Page 8 of Shattered Princess (Hardin Hellhounds 1)
“It’s been too long.” Her smile is condescending, dislike for me plain as day. “Such a gift, coming back so… unexpectedly.”
It’s something, alright.
Her eyes lower, unimpressed by my casual dress. Jeans and a button cap-sleeved T-shirt. Complete opposite of her black wrap dress and matching stiletto combination. The mourning color intentional, I’m sure.
“Don’t be rude, Lorna. Invite me in.”
I take a step, but she blocks me. Eyes narrowing to little points. “Let me make something clear. You messed up when you went away.” A muscle in her cheek jumps. “Mess up again, you won’t come back.”
“Guess we better play nice then,stepmother.”
Lorna’s face stays drawn, not sharing in my excitement.
I smirk but it only comes off bitter. Swallowing my emotions, I shove past. She doesn’t need to know that’s all I want.
A maid appears at the threshold, ushering me up to my room.
Following, I look around. High ceilings, ornate paintings covering the walls, and two grand staircases dramatically sloping, meeting at the top where we stand.
Nothing’s changed.
We take a right. My old room is at the end of the hall. If I’d known this would be my room again, I’d have come by myself. The maid unnecessary. Five years is a long time, but notthatlong.
The door across from mine is covered in various signs and posters. My favorite, a bright-yellow-and-black ladies’ restroom logo with the words ‘slippery when wet’ below it. I grin. I always did appreciate a bit of good sarcasm.
Spinning, I look up just in time as she opens my door for me. This is the same location but not the same interior as last time. A chunk of something catches in my throat.
The room is covered in dark-royal-blue paint, elegantly complementing the recessed ceiling. A set of French doors between the windows that lead to a balcony is just as I remember. Now dressed in opaque floor-length drapes. Two more doors are on my right, one to a walk-in closet, the other to a master bath.
Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling built-ins, I run my fingers along the rows of books. This is a new addition.
The maid dismisses herself but comes back up later to drop off some dinner. Placing it at the foot of the gold-accented king-size bed, then scuffling out.
After unpacking the one bag I brought with me, I scarf it down, realizing I haven’t eaten all day.
A nice breeze settles in the room after I open the balcony doors.
Sinking into the comfy mattress, I grab for the only thing besides my bracelets that bring me comfort.
My fingers skim the faded handwritten inscription on the first page, lingering at the initials on the bottom. A small sigh leaving my lips.
A closed chapter does not mean the book finished.
We make our own endings.
- A.C.
My finger twitches on the page, hearing a noise outside. Placing the book safely in the drawer, I get up, curious as it grows louder and I peek behind the curtain. Hoping the light from my desk doesn’t create a shadow.
Two boys stand on each side of the passenger door of a car parked in the same spot on the roundabout drive as mine had been earlier.
I couldn’t make out their faces, shadowed in the darkness, but their shapes were similar in both height and build. A deep voice carries in the air.
“I’m going—” the one barks, shoving his way past.
He gets pushed back, stumbling. I’ve had enough experience with my mother to know what a drunk wobble looks like when I see one.
Catching his footing, he tries again, unsuccessfully. The second boy grunts, moving him closer to the car and away from the house. “Would you stop already?”
