Anson pressed Elvira gently but firmly against the shelves, his smile dark and full of promise. "Good," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "I was planning on stopping anyway."
His lips brushed tenderly against her forehead—a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down her spine. Then his voice dropped, laced with concern. "But… as much as I'd like to keep going, I think you should rest. I don't want to open your wounds."
Elvira exhaled slowly, her eyes fixed on his face, searching for the truth behind the words. She saw the flicker of seriousness beneath that cocky smirk. For once, he wasn't just playing.
Anson chuckled quietly, the sound rough and warm. "I mean it. You could get seriously hurt if we kept going like that. But…" He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek, "I can at least give you something to dream about tonight."
His lips captured hers again—this time slow, deliberate, every kiss weighted with promise. He traced a line down her jaw, soft and sure, until he reached the delicate skin of her neck. Then he bit her gently, leaving a sharp but thrilling sting.
Elvira gasped, a low moan escaping her lips. The sensation was electric, sending sparks racing through her nerves.
Anson's chuckle was dark and satisfied. "Guess I found your weak spot," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. He ran his tongue over the mark, licking and sucking just enough to deepen the impression, then pulled back with a triumphant grin.
Elvira's knees wobbled beneath her, and she sank to the floor, heart hammering in her chest like a wild drum.
After a moment, she pushed herself upright, trying to steady the chaos inside her. She took a deep breath and moved toward the shelves, needing to ground herself.
Her fingers brushed over the spines of countless books as she wandered through the 'Forbidden Creatures' section, then toward the next aisle. The dim light cast long shadows, and the silence was thick, broken only by the faint creak of the castle settling.
Just as she reached for a book, a sudden noise made her freeze—a soft thud behind her.
She whipped around, eyes wide, heart skipping a beat.
A heavy tome lay open on the floor, its pages splayed like wings. Elvira bent down to pick it up, squinting to read the title: In Your Shadows.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then shrugged, thinking nothing of it, and carefully replaced the book on the shelf.
Turning back to the rows of ancient volumes, she continued her search.
But then, something caught her eye—a flicker of movement just beyond the shadows between the shelves.
Her breath caught. Was someone there?
She stepped forward, curiosity prying at her caution.
Suddenly, she collided with a solid form, nearly falling backward.
Strong arms caught her just in time, steadying her.
"Elvira," Anson's voice was low and steady behind her.
She blinked, momentarily stunned.
Trying to pull away, she whispered urgently, "Let me go! There's someone there—I saw them."
Anson's hands tightened lightly on her waist, pulling her closer, his breath warm against her ear. "There's no one here but us," he said softly, his tone almost coaxing.
She struggled for a moment, panic and adrenaline flaring in her chest. But his steady presence was undeniable, grounding her.
"Have you gone mad?" Anson murmured, his eyes searching hers, trying to shake her back to reality.
Elvira's breath slowed, and the tension drained from her muscles.
She swallowed hard and looked around, but the shadows held only silence.
Anson's grip loosened, but his hands stayed at her waist, fingers curling gently.
For a long moment, they stood like that—her heart still pounding, the weight of unspoken fears hanging between them.
"I think you should rest," Anson said softly, his voice thick with genuine care. "Come on, let me take you to your room."
Elvira shook her head, her voice trembling as she whispered, "No, please… I don't want to be alone…"
That simple, desperate plea hit Anson like a punch to the gut. The fear of being left behind, of abandonment—it wasn't new to him. He'd seen it before, lived it in his own way. Without a word, he nodded quietly.
He slipped his arms under her, lifting her carefully but firmly. Elvira's body relaxed just a bit against him, but her eyes stayed wide, searching.
He led her to her room and when he laid her down on her bed, she immediately glanced toward the window, a restless look in her eyes.
"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Anson asked gently.
Elvira gave a small, hopeful nod.
Without hesitation, he lifted her again, cradling her close as he carried her out of the room and down the hall. His own room was surprisingly spacious, warm with soft lighting and heavy curtains.
As he set her down on the bed, Elvira's fingers clenched tightly around his arm.
"Don't worry," he murmured, voice low but steady. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her grip slowly loosened, and with a faint sigh, she let him pull the blanket over her. He sat down beside her, careful not to crowd her space.
