CHAPTER FOURTEEN — WHAT SLEEPS BELOW
The hum didn't stop.
It sank deeper into the bones of the manor, vibrating through stone and timber alike, like the house itself was breathing slow, heavy, deliberate. I stood frozen by the window, my pulse matching the rhythm of that sound, my wolf pressed tight against my ribs.
Alert.
Afraid.
Something was wrong.
Not attacking, not immediate but wrong in the way rot spreads beneath pristine wood.
I turned away from the glass and scanned the room, suddenly hyperaware of every shadow, every corner. The fire in the hearth flickered once, then steadied. The lights didn't return.
Of course they didn't.
Storm Manor didn't need light to function. It had survived centuries before electricity ever existed.
I moved slowly, quietly, crossing the room toward the door. My fingers brushed the handle when the bond tugged again harder this time. Not pulling me toward Declan.
Down.
My stomach clenched.
"No," I whispered. "Absolutely not."
