Spellbound

Original Edition: Seven

Or at least I thought it was the guy from the bar. But something was different.

I studied his face for a moment, trying to ignore the fear spiraling in my belly. What was it?

He raised an eyebrow at me and cut his eyes from the statue in my hand to my face.

And that's when it hit me.

The guy from the bar had those strange violet eyes.

This man had eyes I can only describe as cerulean, my favorite crayon in the 64-pack my mom bought me in elementary school. They were bright, electric...mesmerizing. I'd remember these eyes if I'd seen them before. Swallowing hard, I lowered the statue to my side but didn't loosen my grip on it.

"Who are you?" I managed, holding my voice as steady as possible.

He cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. I watched the muscles in his biceps, fascinated with the way his t-shirt clung to them. I don't recall ever seeing a simple cotton shirt look so good.

"That's not how this works," he said, drawing my attention away from his arms. "I'm the one harmlessly strolling through a hallway while you are planning to bludgeon me to death with a carving of a woman giving a man a—" He finished by clearing his throat.

I looked at the object in question, and my eyes went wide as I saw what he saw. My face flushed, and I shoved the statue behind my back, like hiding the damn thing was going to magically wipe away my mortification.

"Well, it so happens that I am the owner of this establishment, so I think I have the right to...to know who's roaming in the hallways in the middle of the night."

"Hazel Fox is the owner of this establishment, and it looks like you are pilfering her questionable taste in art from her suite." He jerked his head toward Hazel's open door and leaned against the wall across from me. The smirk on his face spoke to how entertaining he thought this moment was, and all that was missing was the popcorn.

My mouth opened and closed twice, not sure where to start. I'd never been the first to tell someone that another person died. "Hazel passed away, and I am her n—wait a minute. How did you know that this is Hazel's room? She never let anyone in here," I said with narrowed eyes.

"You ask all the wrong questions, don't you?" He pushed off the wall and ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe Hazel just didn't let anyone you know into her room."

My lip curled, and I put my free hand on my hip. I was Hazel's favorite niece, the one person in our family who understood and appreciated her quirky ways. If I hadn't stepped foot in her suite until today, this stranger surely had never seen the inside of her home. Or maybe he had.

That thought bothered me...filled me with jealousy. "Well, here's a question—when you bought me a drink at the bar the other night, you had purple eyes. Now they're blue. What's going on with that? Colored contacts are so 2000-and-late. Not to mention you were a lot more pleasant then too."

"I bought you a drink? Do you normally take drinks from strangers? That's so...dangerous. If it weren't for your choice in weaponry, I would have taken you as a bit smarter than that. Next time, get the name of the creep offering you drinks."

The gall of this man. Did he really think I was that stupid? And if he did, what gave him the right? We'd exchanged a couple of sentences, a far cry from getting to know me.

"If you recall, the bartender handed it to me, thank you very much. I'm not a total imbecile, contrary to popular belief," I muttered. "If you're done berating me now, I think I'll just go back into my aunt's suite and get away from creeps that wander this hotel at night."

"Make sure to lock the door and sleep tight with your fellating sculpture, Miss Fox."

"How did—"

He tapped the side of his head, and I realized I'd just told him Hazel was my aunt. I marched back to the room, and with a grunt that was on the verge of a scream, I slammed the door shut.

I leaned against the door and took several breaths. How in the world did someone go from almost panty-dropping charming to absolutely irritating? And what was some guy in his mid-twenties doing hanging out with my ninety-year-old aunt? I looked at the carving in my hand and an image of Hazel and that guy in compromising positions flashed in my mind. With a scowl, I tossed the statue on the couch and brushed my hands against each other. "Gross," I said, looking at the two boys in the painting.

Taking a step closer, I squinted and studied the way they watched me with...their blue and purple eyes.

I pivoted on my heels and rushed back to the door. With a click, a section in the wall slid into place. I ran to the sconce and wrapped my fingers around the curved metal at the bottom. It wiggled side to side, but when I pulled down, nothing happened. Did I really see the wall move? I must have because if not the mysterious dickhead just vanished like a ghost.

"That's impossible," I whispered, turning back to Hazel's room. But deep in the darkest corner of my mind, I knew it wasn't. I had not only met one of the infamous twins, but I had met them both.