Page 53 of Where The Devil Kneels

I pause, the next words difficult to commit to paper even in the privacy of my own journal:

I’ve fallen in love with my watcher. His shadows and secrets don’t repel me; they’ve become as essential to me as my own heartbeat. I crave the fierce, primal devotion that drives him to stand in darkness while the world sleeps, that compels him now to walk straight into the jaws of death rather than let harm touch me. God help me, I need that terrible, beautiful obsession like I need air.

There it is. I wrote it down, and now it’s real. I stare at the words till they swim and dance, like the ink itself is alive and has a pulse. When I snap the journal shut, my fingers stay there, pressed against the leather like I’m keeping something wild trapped inside. I drift to the window. The rain’s let up some, just a soft mist now. Every so often, the moon peeks through, throwing silver light across the garden that makes everything look like it’s underwater.

I press my palm against the cold glass, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement, any shadow that might resolve itself into his familiar form. The night remains stubbornly empty, offering neither comfort nor closure.

My breath makes a cloud on the glass, and I trace a heart in it with my fingertip before it fades. “Come back,” I whisper, like he might actually hear me from wherever he is. “I don’t care what crazy shit you’re doing out there. Just… come back to me, okay?”

Only silence answers, broken by the soft patter of rain and the distant wail of sirens moving through the sleeping town.

Chapter fifteen

The Guardian's Price

Dawncomesingray,mist swallowing the shapes of my home until I can barely recognize it. Guards sweep flashlights over the grounds, boots crushing the path I used to walk alone. From our hiding place among the old oaks, I watch strangers move through my land. Rafe is beside me, binoculars steady, still as someone who’s learned how to survive.

“Three at the main gate.” Rafe’s voice barely rises above the gentle rustling of leaves. “Two circling the east wing. One by the greenhouse ruins.” His jaw tightens as he lowers the binoculars and lets out a dry scoff. “Amateurs. They’re leaving the northwest corner exposed. Typical Garrow—all show, no substance.”

I nod, grateful for his steadiness. My 4:30 AM text—fingers trembling so badly I could barely type—had gotten a terse reply: “Hollow oak. Dawn.” No questions, no hesitation. Just three words that confirmed he’d be here, ready to help despite everything it had already cost him.

“Rafe, I—” My voice catches. “Thank you for coming. And I’m sorry about the arrest. If I’d known Garrow would target you—”

He cuts me off with a dismissive wave, calloused palm flashing in the dim light. “Don’t waste energy on apologies. Wasn’t the first time Garrow’s had me locked up, won’t be the last.” His weathered face cracks into a brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, the county jail’s got the best coffee in town. Twelve hours in a cell’s a small price for decent brew.”

His joke doesn’t hide the dark circles or the bruise blooming on his cheek. He leans to his right, shoulders tightening with every movement. Those twelve hours were worse than just bad food or a hard bed.

“How’d you get out?” I ask, trying to ignore the guilt churning in my stomach.

“Judge Preston.” Rafe tugs his worn flannel jacket tighter against the morning chill. “Old fishing buddy. Owed me for fixing his cabin roof last spring. Dismissed the charges—‘insufficient evidence.’ Garrow was livid.” Satisfaction flickers across his face. “Not everyone in this town’s under his thumb. Not yet, anyway.”

We watch the guard make rounds, his path a perfect oval around the main house. Morning light softens the fire’s destruction: charred stone, blackened garden trellises. My stomach twists as strangers trample the grounds my family tended for generations. A guard flicks his cigarette onto soil where my grandmother’s roses once bloomed. Yellow tape flutters, marking off my life as evidence in someone else’s case.

“They’re looking for something.” Rafe tracks one guard whose attention lingers on the ground-level windows. “Not just maintaining control. Searching.”

“For Silas,” I whisper, anxiety surging as I speak the name. “He went after Garrow directly. Alone.” I clench my fists, nails biting into palms. “Stupid, noble idiot. Breaking centuries of careful hiding to protect me.”

“Sounds like a Merrick.” Respect colours, Rafe’s tone. “His grandfather was the same way. Watched from shadows until someone he cared about was threatened. Then all bets were off.” He shifts, lifting the binoculars to scan the back of the property. “When did he leave?”

"Yesterday afternoon. No word since." The fear I've been holding back surges. "Nora thinks Garrow might have—"

“Don’t go there,” Rafe interrupts firmly. “Focus on what we know, what we can do. Speculation helps no one.”

He’s right. I take a deep breath and try to focus. Get in. Find evidence. Get out. I repeat these steps to keep myself from panicking.

“So what’s the plan?” I manage, grateful when my voice comes out steadier than I feel.

Rafe points toward a cluster of overgrown shrubs near the eastern corner of the property. “Root cellar entrance back there. From before your grandmother’s time. Official blueprints don’t show it; it was sealed up in the seventies after a kid from town almost drowned when it flooded during a storm.” His eyes meetmine. “But it wasn’t filled in, just boarded over. Entrance is hidden under those blackberry brambles. Leads straight into the pantry off the kitchen.”

“And the guards?”

“That’s where I come in.” He pats the battered messenger bag at his side. “Got copies of structural assessments from the county inspector’s office. Official letterhead and everything. I’ll make a fuss at the front gate and demand immediate access to check foundation damage from the fire. Claim possible sinkhole formation.”

“They’ll never buy that.”

“Don’t need them to buy it. Just need them distracted.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Few things motivate Garrow’s men more than fear of him discovering they prevented something that might protect his investment. When I start making a scene at the gate, they’ll radio for instructions and argue amongst themselves. Should give you about ten minutes to slip in unnoticed while they’re focused on me.”

I nod, mentally rehearsing the route one more time. Eastern corner. Blackberry brambles. Root cellar. Pantry. Kitchen. Main hall. “And if Silas is in there? If I find him?”