by Alix Labelle
"You don't want to go up there!" Outside, someone shouted the words in the direction of the van.
Lily could hear the voice only dimly through the partly open window, but the words were clear enough. She saw her uncle shake his head.
"We really do, mate. Don't you worry about us."
No one else spoke to them. There was only the head shaking as they passed, mothers guiding their children into the safety of doorways and closing the sturdy wooden doors behind them. She thought she saw one or two people make the sign of the cross.
They could not, of course, drive right up to the house. There was a barred gate across the road at the base of the hill, and they had to pull the van off onto the grassy verge and scramble out of it, Lily still carefully holding her camera, already wrapped up in a jacket against the chill of early winter. Her long white-blonde hair was tied back in a tail to keep it out of the way. She saw Fred shiver as he pulled his coat on. Her uncle, who shared Lily's slim build and hazel green eyes, was already headed for the perimeter fence, examining the lock on the gate. It wasn't an especially sophisticated one, and in a moment he had a pair of heavy bolt cutters out of the truck and snapped through the rusting chain that held the padlock currently wrapped around the gate. Lily hoped no one had seen that particular feat of ingenuity, though she knew they would probably find out. Her cheeks were hot as she followed her uncle and Fred through the gate and up the easy slope of the road toward the mansion at the top of the low hill. She held the camera in both hands, filming the approach. It might make for a good opening shot, layered over the narration introducing the house and its history.
As they drew closer to the mansion, she thought a little uneasily that it seemed to loom over the road, over them, glowering through its dark windows. She thought maybe she was beginning to understand why the locals thought it was haunted. It certainly looked anything but inviting, there in the gathering dark of evening. The last sunlight glinted from glass and metal on is façade, outlining the sharp corners. For a place that had not been touched in decades, it looked oddly well cared for, none of its siding peeling. That would disappoint her uncle. He'd been expecting shots of a dilapidated old house to set the tone of the piece. They walked up the stairs onto the pillared porch, and her uncle tried the door, which swung slowly open under his hand.
Inside it was dark, lit only by the dim last light coming in through the windows. The white shapes of sheet-covered furniture, edges blurred in the grey, were huddled together in corners, set up along walls. The air smelled of dust and old wood. Faintly, Lily thought she could smell lemon, as though someone had polished the furniture some time not too long ago, and she wondered if a maid was sent in occasionally to keep the place clean in case the man who owned it decided to visit.
Lily kept the camera on her uncle, who was already speaking into his microphone, narrating the history of the old house as he crept forward with the air of someone expecting to see a monster around every turn. Because his back was to her, Lily felt entirely safe rolling her eyes. What a waste of a day. With an inaudible sigh, she followed him through the foyer and into a narrow hall which led deeper into the house, though she wasn't sure what he was expecting to find on the first floor. Wasn't it basements and attics that were supposed to be haunted? Fred was right on her uncle's heels, occasionally ranging ahead with the flashlight, turning it on dim corners that proved to be empty of anything except the occasional cobweb.
"No one has set foot in the place since the last member of the direct family line was killed in World War I," her uncle was saying to his mic in a husky whisper meant to fit with the atmosphere or something. "They say that his ghost never made it home, but the ghosts of his family, buried in the graveyard out back, didn't have the same problem."
Clearly, someone else should have written the script.
Over their heads, there was a crash. Lily jumped so sharply that she almost fumbled the camera. Three pairs of startled eyes turned upward.
"If you can hear that," her uncle whispered urgently, "there appears to have been some sound upstairs. We'll go that way."
He turned around, gesturing Lily to follow, and started back out into the main room where there was a set of stairs along the wall with a curving banister of black wood, leading up to the second floor. Lily supposed she was at least grateful that the stairs were in decent shape and she didn't have to worry about falling through any weak spots. She was following her uncle and Fred up toward the second floor landing when something tapped her on the shoulder.
Startled, she spun around, staring into the dim grey room, but there was nothing behind her. Her heart hammered against her ribs in a way that made her wish she hadn't come on this expedition. What if she had been wrong? What if there really was something in the old house? She turned again to hurry after her uncle and Fred, but they were already nearly at the top of the stairs, and as she raised her foot to follow again, there was another tap, this time against the small of her back.
Lily was sure she made some kind of noise, a high-pitched little gasp, as she turned. She didn't carry a flashlight, not with the camera. She had been using night vision at her uncle's request, and she looked down at the display, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, only the room below with its neatly covered furniture.
When she looked back up the stairs, her uncle and Fred were gone, and she took a deep breath to try and calm the way her hands were trembling. How had they not noticed she was left behind? She took the stairs two at a time, hoping the sound of her feet on the wood would alert them that she was following, that they needed to wait for her. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she couldn't see them down either hall, couldn't even hear her uncle's constant narrating murmur. She turned to the left, walking slowly down the narrow passage. All of the doors were closed. It looked as though the hall ran the length of the house, and at the end there was a window and another turn. Maybe it ran all around the top floor.
