Ravenfeather E-Book

April Morgan

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 293

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

After Emily's father suddenly dies, everything falls apart. To process the death, she decides to take a break in Korpskogen, where her family owns a vacation home. She hears footsteps in the house at night, finds raven feathers repeatedly, and quickly senses that something is wrong. Does her handsome neighbor Adrik have something to do with it, or is someone else following her? More and more secrets come to light, turning her entire life upside down. Whom can she still trust when not even murder is off-limits, and who is behind the mysterious raven mask? A thrilling psychological thriller with some "spicy" scenes. The trigger warning is essential to heed, as this book includes topics such as mental illness or suicide. All locations, characters, and events are fictional, but I do not recommend the book if you are uncomfortable with any of these topics.

Leseprobe

Ravenfeather

Dark secrets

April Morgan

Romance – Psychothriller

Trigger warning

This book contains explicit depictions of sexual content, violence, and abuse. Mental illnesses and suicide also play a significant role in this story. All locations, characters, and events are entirely fictional; however, I do not recommend this book if you are uncomfortable with any of these topics.

Thank you for daring to pick up my book.

If you'd like to get a picture of the characters, you can find them at the end. Enjoy reading. With love, April

Korpskogen – The Raven Forest

Korpskogen is a small, sleepy village nestled in the midst of spruce forests. It used to be a very popular vacation spot, especially for people from bustling cities. In addition to the village center of Korpskogen, which has everything necessary for daily life, there is a large, dreamy lake surrounded by old black spruces. The small holiday home settlements, which never include more than 3-5 houses, are accessible via access roads and are just a few kilometers away from the village center. Here you can hike, go boating, or admire the fairy-tale snow landscape in winter.

Korpskogen is known nationwide for its many raven colonies, which have settled here and can be found around every corner. Unfortunately, people no longer appreciate such places and prefer to travel to far-off countries, so the heyday of Korpskogen has been over for many years. The residents of Korpskogen are nevertheless proud of their idyllic corner of the world. Those who love ravens, tranquility, and picturesque landscapes will love Korpskogen.

Raven

Soon, you will be here.

Every fiber of my being screams for you. The long wait is over, and finally, I can take what has always been mine. For years, I have meticulously prepared for this moment. I always knew you would return here, that we would see each other again. My anticipation for our game is great; the cards are dealt, and I am the dealer. Honestly, I do not play fair, but who has ever achieved their goal with fairness? Soon, everything will be mine: your heart, your mind, and, in the end, your life.

Chapter 1

Emily

The drive seems never-ending. I make an effort to keep my eyes open. No energy drink or coffee can fend off the fatigue anymore, I've already had enough of those. I knew the house was in the middle of nowhere, but the last time I was there, I was a child, maybe three years old. I used to pass the time on this route with games or sleep. However, that's not really an option when you're the one behind the wheel, unless I want to drive into the next tree, and out here, I'm not even sure if I have enough signal to contact anyone in an emergency. So far, no cars have come towards me on this stretch of road.

Another compelling reason not to have an accident or a breakdown here. It feels like no one lives here, and everywhere is just forests and vast, empty space. The spruces stand so close together that you can barely see 10 meters into the forest. The ground is covered with wild underbrush and moss, like what you'd find in dark corners.

Why my parents insisted on having a vacation home here, I don't know. Probably to escape the daily stress and noise of the big city. Unfortunately, my mother passed away early, and I can hardly remember her. After her death, we never returned there. My father didn't like to talk about the past; the pain of the loss seemed too great, which is why we never went back. I wish I had more memories of her; it's strange growing up without a mother and a father who acts as if she never existed. Nevertheless, or perhaps because it was just the two of us, he did an excellent job; he was always there for me. He never missed a school performance and tried to fulfill my every wish. After my mother's death, he never remarried and never introduced me to any women. It wasn't due to his appearance; he was a tall man who always paid attention to his looks, sported a well-groomed modern beard, and had beautiful full hair until his death. My friends always told me how handsome he was, and I was proud to have such a youthful, attractive father. He once told me that he would only introduce someone to me if they proved themselves worthy of being part of our lives, and apparently, no one met my father's strict criteria.

Why my father never sold the house, I don't know, and I will never get an answer to that now. Maybe he should have come out here more often and taken a break from his stressful job; perhaps he wouldn't have had a heart attack at 61. In the end, all the well-earned money and striving for the perfect retirement didn't bring him anything.

