The next morning, the air felt heavier than usual, thick with an unspoken charge. Every time my eyes drifted to Nicholas across the room, I remembered the way his breath had lingered against my skin last night, the way the silence between us had threatened to shatter into something reckless.
But instead of retreating, he seemed more restless, pacing with that controlled intensity I was beginning to recognize as dangerous.
"You barely slept," I murmured, watching the shadows under his eyes.
"Neither did you," he countered, his gaze sharp, probing. "You were shaking."
I looked away, hugging my arms to myself. He had seen more of me than I'd intended. Not just my fear my wanting, too.
"I heard something last night," I whispered, almost against my will. "Footsteps. Outside my room."
He stilled. Completely. The kind of stillness that wasn't peace but calculation. His jaw tightened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, hard.
"You should have told me immediately."
"I thought maybe I imagined it," I said, though even as the words left me, I knew I hadn't. The slow drag of footsteps, the pause, as if someone had been listening.
Nicholas moved closer, his hand brushing my arm. The contact should have calmed me, but instead, it set fire to my skin. He leaned in just enough that his words grazed my ear. "You're not safe here.
The room spun a little. Not safe. Not safe.
I gripped his sleeve, desperate for something solid. "What aren't you telling me, Nicholas?"
His eyes darkened, the kind of storm that comes before everything breaks. He wanted to lie. I could see it. But then his fingers slipped around mine, locking them in place, as though he needed the anchor as much as I did.
"There are people who would rather you never uncovered what you've already stumbled into," he said finally. "And last night… that wasn't your imagination."
The blood drained from my face. "Who?" The word barely left my lips.
He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled me closer, so close I could feel the furious rhythm of his heartbeat against mine. For a moment, the world shrank to nothing but us — his body shielding mine, his breath steadying me, his presence both a weapon and a refuge.
And then, from somewhere beyond the walls, came the unmistakable creak of a floorboard.
Nicholas's entire body went rigid.
"Stay behind me," he whispered.
The soft scrape of movement followed, like someone retreating or circling.
My chest tightened, fear clawing up my throat. This wasn't just attraction, wasn't just secrets between us anymore. Whatever hovered outside that door wasn't a ghost or my imagination. It was real. And it wanted in.
Nicholas's hand slid to the small of my back, steadying me as he reached for the concealed weapon I hadn't known he carried.
The intimacy of last night still burned between us, but it was eclipsed now by the shiver of danger threading through every breath.
Because for the first time since stepping into his world, I realized the truth — being close to Nicholas didn't just risk my heart.
It risked my life.