Page 20 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Rent out a haunted castle,” someone said, “what could go wrong? These damn Americans…”

“Fanny?” Pen exclaimed as she tugged open the door and burst out into a wide hall.

Fanny screamed, turning to slam a wineglass into the wall. White wine and blood dribbled down her hand as she held out the broken stem toward Pen.

Pen’s heart raced, sporadic beats playing in her chest. She pocketed her phone and held up her hands, taking a step towardthe groundskeeper. Fanny moved back, eyes wide with horror as she brandished the shattered glass like a weapon. Pen flinched, sweat sliding down her spine.

“Oh my god, Fanny, it’s just me.”

Breathing shakily, Pen hurried forward, gently prying the stem from Fanny’s grip. Grabbing her wrist, Pen urged her down the hall, stumbling in the direction Fanny pointed. Finally, in the kitchen, she ran cool water over the cuts before pressing paper towels to Fanny’s pale skin. Blood oozed through wide gashes, dark and crimson seeping through and staining the white towels red.

“Where in the bloody hell did ye come from?” Fanny asked, grimacing as Pen applied more pressure.

Pen stood, wiping her hands down her dark jeans. “I found a secret passageway in my room.” Fanny made a noncommittal sound, as if “secret passageway” was entirely normal. “I thought you left.”

“Wanted a bevvy from the cellar,” Fanny murmured. She held a bottle in her other hand, her fingers wrapped around the neck of it, choking it.

“First aid?”

“Under the sink.”

Clearing her throat, Pen bent and searched through the stuff under the sink. Finally, she found a first aid kit, discolored and nearly empty, with decades-old supplies.

“What happened?” Pen asked, looking up at her through a mess of bangs. “I know I surprised you, there, but you went into major fight-or-flight mode.” She used a few drops of alcohol to clean the wound before affixing gauze and wrapping it around Fanny’s hand.

Fanny swallowed and peered over her shoulder. “I thought I heard…” She trailed off, breathing deep. She clenched her jaw, blinking away what might have been tears. “It was nothing.”

Pen wrapped her hand around Fanny’s, imploring. “It wasn’t nothing, Fanny. It’s okay to admit—”

“It. Was. Nothing.” Fanny tore her hands from Pen and stood. She pushed off the table and hurried out of the room, breaking into a jog as she rounded the corner.

“Okay, then,” Pen muttered under her breath.

She stood on wobbly legs, closing the first aid kit before rubbing a hand over her eyes as the clatter of Fanny’s jingling keys quieted and the front door slammed shut. Pen pressed a hand to her chest. First the secret door, then the groundskeeper. Although she wanted to, Pen wasn’t sure she could keep chalking it up to coincidences. Already, the castle was doing things to them, and she couldn’t tell if the stories were getting to her or if there really was something more to this place. Either way, she didn’t like it.

Grabbing some paper towels, Pen cleaned up the mess in the hallway, stooping to pick up the small glass fragments from the floor. She wiped down the wall and soaked up as much of the wine as she could from the rug before retreating to the kitchen to drop it all in the bin beneath the sink. Leaning forward, she gripped the edge of the counter and breathed deep, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Looks like you could use a drink,” Storm murmured.

Pen jumped in surprise, eyes flying open. She turned toward him with a sigh, and she was startled to find she’dwantedhim to appear. She could play nice, but it didn’t mean she needed to smile or put on a fake mask in front of him; Pen could glower and grumble all she wanted. She studied him, carefully considering all six feet of him. He leaned languidly against the entryway, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles.

Face-to-face, she felt an entirely different emotion overcome her, warm and unwelcome. She tried not to think about that moment at the ruins, or the way he’d carried her bag (after insulting it) without even asking.

Or the way his fingers had slipped so easily into her braid as his thumb brushed her cheek. He’d held her face like she was the most precious and fragile thing in the world, and the more Pen thought about it, the more her pulse began to ratchet up.

But he was still Neil Storm. He was still the man who fought with her, who made her hands curl into fists, who set every part of her aflame. People didn’t just change.

“Why do you say that?” she ventured, crossing her arms.

He smiled, a dimple forming to the left of his mouth. And, oh, how she wanted to press her finger into it and force it to disappear. How had she never noticed that before? Such a small thing with massive consequences.

“I saw a liquor cabinet in the study.”

Pen puckered her lips. Why would she ever willingly spend time alone with him? On the other hand, she couldn’t deny that she was going to need something strong to get through a week in this castle with these people and whatever the hell else was residing inside these walls. She narrowed her eyes, the man unflinching before her.

“Lead the way.”

As he turned on his heel, Pen ran a hand over the back of her neck, her hair standing on end. She had the uncomfortable sense that they were being watched. Peeking over her shoulder toward the secret door in the hall, she sped up, her shoes clicking in time with Storm’s.