The warm shower I took that night was amazing. I threw my cold, wet clothes in a heap on the floor and turned up the temperature as hot as I could stand. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back to let the water spray over my entire body.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the biker’s weird behavior. Why had he bothered to help me when it obviously made him so uncomfortable?
I soaped my hair with a honey-scented shampoo and, at long last, felt I’d rinsed the cold from my bones. Then I wrapped myself up in a big, soft towel, sat down on the bed, and started to sip the cup of hot tea Alison had set on my bedside table. The tea made me feel warm inside, too. I dried my hair, put on my pajamas, and slid into bed.
“Ow!”
My hand went to my chest. That burning feeling under the pendant again.
I went to the mirror and pulled back my pajama top. My skin was bright red, but the pendant itself was cold. Was I developing an allergy to the metal? I hated to think so. Just in case, I took off the necklace and put it on the table. I turned out the light and let myself sink into the mattress.
The clouds and rain had passed, and the night had turned cold and clear. Moonlight shone through the window and danced on the silver pendant. I stared at it for a few minutes, then drifted into my pillow, giving in to sleep.
In the middle of the night I woke, feeling as if something important were missing. Was I homesick? A single moonbeam stole its way through the curtains and shone on my pendant. Dipped in the silvery light, it looked almost magical. Automatically, my hand reached out to it. It felt warm, and a feeling of safety swept through my body. I put it back around my neck, where it belonged, and snuggled back into bed.
The black-clad driver turned to look one last time toward the little cottage before he got back on his bike. He had stood for a long time, hidden by the trees, observing the place. He hadn’t come for any rational reason; he’d felt drawn here, as if pulled by an invisible rope, the need so great it was impossible to ignore. No one had seen him standing in front of the dark windows, and he wanted to stay. But eventually, he could no longer bear the pain, and he had to go.
As he got farther away from Aviemore, the pain faded, the burning feeling died down, and Payton could finally breathe normally again. However, a dull emptiness remained, and it didn’t disappear even when he turned off the main road two hours later and reached his home.
Both his brothers, Blair and Sean, were still awake, playing a game of chess in the living room. The chessboard was set up on a table of ebony and ivory, appropriate for the “game of kings,” and his brothers sat opposite each other in chairs that were just as elegant as thrones.
Blair wasn’t known in the family as a big intellect, but it was hard for anyone to beat him at chess. In fact, some of the games the brothers played took several days; this match had already been going for hours. Thankfully, it was their nature not to need much sleep.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sean said to Payton while playing his bishop. Sean didn’t even need to look at him to know something was off.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Payton replied. The last thing he wanted to do was start a discussion with the clan.
Sean arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if about to pose another question, but Payton raised his hand in warning. “I said, it’s nothing. Just leave me alone!”
For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other. Then Sean shrugged and went back to his game.
At twenty-five, Sean was six years older than Payton, and Payton was closer with him than anyone else in his family, including the head of the family, twenty-seven-year-old Blair. Sean seemed younger than he was, due to his thin, sinewy build. He was smart, he was in constant motion, and he seldom missed a thing. Just a few minutes before, for example, Payton could tell Sean knew immediately that Payton was hiding something big from them. But he wasn’t the type to push, either, and Payton was grateful for that. He didn’t want to lie to his favorite brother, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone about his latest experiences until he knew more about them himself.
Payton crossed the wide-open hall and went up a tightly wound staircase. The old castle was unfeeling and cold, just like the brothers who lived there.
He closed the heavy door to his room and let out a deep exhale. What was wrong with him, he asked himself. What was happening?
He stood in front of the full mirror and scrutinized his reflection. Dark-brown eyes glared back at him. His full mouth was tight; it hadn’t been used for a smile in a very long time. The old crescent-shaped scar on his chin made him look dangerous. His light-brown hair stood out rakishly. He subconsciously stroked his hair with his fingers, smoothing it a bit. He was a fairly tall, well-built young man, just as always. He couldn’t see anything that had changed. But why then, he wondered, did everything feel different than before?