Lily followed the hall as it curved, and she found herself looking down the length of it toward a large door of unpainted oak.
The sound of feet suddenly running behind her made her spin around, but there was nothing to see, even when—breathing fast and trying to keep it silent so that if there was anything there it couldn't hear her—she looked carefully around the corner. She saw light jump against one of the walls, and moved to follow, certain the sound of running feet had been her uncle and Fred, but, abruptly, found her way blocked.
Chapter Two
"What are you doing here?"
Lily took a step back, fumbling for the light on the top of her camera and never mind the night vision. She had almost thought for an instant that she would find a security guard, but when she turned the light toward the floor just enough to keep from blinding him, she found herself looking up at a tall, dark-haired man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen, dressed in a button up rolled to his elbows, and a pair of black slacks.
"I... God. I'm sorry. Is this your house? We didn't know anyone lived here. The door was unlocked. It wasn't really my idea. My uncle—" She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth, taking a step back.
"This is, in fact, my house," the man's smooth voice said from above her. "You should not have trespassed."
Lily's heart, she was quite sure, dropped directly into her stomach. She hated upsetting people. Hated feeling like she'd done something wrong. In the dark, she felt her cheeks flush pink.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, unable to make her voice come out any louder through the tight clench of her throat. "I'll go. My uncle and Fred should already be downstairs… I thought I heard them running. They probably wanted to avoid you. I'll tell them that they made a mistake. We won't be back. I'm so sorry that we bothered you. It was—"
This time it was the homeowner who cut her off, laying a long, cool finger against her lips. Even in the barely-there light, she could see the white flash of his smile.
"One apology is enough. I admit that it is likely you did not kn
ow the house was occupied. And I cannot say I am entirely disappointed to be graced with such a lovely, if unexpected, guest."
Lily's blush deepened, and she opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.
"I am sorry I frightened you, if it makes any difference." He lifted his hand away, fingers brushing—accidentally or not, she wasn't sure—against her cheek before the touch was gone entirely.
She saw his eyes widen.
"Do not cry," he said, voice suddenly gentle. "I didn't know I had frightened you so badly. I only meant to play a bit of a game. It's been a long time since I had much contact with anyone."
Lily lifted a hand to her cheek and it came back wet. She hadn't even realized she was crying.
"I'm sorry," she said, mortified. "It's not your fault. I cry easy. I'm just so embarrassed. I can't believe we just walked in here. Oh god. I can't believe we didn't pay any attention to the locals. They were probably trying to tell us the house was occupied. I thought they were just shaking their heads at us because my uncle is here to hunt ghosts. Which is stupid. I think it's stupid too. I wouldn't even be here, except I'm staying with him because of my job, and... You don't need to know that. God. I'm sorry. I should be getting out of your house and I'm standing here telling you my whole life story."
When she looked up, he was laughing. There was no sound to it, but that was definitely what he was doing, a smile on his—really very beautifully shaped—mouth, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth. Lily felt the flush on her cheeks run all the way up to the tips of her ears.
"You must think I'm an absolute idiot," she said, wishing the floor would just open up and drop her into the basement the way it did in horror movies, because even that would be better than standing here in front of the very attractive owner of the house she had trespassed in, babbling about her stupid life with her uncle and his stupid ghost-hunting plans.
"I think nothing of the sort," the man said. "And I have been very rude. My name is Damien. Damien Arbor."
He held out a hand, and Lily, after a moment's hesitation, took it, laying her own against his cool fingers. "Lily Mead," she said.
Instead of shaking her hand, he turned his own and lifted it, brushing a kiss against her knuckles that made her cheeks so hot they hurt.
"A pleasure to meet you, despite circumstances," he said. "I don't believe you need to run right out. It's been a very long time since I've had any company. If you'd like to stay?"
Lily shook her head.
"I'm sorry. Maybe if I had come in a little less ridiculous way. I just..." She was too embarrassed to even think about staying and trying to have a conversation with this man. She took a step back, intending to find another way down to the main floor and out the door. Back home, she could put this whole horrible incident behind her and pretend it never happened.
"Don't go," he said, and it wasn't a plea but almost an order, spoken low.
Lily stopped as though she had been frozen in place. Damien reached out again, brushed his fingertips along her cheek.
"Truly," he said. "I wish you to stay."
When she looked up, he was nearly in her space, looking down at her with those astonishingly blue eyes, and she found herself trying to breathe through lungs that suddenly felt much too small behind the heavy wall of her chest. Lips parted and eyes wide, she stared up at him.
"If I kiss you," he asked, leaning nearer, "would that be considered entirely unacceptable?"
Mutely, Lily shook her head. It was probably strange. Probably not all that acceptable, actually, but she couldn't imagine saying no, and suddenly wasn't even sure, caught in his eyes like that, why she had wanted to leave after all.
He leaned down slowly, his cool hand curling around the back of her neck and guiding her closer until their lips met. Lily melted against him with an ease that made her embarrassment flare anew. What on earth was she doing, kissing the owner of the house they'd broken into in his dark upstairs hallway? She'd only just met him. But his mouth was moving against hers, his tongue slipping between her lips to deepen a kiss that became suddenly hungry. It was a kiss like a claim, and his hand settled against her hip and curled around it, confident that she would give in.