Elvira curled up, folding her legs beneath her and resting her head gently in his lap.
Anson's eyes softened, admiration and protectiveness clear in his gaze. His hand found her hair, running slow, soothing fingers through the strands.
Minutes passed in silence—quiet, safe, and still.
Eventually, Elvira's body softened completely, a subtle rise and fall signaling she'd finally fallen asleep.
Anson stayed right there, watching over her, his own heart strangely calm for the first time in a while.
Anson stayed still, afraid that even the slightest movement might disturb her fragile peace. He looked down at Elvira's sleeping form, her face now calm, lashes resting gently against her cheeks, and he couldn't help but trace her features with his eyes—every soft line, every faint bruise the past few days had given her.
His hand paused in her hair, resting there like a silent promise.
She's been through too much, he thought. And yet… she still fights.
The storm that brewed within her was something he recognized in himself. Maybe that's why he stayed. Maybe that's why he couldn't leave—wouldn't.
A soft wind brushed against the window, rattling the glass just enough to draw his eyes. He stared out into the night, jaw clenched. Whatever shadows were creeping at their edges, whatever danger this place still held—he'd deal with it. All of it.
But not tonight.
Morning light slipped in through the velvet curtains, golden and slow, casting soft patterns across the bed. Elvira stirred gently, her body cocooned in warmth, the scent of worn leather, firewood, and something undeniably him wrapping around her like a second blanket.
She blinked, adjusting to the pale morning glow, and realized her head was still resting on Anson's lap.
He had fallen asleep sitting up, his back slouched against the headboard, one hand still tangled in her hair, like he hadn't wanted to let go even in sleep.
Elvira's gaze lingered on his face—his jaw slack, his brow finally smooth, not furrowed like usual. He looked… peaceful. Almost boyish.
She reached up, hesitant at first, then gently brushed her fingers across his cheek. His skin was warm under her touch. She let her hand rest there, just for a second.
Then she leaned up, her lips brushing against his cheek in a feather-light kiss. "Thank you," she whispered, barely audible.
But as she pulled back, the weight of everything came crashing down. The closeness. The softness. The fact that she had let herself fall asleep in someone else's arms—had trusted someone enough to do that.
Her chest tightened.
You're being stupid, her thoughts hissed. You're making it easy for him to hurt you. You're giving him the power.
Panic surged through her, uninvited. She carefully lifted his arm, freeing herself from his hold, and slid off the bed. Her feet hit the cold floor, but the chill was nothing compared to the icy grip of fear squeezing her ribs.
She needed space. Air. Control.
Elvira quietly slipped out of the room, her footsteps silent.
About an hour later, she was seated in the castle's sunroom, flipping through a random book with absolutely no interest in its contents. She just needed to look busy.
Of course, that's when Anson appeared in the doorway, stretching like a damn cat who'd just had the best nap of his life. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, hair tousled, but his smirk was sharp.
"Well, well," he said, voice still rough with sleep. "I wake up and my cuddle partner's gone. Should I be offended or flattered?"
Elvira rolled her eyes, pretending her heart hadn't just done a somersault. "Please, I did you a favor. You drool in your sleep."
Anson raised an eyebrow, walking over to her. "Do I? Interesting. Because you were the one curled up like a kitten in my lap. I think you even purred a little."
She scoffed, snapping the book shut. "I was cold."
"Sure," he said, leaning in just enough to be annoying. "Next time I'll bring you a blanket instead of my arms."
"Next time I'll bite."
He grinned. "Kinky."
Anson left Elvira in the library and Elvira smiled, but the smile faded from her face. Her hand brushed against the cheek he'd kissed earlier, and her chest twisted in panic. You're enjoying this way too much, a voice inside her scolded. The way his hand had held her even in sleep. The quiet, the safety. It was everything she'd been taught to fear—dependency, vulnerability, the kind of closeness that left you aching if it ever disappeared.
No. She couldn't lose herself like this. Not again.
She picked up her pace, heading for the dining hall.
Anson was already there, casually lounging in a chair like he owned the entire castle. When he saw her, he gave a lazy little wave with a fork still holding half a strawberry.
"I saved you a seat. Thought I'd be nice before you ghosted me again."