Now he is dead, he can no longer enjoy his life, and I have no parents anymore.Technically, I have no one left, just superficial acquaintances and colleagues. Only my dear friend Mia is still around, which is almost pathetic when you can't even count a handful of friends. But somehow, I'm more of a recluse who likes to hide in my apartment on weekends, read a book, or watch a romantic comedy on Netflix. Where am I supposed to meet people? And currently, there's no man in my life; most are just looking for a quick fling, and I'm slowly ready for something serious. After all, I'm almost in my mid-thirties. House, husband, children, golden retriever, white picket fence, or something like that.

Since I only recently found out that the house is still in the family, it was a nice surprise during the inheritance process, and now I'm on my way there to see if it can still be sold or what should be done with it. Additionally, I could use a little break after all the stress and grief. I've put my job as an editor on hold for now and prescribed myself some rest for the next few months. I don't want to end up like my father, always working and then suddenly passing away in the office chair. The thought sends a pang through me and brings tears to my eyes.

"Don't start crying," I tell myself sternly. I should focus on driving, and a blurry vision will only bring me closer to the trees at the roadside; then I'll see my father again sooner than I'd like. I know my parents loved this place back then, and I hope I won't find a half-collapsed house waiting for me. If that were the case, I'd be screwed, because I can't manage the drive back.

Although I passed a motel a few kilometers back, located in a bustling lumberjack area, the thought of making my way there now feels insurmountable.

The good news is that, as far as I was told, someone does occasionally check on the house and property. At least someone is being paid for it, but whether they actually take care of it is something no one can verify unless someone actually checks. Once again, I remind myself not to view everything so pessimistically and just hope for the best. Finally, I see the town sign;

„Korpskogen“ it's written in large, ornate script on the wooden sign, with a burnt image of a black raven alongside the beautiful letters. The sign has seen better days, and plants are climbing their way up. It wouldn't surprise me if it fell down at any moment. There are only a few houses here, most of which are holiday cottages like my family's. I had already looked at some photos of this place online beforehand to know what to expect.

Right at the entrance to the town, there's a small gas station with a supermarket. Both still seem to be operational. Additionally, there's a bar and a small diner where you could get something to eat. However, apart from the bar, everything looks closed, and there are no people on the streets. But that might be because it's already almost 9 PM on a weekday. The town center, like the sign, has seen better days, and everything looks aged. Peeling paint, cracks in the facade, rust on metal signs.

Yes, the glory days are definitely over. I wish I had arrived earlier in the day to get my bearings better. Arriving somewhere in daylight takes away the fear that often comes with a place at night.

My GPS guides me further, taking me out of the village center onto dark, poor roads, then down a gravel road to the left, deeper and deeper into the dense forest.Everywhere, ravens sit in the trees, cawing, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a horror movie. The town sign had already announced the inhabitants, and the Korpskogen website also mentioned that ravens particularly like to settle here. I notice myself growing increasingly uneasy, fearing that someone might jump out of the thicket with an axe at any moment, but of course, that doesn't happen. If the forest weren't so dense, perhaps one could see the large lake around which the houses are situated. It is a full moon, and the evening is wonderfully bright. But apart from the road and the surrounding trees, which I illuminate with my headlights, I can't see anything.

Finally, after the next curve, I reach the end of the road. A group of houses appears in a turnaround. I can vaguely remember them, three houses stand there. One of the houses seems to be abandoned and partially collapsed. A tree lies across the decaying roof, ivy climbs up the walls, and piece by piece, nature reclaims what was stolen from it long ago. Presumably storm damage, and the owners didn't care or found it too expensive to repair. The other house doesn't seem to be in such bad condition. The garden is wild but maintained.

The blue paint is peeling off the wooden paneling of the facade, but the paths are clear, and it still seems habitable. Additionally, a dark Jeep is parked a few meters away from the house, which somewhat reassures me that I'm not entirely alone out here. Unless, of course, the crazy axe murderer still lives thereOur house is in the best condition, which surprises and delights me. It stands in the middle of the two other houses. It seems it was worth hiring someone to take care of it. The yellow paint looks almost new, and the garden is nicely maintained. I park my large red Hyundai SUV in the designated parking spot, under a sort of carport. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I speak to myself, as this whole endeavor fills me with doubt.

"Great job, Emily, driving alone into the middle of nowhere, to a house you haven't been to in years and that your father never told you he still owned. Maybe he had his reasons for not coming back here. If only Mia had come with you. After all, she's your best friend and had offered to come along. But no, you had to drive alone."

Sighing and annoyed with myself, I shake my head and open the door. A pleasant late summer air hits me. The forest has a slightly musty smell, but still feels wonderfully fresh. My heart beats faster, and I would love to get back in the car and drive away. The constant cawing of the ravens does nothing to lift the atmosphere.

