The door creaked open, and Mary stepped in, rubbing her eyes. When her vision cleared and she saw the men standing before her, she froze, then quickly drew the shawl tighter around her body.
"I... I didn't mean to interrupt."
They weren't supposed to see her like this: hair messy, eyes swollen from sleep, barefoot and in nothing but her undergarments. Her face flushed hot with embarrassment, and she instinctively turned to Mckenna.
His dark eyes lingered on her, slowly dragging down her body. Then he rose and began walking toward her.
"My wife," he said, voice calm but cutting, "doesn't seem to be asleep."
Mary blinked and looked away, flustered.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I... I tend to sleepwalk. I'll just head back now."
She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist gently. A jolt shot through her, and she turned back to him, startled.
He didn't smile, but his eyes glinted as though faintly amused.
"Nonsense," he said. "You're here now. Why don't you join the party?"
Mary swallowed hard and glanced past Mckenna. Her fingers trembled. It wasn't just nerves. The moment she stepped into the room, something had crawled over her skin, something cold and invisible.
Her gaze landed on the man before her.
And suddenly, the floor beneath her feet felt like ice.
He had the clearest blue eyes, like the ocean meeting the sky, but they were as deadly as midnight.
When those eyes met hers, Mary felt a cold fear, like she had stepped into the heart of a winter night. He was handsome, despite the complete absence of warmth on his face.
Mary turned to Mckenna.
He saw the fear in her eyes, and for a moment, almost smiled. But he turned instead, gesturing toward the man.
"Come, Mary. Let me introduce you to my family."
"Fa...mi...ly?"
When she'd imagined his family, she'd pictured a rich aunt in expensive gloves, staring at her with disdain. Or a sister with a charming laugh, eager to pull her in. Maybe even parents who are reserved, and nothing like him.
What she hadn't expected were two large men who made her blood run cold.
"I didn't realize you had family visiting."
She stepped forward hesitantly, her eyes flickering from Mckenna to the man. Her hands fidgeted at her sides. As she moved closer and turned to the second man, a wave of recognition hit her.
"You," she gasped. "I know you."
Relief softened her face, and her body began to relax.
Anthony grinned and stepped toward her. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, throwing a sidelong glance at Mckenna, who was already glaring at him.
"It's good to see you, my dear. Even more so now that you've become his wife," he said, chuckling like they were simply old friends catching up.
Mary smiled. "It's all thanks to you."
Mckenna tilted his head, still glaring darkly at Anthony.
But just ahead of them, Maxwell's eyes stayed locked on Mary. They were sharper now, piercing. If a stare could destroy a soul, it would be his.
"Alright... ignore him, Mary. That's my little brother. He's not important. Come with your husband."
Mckenna took her hand and began leading her toward Maxwell.
The simple gesture made Maxwell narrow his eyes, though, as always, his expression remained unreadable.
There was a moment of silence as they approached. Mary couldn't bring herself to look at him. His presence still filled her with unease.
Mckenna's jaw tightened, and then he spoke.
"This is my uncle."
Maxwell turned his head slightly, just enough for Mckenna to catch his displeased side glance. But he said nothing.
Mary's tension eased. She smiled politely and gave a small curtsy. "Mary. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
"The pleasure is mine," Maxwell replied smoothly. But there was a strange weight to his voice. "You are... Marybeth."
"Mary. Yes, I am."
He studied her. Not rudely, but with a focused gaze, like he was seeing something he couldn't quite name or explain.
The air in the room cooled, and Mary shivered.
Mckenna noticed the way Maxwell stared at her. He wondered what he had sensed. Whatever it was, he didn't like it, so he stepped forward, placing himself protectively between them.
"Uncle was just leaving."
Maxwell raised a brow. "Was I?"
Mckenna's tone stayed polite, but his voice turned sharp, "You were."
Anthony perched on the armrest of the chair, one leg crossed over the other, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Isn't that a bit rude to your uncle?" he said, then turned to Mary. "Aye, sister. What do you think of your husband chasing his uncle away?"
Mckenna's voice dropped, low and cold. "He wasn't invited."
"Stop it, Mckenna," Mary said sharply. "Nothing should warrant such words against your uncle."
Anthony stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the tension between them.
Maxwell rose to his feet and gave a small, respectful bow. It was cautious–oddly so, for a man who seemed completely in control.
"I had no intention of staying," he said. "Mckenna was right. I was just about to leave."
Mary raised a hand, "You're a guest of my husband. I can't make you leave in the middle of the night. You'll stay. I'll have a room arranged for you."
"I didn't come to stay," Maxwell said, his voice bristling. His eyes lowered slightly, but the little human didn't flinch. She seemed completely composed, fully embracing her role as host.
"My dear wife," Mckenna said, gently squeezing her shoulders, "you must understand... the other rooms are full of cobwebs and dust."
He shot Maxwell a long, sideways glance. "But that doesn't matter. My uncle is quite used to such rooms."
Anthony grinned, while Maxwell said nothing, his face still locked in a deadpan expression.
Mary frowned at Mckenna, "they're family, right?" Her gaze lingered on Maxwell a moment too long, trying to understand the coldness in his eyes.
"No. Not anymore," Maxwell replied curtly.
Anthony cut in with dry humor, "well, this is cozy. Uncle Max, you're scowling again."
"I always do when something feels out of place."
Mary met his eyes. A tremor passed through her, but she didn't flinch. Mckenna, however, stiffened slightly.
"I'll inform the maids to have the rooms prepared," Mary said with a small bow.
She turned and hurried out of the room, her red hair bouncing behind her.
The room returned to its earlier stillness, and all eyes remained fixed on Maxwell.
They were waiting–for him to speak, to explain what he had sensed, if he knew something, if he felt the strange, dark force surrounding her.
But his eyes lingered on the door a little too long. Then he shrugged and started in the same direction Mary had gone.
"Your wife is inviting death without precaution."
"Don't worry about my wife," Mckenna said. "You can still leave."
Maxwell paused, holding Mckenna's gaze.
Then he said, "I will stay."
And the moment he spoke, a goblet fell to the floor, its sharp clink breaking the silence of the room.