The back of her palm swept across her forehead, wiping away the sweat as she shut the door to the room she had just finished cleaning.
It was the third one she'd cleaned today, but this particular room seemed unused. It had clearly never been cleaned before. Camelia wondered why the other maids always ignored it. She locked the door, the keys clinking softly in the quiet hallway.
She tugged the hem of her gown down with a sigh. The maid's outfit was shorter than she'd expected, ending high above her knees and baring most of her thighs, but she would have to manage.
Her eyes fell on the last door down the silent corridor. She had a feeling it was his room. Greta had told her the family was in the backyard having tea, so there was no chance of him being inside.
Still, she felt nervous at the thought of being in his space again. After what happened the last time, she could not afford to somehow vex the man again.
She slid the key into the keyhole, unlocked the door, and peeked inside. Her eyes swept through the silent, dark room.
"Just go in, clean, and get out," she muttered before stepping in and closing the door behind her.
With the blinds shut completely, the room was almost pitch-dark. The only flicker of light came through a tiny crack between the closed blinds, barely illuminating anything. Her eyes had not adjusted yet, making it impossible to see clearly.
Sighing, Camelia set the bucket of fresh water down beside her and dropped the broom. The stillness of the room felt heavy, almost watchful, sending a strange prickle up her spine.
Outstretching her hands in front of her, she tried to navigate through the darkness toward the blinds.
"Who leaves the damn curtains closed at this time of day?" she grumbled in annoyance.
The next second, her leg bumped into something, and she lost her balance.
"Ahh!" she shrieked as she fell forward, but instead of the hard floor she was expecting, she landed on something else, something warm and solid.
Groaning, she raised her head. Her palm brushed across the surface beneath her.
She immediately sat up, patting the area to understand where she had fallen. It was soft, warm, and comfortable. She was on the bed.
Her hand moved again, touching the object she had felt before. Her fingers moved downward, tracing along something thick, warm, and long beneath the thin covers.
Her heart skipped. She yanked her hand back to her chest.
Is it a snake? she thought, panic prickling through her.
But it had not moved. Maybe it was dead.
She hesitated for a second, then reached for it again, holding it with both hands. Her brows furrowed. Whatever it was, it seemed to grow harder beneath her touch.
She pressed a little harder, confusion giving way to unease.
A deep groan rumbled, followed by an angry voice.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Camelia froze. That voice, she recognized it almost instantly.
She jumped off the bed the next second, rubbing her fingers against her palm, the warmth from what she had been holding still lingering, and realization struck her like lightning.
She had been holding his manhood.
Her eyes widened in horror. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have mistaken his manhood for a snake? She should have known what she was touching belonged to a person and was not just some object carelessly lying on the bed or a dead snake as she had thought.
The bed creaked, followed by soft footsteps.
A moment later, the curtains flew open, flooding the room with light. She squinted against the sudden brightness, blinking several times.
When her eyes fully adjusted, her gaze fell on the half-naked man standing by the window, the white sheet wrapped around his waistline, the only thing covering his bareness.
Against every impulse to let her eyes drift lower, she kept her gaze pinned to his; despite how hard it was to hold his gaze.
A gaze that felt like it could burn through ones very skin. It took her a moment to notice the hard glare he was throwing at her.
"You," Ian muttered, a hard frown on his face. "What are you doing here?"
"Cleaning," she replied, nervously pointing toward the broom and mop bucket she had left by the door.
"You're the one Alpha Caden and his damn councilman sent?" Ian inquired.
"Yes," she nodded.
"Finish your work and leave my room," Ian instructed, casually striding back to the bed.
"I'll get on with it then," she responded and proceeded to do her work.
On the other hand, Ian was not pleased with the idea of the girl working in the house. He had hoped their last encounter would be the last.
That was why even when she first entered his chambers, and even though he caught her scent in his sleep, he had simply brushed it off, assuming he was merely dreaming.
Not until the dream started to feel too real, with her hands against his cock.
'What a bold little mouse,' Ian thought, his gaze growing dark as his eyes settled on her exposed legs as she cleaned.
A small feast to his eyes.
His eyes remained fixed on the girl as she worked, his thoughts occupied by whether or not she was even a werewolf. She certainly did not smell or act like one.
Werewolves had a distinct dog-like scent, which vampires found disgusting and could pick up from a mile away.
As a matter of fact, on the night of their encounter, he was not just taking a stroll through the woods. He had been hunting her after catching her scent a mile out from the main road.
He had no idea what demon had changed his mind from draining her dry in the woods that night.
A harsh truth, but he was no different from those hunters that night. But at least he would have given her a much quicker, painless death.
After some time, Camelia was finally done cleaning the entire room, including the bathroom. All the while she worked, she could feel the man's gaze trailing her every movement, heavy and unyielding.
She faced him.
"I'll take my leave now," she informed, her voice low.
"Then get out," Ian's response was sharp but calm.
Camelia gave a low bow and turned to leave, but after a few strides toward the door, she halted. Then she turned back and marched over to the bed.
"Before I leave, I have something I need to say," she started, her eyes burning with determination to speak her mind.
Without giving him time to speak, and ignoring his hard glare, she continued.
"First, I want to thank you for saving me and for treating my wounds. And also," she paused, glancing toward the painting she had damaged the last time, "I want to apologize for damaging your painting. It was unintentional, and I am willing to do anything to make up for it."
The room fell silent. With the stoic look on his face, Camelia could not tell if her apology was doing any good or not.
"Anything, you say?" Ian asked.
"Yes, anything," Camelia responded.
"Hm. I have something in
mind that I could have you do," Ian said, a dark glint flashing in his eyes as a devilish smirk played on his lips.