Why are they awake at this hour anyway? Or are they cawing just because an intruder has arrived? Warning all their friends about the nocturnal visitor who has no business being here? Slowly, I move towards the house, illuminating my path with my phone. The full moon actually provides enough light, but with the flashlight, I can shine into the forest to see if the man with the axe is indeed standing there, ready to welcome his victim and chop them into little pieces. Afterward, he can cook himself a nice, warming Emily soup.

Again, I admonish myself to shake off the dark thoughts. No one is here, and no one is waiting for you! The garden gate squeaks, the path to the house is paved, the joints, like the rest of what you can see, are well maintained. The house is not large, more like a garden log cabin with two floors. It looks exactly like you would imagine a holiday bungalow; just a quick glance at Airbnb will surely show hundreds of such houses. The entrance is ground level, with a brown doormat made of coconut fibers in front of the door, adorned with colorful letters spelling "Welcome." I lift the doormat and am relieved to find the key as agreed. Not a particularly good hiding place, but who would come out here to these dilapidated houses where there is nothing to take?

Tense, I open the door. It sticks a bit, and I have to lift it. The wood must have worked over the years, causing it to warp slightly. Once inside, I reach to the left of the door and find the light switch immediately. A wave of pure relief washes over me as the room is brightly illuminated.

That would have been my personal nightmare, sitting here alone in the dark. I'm standing in a small hallway, where the walls are wood-paneled and painted white, and the floor is light wood. A staircase leads directly upstairs. There, I'll find a child's room and my parents' bedroom, as well as a small bathroom. To my left is the living room, and to my right a small kitchen. Straight ahead, next to the stairs, is a guest bathroom and a door to the garden. I'll take a closer look at all of this tomorrow. I'm too tired from the long drive.

The stairs are also made of light wood and still look relatively good for their age. My parents bought the house new back then, and if it's not used much, it doesn't wear out much. The walls are a neutral beige. There are some pictures on them, like you would expect in a vacation home. Flowers, boats, etc. But nothing personal that reminds me of the family that used to love vacationing here. Either my father removed all the memories, or my parents didn't put any up because it was just a vacation home.

Now that I know the lights work, I quickly go back to my car and get my bag, which is heavy and packed for an indefinite stay. I then head straight back to the house and upstairs, where all the other lamps illuminate the rooms without any problems. Automatically, I turn left and find myself in my pink childhood room. It looks just as I remember it; a small teddy bear lies on the bed, waiting for cuddles. It's a true princess room, with a fluffy gray carpet, glitter stars on the walls, and books about heroic adventures. The whole house feels like a time capsule, as if not a single day has passed since our last visit.

The bed is too small for me now, so I turn around and pass by the small bathroom, which is a simply tiled white room with a shower, toilet, sink, and mirrored cabinet. I continue on and enter my parents' former bedroom. The large white wooden bed looks like it can still be used safely. The walls are painted a light blue. The floor has a grayish carpet, similar to the one in the children's room, and it is also furnished with a white wardrobe and a white dresser.

The bed looks freshly made, and a bottle of water with a note lies on the bedside table. I walk over and unfold the note

Dear Ms. Mikkelsen,

I hope it's alright that I have already prepared the bed. The executor informed me that you would be coming for a few days, so the key is ready for you. I want to extend my deepest condolences for your father. If you need anything, just give me a call; the number is hanging on the fridge. I've done my best to take care of the house over the past few years and hope everything is to your satisfaction.

Best regards, Guenthers

The thought that just a few hours ago a stranger was in the house making the bed is strange and somehow eerie. But he has been taking care of the house on behalf of my father for a long time and surely meant well. I place my bag next to the bed and decide to unpack tomorrow since I feel exhaustion in every fiber of my body. To let in some fresh air, I open the bedroom window, and a light breeze blows in, causing the light blue curtains to flutter gently.

There is a tree in front of my window, giving a direct view of the neighboring house, but no lights are on. I shouldn't keep standing here, staring into what is likely someone's bedroom; if anyone appears at the window now, they might think a perverted peeping Tom has moved in next door. Quickly, I move away from the window and turn my attention to my bag.

Even though it's a bad habit, and my father's heart attack should have been a wake-up call, I still smoke from time to time. After the long drive and the exhausting days, I'm going to treat myself to a cigarette tonight. After putting on some comfortable jogging pants and a sweatshirt, I rummage through my bag and find a pack of MarlboroI also pull out a bottle of red wine from among my clothes and take it down to the kitchen. Like much of the house, the kitchen is decorated in light whites and grays. It's an old wooden kitchen with a countertop, hanging cabinets, a small table, and two chairs. On the countertop, I see everyday items such as a coffee maker, toaster, and knife block. Quickly, I find a bottle opener and a large wine glass for my nightcap in one of the cabinets.

