The night air was still cold, but inside the main manor, it was warm and safe. The torches burned steadily in the hallways, casting a gentle, golden light that was a welcome relief from the flickering shadows of the coffin room.
Derek led Marissa through the house, his hand still holding hers. He didn't take her to her own chambers in the east wing. He walked past the turn, heading straight for the double doors at the end of the main corridor.
He opened the door to his own bedchamber.
It was a large, masculine room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large fireplace crackled with a warm fire. It smelled of him—of old paper, woodsmoke, and leather.
"Stay here tonight," Derek said. His voice was gentle.
Marissa nodded. She felt a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling over her. The adrenaline of the confrontation was fading, leaving her shaky.