Elvira grabbed an apple and leaned on the edge of the table, not bothering to sit.
"Please," she said with a sly smirk. "You talk in your sleep. Something about 'Elvira, don't stop.' I had to leave before it got embarrassing."
He choked on the strawberry, coughing into his fist. "You're lying."
"Am I?" she teased, taking a bite of her apple and sauntering off. "Guess we'll never know."
After breakfast, she stormed into her room, still feeling the buzz of whatever that morning had been. She tore off her sleepwear and threw on a breezy lilac gown, one she usually wore for lazing around and reading.
But nothing about today was relaxing.
She made her way to the garden with a book tucked under her arm, fully intending to drown herself in fiction and pretend the last 12 hours hadn't happened.
Settling on a stone bench under the climbing roses, she cracked open the book and forced her eyes to stay on the page.
And then she heard it.
Thwack.
The distinct sound of arrows hitting a target.
Again.
Curiosity got the better of her. She looked up.
And regretted it immediately.
Anson stood at the far end of the garden, bow in hand, sweat-slicked and shirtless. His muscles tensed with every pull of the string, the sun making his skin look like it had been painted in gold and shadows. His dark hair clung to his temples. He looked... stupidly good.
She quickly yanked her eyes back to the page.
Unfortunately for her, Anson had already noticed.
He gave her about ten more seconds before he strolled over, bow in one hand, a cocky grin tugging at his lips.
"Enjoying the view?" he asked, voice low and teasing.
Elvira didn't even blink. "Yes, the landscaping's really improved. Maybe they should trim your ego next."
"Ouch," he said, mock wounded. "But if you're going to keep staring, at least let me pose properly next time."
She snapped the book shut. "I wasn't staring."
"You were undressing me with your eyes, Elvira."
"Relax," she said coolly. "It's not like there was much to undress."
He let out a laugh. "Careful, sweetheart. Keep taunting me like this, and one day you might get exactly what you're pretending you don't want."
She stood up and walked away without a word.
But not before he caught the flush on her cheeks.
Elvira stormed back into the castle, clutching her book like it had personally offended her. Her skin still tingled from the heat of Anson's stare.Stop being ridiculous, she told herself. He's just a boy with muscles and a smirk.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop hearing that damn laugh.
That night at dinner, she barely looked at him. But Anson? Oh, he was worse. He'd "accidentally" brush his hand against hers when passing a plate. He winked when she caught him staring. He whispered, "Still warm from earlier?" as he passed behind her.
Elvira kicked him under the table.
The next day Elvira went to the library.
She was curled up in the reading book when Anson slid in beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You again?" she muttered.
"You wound me, Elvira. I thought we had something special."
She didn't look up from her book. "Oh, we do. It's called restraining order energy."
He snorted. "You keep pretending you don't like me. But you keep showing up everywhere I am."
She turned a page without flinching. "You ever consider you're the stalker?"
He leaned in, voice low. "You're starting to sound paranoid. Adorable. But paranoid."
She didn't move, but her heart skipped. Damn him.
Later that day,
Elvira wandered the grounds after lunch, and wouldn't you know it—Anson was in the courtyard, sparring with one of the castle guards. Shirtless. Again. Show-off.
She pretended not to see him, but he didn't pretend anything.
He threw her a lazy salute mid-fight, got smacked for it, and still grinned through the pain.
When he finally came over, she had her arms crossed.
"Maybe wear a shirt next time?" she said, glaring up at him.
"Maybe admit you like it?" he shot back.
She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he called after her:
"You're cute when you're in denial!"
Later at dinner
They both reached for the last blueberry tart at the same time.
Anson smirked. "Ladies first."
She raised a brow. "Wow. I didn't know cavemen had manners."
He leaned in, voice like honey and mischief. "Only for you."
She snatched the tart and shoved it in her mouth, chewing slowly while staring him down.
He burst out laughing. "That was so petty I almost respect it."
She licked sugar off her finger and said, "Almost?"
"Okay. I fully respect it."
They were toe-to-toe now, not fighting, not flirting, just hovering in that dangerous space where one wrong look would send sparks flying.
But Elvira pulled away, again.
Anson let her.
But something in his expression shifted.