shadow.

She clenched her fists at her sides and shouted over the noise, “I am not afraid of you! I will never be afraid of this face! And I will never be afraid of my past!”

He dropped the axe with a heavy thud and stepped slowly toward her. He lifted one hand to cup her jaw, his other palm resting warm and heavy on her smooth, pale thigh.

“You cannot frighten me,” she said, glaring straight at him without flinching. “You will never frighten me,” she repeated, her voice stronger, surer.

“I am the very thing your nightmares are made of, Valle! You should be terrified of me!” he chuckled darkly, a sound that held more sorrow than amusement.

Fear still twisted sharp in her chest, but she refused to let it show. She lifted her chin and met his gaze unwavering.

“You should know… for half my life, I have not known the gentle touch of a woman. I have forgotten what pleasure feels like,” he murmured, brushing his thumb softly over her cheekbone. “Your beauty is like a red rose—fresh, untouched, as if it has never been plucked by anyone’s hands.”

Sierravalle swallowed hard, her skin flushing warm under his touch. A rush of heady anticipation fluttered through her, wondering what he would do next.

His hand slid slowly up her thigh, moving higher…

“What is going on here? What is all this noise?” an old man’s voice boomed from the end of the hall.

Sierravalle jumped at the sound, the spell breaking instantly. She hurried back inside her room, her mind still spinning, her skin still burning where he had touched her. She sank down onto the center of the bed, a faint, confused smile touching her lips as she replayed every moment.

She wrapped her arms tight around herself, clinging to that strange, conflicting feeling. Her mind warred fiercely with her heart: one voice screamed that this man was dangerous, a monster to be feared but deep down, in the quietest part of her soul, she felt only safety whenever he was near.