With my glass filled and cigarettes in my pocket, I head to the back door. This door also squeaks and sticks a bit, but it opens without any real obstacles.

Once outside, I find myself on the porch, the moonlight reflecting off the large lake's water. The dense forest and the lake look magical at night. A light mist hovers over the lake, and in the distance, there are scattered houses with lights. The houses are all in their own little settlement, a bit away from ours. The thought that there are other people around definitely affects my well-being and gives me a sense of security, though it's a deceptive sense of security. No one could hear my calls from that distance, and I couldn't easily make my way through the dense, uneven forest without risking an accident or simply tumbling into the lake from one of the embankments. But I could get into my car and drive there; after all, it's better than being completely alone here.

On the porch, there's a hanging bench suspended by chains. The porch is painted in the same sunny yellow as the house, and leading out to the lake is a simple, short-mowed lawn that slopes gently.I sincerely hope the chains hold as I sit down. It creaks and groans, but I don't end up on the ground. So far, the whole vacation house endeavor is going better than expected. I light my cigarette and take a deep drag of the toxins. It's amazing how good so many pollutants can make you feel. Next, I send Mia a message to let her know I've arrived safely and that there was no axe murderer waiting for me. She'll likely respond tomorrow, so I put my phone back in my pocket and turn my attention to my wine and the fantastic view. I'm not used to this incredible silence, and it makes me uneasy. Normally, in the city, I'm constantly hearing car noise or arguing neighbors. It's strange that here, you hear nothing but the wind rustling through the trees.

After finishing my cigarette and wine, I stand up and go back inside. I carefully lock the door and check the front door as well.

I turn off the lights on the ground floor and freshen up in the bathroom, ready for bed. Just as I'm about to lay down in the bed that's been calling out to me, I notice a feather on my pillow. I pick it up and inspect it; it's a black feather, presumably from one of the many ravens around here. Thoughtfully, I examine it and wonder how it ended up on my pillow, as I'm certain it wasn't there earlier. Maybe I accidentally brought it in on my clothes, or it flew in through the open window. A welcome gift from the ravens.

Hopefully, none of those black beasts are living in the house. Just to be safe, I close the window and check all the corners of the room again, but there's nothing to be seen.

I place the feather on the bedside table and mentally revisit the past weeks. The death of my father, the funeral, the constant exhaustion, and the melancholy that grips me. The overwhelming need to change my life, to avoid ending up like my father. I turn off the light, fall into bed completely exhausted, and a deep, dreamless sleep pulls me into the darkness...

Restlessly, I wake up. Are those noises coming from the house, or is it just the wind? I shake off the sleep... Silence... I immediately reach for my phone and check the time—3:41 am. It's probably just the unfamiliar surroundings playing tricks on me. Suddenly, there's a creak again, as if someone is walking on old floorboards. My heartbeat quickens, and I listen even more intently into the darkness. More noises. They seem to be coming from the lower part of the house.

What do you do in such a situation? Do you bravely confront the unknown, or do you hide in the closet and hope you won't be discovered? Maybe the creaking is normal; the house is old, and strange noises can occur. If you let your imagination run wild, you can interpret anything from these sounds. My breathing is shallow. What if someone has broken in? Any moment now, I expect the door to burst open and an unknown figure to stand there, with a raised hand and a deadly knife pointed at me. I stare at the door, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, just the occasional irregular creaking from below.

Very carefully, I stand up, creep to the door in slow motion, and am grateful that it has a key to lock it, giving me some sense of security. More noises. I'm almost 100% certain that someone is there. I should probably call the police right away, but what if it's just the old house? I don't want to ruin my reputation here as the crazy city girl who freaks out over creaky floorboards.

Who would be sneaking around one of these holiday homes in the middle of nowhere at night anyway?I wish I had something that could serve as a weapon, at least. If I get through this night unscathed, I'll get one tomorrow, even if it's just a baseball bat. I carefully and quietly get back into bed, my eyes fixed on the door, imagining the doorknob moving. But nothing happens except for the creaking noises. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours. I feel like I'm about to hyperventilate, wrapping the blanket around me like a shield. Eventually, the creaking stops. I sit there, frozen, listening to the silence, but hear nothing more.