She already had given in, hadn't she? Lily reached tentatively up and wrapped an arm around him in return, holding on as her knees trembled a little beneath her. Whatever was happening here, it was a lot more pleasant that what had been happening a few minutes before. Her camera was still in her other hand, her fingers holding it loosely by its strap.
When the kiss broke, Lily nearly stumbled as she took a step back, and her fingers tightened convulsively around her camera.
"I..."
She wasn't sure what to say. What did you say to the guy you'd just met that had kissed like that? Like he owned you and expected you to just go along with it? What did it say about her that she wanted to just go along with it? Her breath was coming sharp and fast and a little unsteady, and she looked anywhere but at him. Cool fingers slipped beneath her chin, lifted it.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he said.
"I'm thinking that I can't be here, doing this. Because it's ridiculous. I broke into your house and now I'm kissing you and that's just strange. And I think you're really hot," she admitted, words spilling out the way they had been all night, like she couldn't stop talking. Like she couldn't do anything but obey him. "I don't even know what to think. I'm really confused and kind of embarrassed and I probably shouldn't be kissing some guy that I only just met."
"And why not?" he asked, taking a step forward to match the one she had taken back, until he was pressed up so close that she could almost feel him, though they didn't quite touch. "I see nothing wrong with it."
And then he was kissing her again and Lily wasn't seeing anything wrong with it either. She set her camera gently on the floor next to their feet and wrapped both arms around his shoulders this time. Whatever it was that was happening, she was surprisingly okay with it after all.
Chapter Three
His arms lifted her like she weighed nothing, pulling her up until she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist, holding on to him so she wouldn't fall.
"I promise," he said, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. "That I will not harm you. I swear it."
Lily didn't have time to answer before his mouth was on hers again. Dimly, she thought that was kind of a strange thing to say in the middle of a kiss, but maybe not such a strange thing if you were strangers who had met in the dark after one of you broke into the other's house. And then she was thinking about how likely she was to end up on an episode of some true crime show. And then she wasn't thinking about any of that, her attention caught up in the way his mouth was moving over her jaw, down her throat. She tipped her head back with a little sigh as he kissed down her neck, pressed his lips to the place at the base of her throat where her pulse beat.
It felt, Lily thought as Damien groaned softly against her throat, like a dream. She wasn't entirely sure it wasn't one, in fact, given the events had become so absurd, except that she was sure she remembered the drive out to the town, the long hours in the van listening to her uncle and Fred talk about how they were going to get famous when they got the ghost of the Arbor mansion on tape. That wouldn't have been in a dream. Unless she just had really boring dreams. Or, she had fallen asleep in the van, listening to them talk, and dreamed the rest. When she woke, they'd be pulling into town, the mansion still ahead of them.
Damien was moving, walking them down the hall toward the door at the end, and Lily wondered if she should protest. Her camera was still laying in the hall, and that brought her back a bit. She couldn't just leave it there.
"My camera," she said, voice soft. "It's still where we were standing."
"It won't be harmed there," Damien said. "There is no one to harm it."
"But it—"
He kissed her until she forgot entirely what she had been protesting about, until her hands were tangled in his hair and
she was moaning softly into his mouth. And even if this wasn't a dream, it was too good to stop. Like the kind of stories that happened sometimes, even in real life. Not the kind of story you told your grandkids, for sure, but maybe the kind you kept for yourself. An adventure. Definitely more interesting than any other one night stand she'd had in her life. Lily laughed a little at the thought, and Damien pulled back enough to look at her as he opened the door at his back, carrying her into the room beyond.
"Is something funny?" he asked, eyebrow lifted.
"Oh." Lily flushed. "I was just thinking about how I was going to explain this to someone someday. I mean, it's kind of crazy, isn't it? Breaking into someone's house and then ending up in their bed?"
His teeth were very white, she thought as he smiled. And there was light, she realized suddenly.
"It is perhaps a bit unorthodox, but I don't mind if you don't."
Lily shook her head. She had stopped minding. She was just going to go along with the ride. Her eyes moved past his face to look over the room they were in. It was big, with wide windows that looked out on the soft folds of the hills beyond the house. And there were candles everywhere, burning cheerfully on tables and dressers, reflecting in the mirrors and filling the room with golden light. To her right, a fire was settled in the grate. And directly behind them was an enormous four poster bed, with a heavy duvet of deep purple.
"Wow."
Damien smiled again. "You like it? I thought you might."
"I like it," Lily said. "I like it so much I wish I had my camera, actually. This would make a gorgeous shot."
He was laughing as he dropped her gently to the bed, joined her there, his body stretched out along her own. Even in the warmth of the room, his hand was cool as he traced the curve of her cheekbone with his fingertips, slid them up into her hair, and pulled the tie that held it back loose. It spilled out over the plum sheets, and he made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat.