Page 2 of Ashen Torment

His shoulders seem to steal the very air from the room.

The man has great hands that slide down his flanks, his dark hair is combed with an unnatural precision, every pomaded strand in its place. His eyes, equally dark, remain fixed on a point beyond the window, ignoring me.

My stomach knots.

Something is wrong.

I cannot say what, but something is wrong.

“This is my son, Viscount Evander,” my mother says, coming to a halt in the centre of the carpet.

The man takes a step forward and the scent of his cigar hits me. Sickly sweet and so dense it makes my gorge rise.

She continues to speak, but her voice becomes a muffled drone, a background noise that fades as I stare up at the man now towering over me.

“Evander!”

My mother’s reprimand snaps like a whip.

I swallow, the taste of bitter gall has risen in my throat.

The man lowers himself to my level, offering a bow that has nothing of a servant in it.

“You may call me just Victor.”

“Good day.”

He smiles. It is a slow movement of the lips that does not reach his eyes, yet the smile lingers there.

“Well met. I have heard much of you.”

His voice is calm. A calmness so flat it feels feigned.

My mother shifts her gaze from him to me, pressing her lips into a line of impatience.

I cannot remember the last time she truly looked at me.

I give a sharp, slight nod. A flicker of satisfaction lights her face before she turns toward the far end of the room.

He, however, remains standing before my chair, and his smile widens further, becoming a grimace that bares his teeth. He drops his eyes to my hands, still clenched into fists atop the fabric, then tilts his head to the side.

“I am here to serve you.”

“You are the accountant.”

“There is no necessity for you to know his duties, Evander.”

Victor smiles again, never once averting his gaze from mine.

“You may go now,” she concludes.

I stand, offering a nod to my mother without a word. I pass by him, ignoring him entirely, but the scent of his cigar follows me to the threshold.

I climb the stairs slowly. Every step is heavy, I feel eyes upon my back. I do not know if they belong to my mother or to him.

Stop looking at me.

The door slams behind me.