When I'm sure there are no more noises, I grab my phone—4:16 AM. I wait another 10 minutes, but the creaking doesn't return. Once again, I wish Mia were here; she would storm through the house and search everything. God help anyone if someone is there; she would give them hell. But I don't have that kind of courage and remain in the locked room. At least I lie down again, ready to get up at any sound, trying to get some sleep. I don't know how long I lay there before sleep finally took me.

Chapter 2

Emily

The next morning, I wake up completely exhausted, a raven sitting on the tree outside my window doing its best to caw as loudly as possible. Ravens, the local symbol around here, and I will probably never be friends. Tired, I pull the blanket over my head. I'm not ready to start the day yet. The first night was not so good. It's crazy how people in the city don't find screams, clatter, or sirens disturbing, but a creaking house robs one of sleep. In my city apartment, I never felt unsafe, but here, all alone in this secluded place, I am scared.

How likely is it that something will happen here compared to the city? I bet it's very low. My panic last night was probably not very rational, and I'll soon get used to the house and the new surroundings. I pick up my phone, and Mia has written to me.

****

Hey sunshine, I hope no crazy axe murderer got you in the wilderness. Come back home soon; village life isn't for women like us. :* Mia

****

My mood instantly improves. I miss her terribly and my apartment as well. So far, country life doesn't seem particularly relaxing. Maybe I'll have a heart attack soon from the fright of creaking wooden floors. I quickly type a message on my phone to prevent her from notifying the authorities and reporting a crime just because I was too tired to write to her.

****

Hey Sweetie, no axe murderer in sight, just lots of ravens that seem to be following me and old creaking floorboards that are robbing me of sleep.

:* Em

***

Then I place my phone back on the bedside table, where the raven feather lies. I take another close look at the feather and then put it in the drawer of the nightstand. Today is going to be a good day, I tell myself. It's time for the old, confident Emily to return, ready to face her battles. Tired and tense, I stretch one more time, stand up, and open the window, where a raven immediately complains loudly about my disturbance.

"Be quiet, this is my house, and I live here now, so we should get along better," I scold.*

But the bird doesn't seem to care, and it just scolds back even louder.I shake my head, turn around, and grab some things to freshen up. After a shower that was surprisingly good, I almost feel like a new person and head downstairs. I go straight to my car, where a box with the essentials is ready. Among other things, there's coffee—my elixir of life. I grab the box and carry it into the kitchen, where I put everything away and see the previously mentioned note on the fridge with Guenthers' phone number, the gentleman who has been taking care of the house. Another item on my list: figure out how to proceed with him and decide if he'll still be needed for house maintenance in the future. But that's for later. First, I need coffee to think clearly.

In the cabinets, I find all the necessary utensils and am delighted that the coffee maker still works. Once the black wake-up call is brewed, I pour myself a cup and grab a cigarette, then head out to the porch. As much as I have always loved the city, having a porch has always been a dream of mine. Sitting here day after day, soaking in every moment of the changing seasons. There should be city porches for rent in parks, it seems like a brilliant idea to me.

It's chilly, as it often is on a September morning, but the view is stunning, making the bit of shivering worthwhile. In sight is the vast lake and the spruce forest.

Zwischen den Fichtenbäumen sind hier am See auch einige Laubbäume, die bald in herrlichen Herbstfarben strahlen werdenAmong the spruce trees by the lake, there are also some deciduous trees that will soon shine in glorious autumn colors. Behind the house, there's a small meadow with direct access to the water. There are a few old trees, everything is kept simple, as no one has bothered to plant flower beds or anything else in recent years. The porch and the house blend well into the surroundings. The roofed porch will ensure that I can sit outside even when it rains.

To my right, I see the almost collapsed house; the property looks neglected, and it seems like no one has been there for years. The meadow is also knee-high with old underbrushTo the left of my house is the not-so-run-down property with the overgrown but not neglected garden. The lawn leading to the lake is mowed, although the lake access is somewhat covered with reeds. As I look closer, I see someone sitting on the porch and nearly choke on my coffee out of shock. I cough, gasping for air, and spill more coffee in the process. After a few minutes, I've collected myself and look back at the porch. The figure sitting in the shadow looks over at me, and I think I see a slight nod. I raise my arm in greeting and quickly look back at the lake. It would be rude to stare at someone.

However, it's also quite rude if the figure saw me nearly choke on my coffee and just silently watched me from the shadows. The cawing of the ravens pulls me out of my thoughts, and I see the raven sitting up in the tree, fixating on me..

Somehow, these animals are creepy. After a while, I dare to take another quick glance at the porch, but no one is there anymore. Did I imagine the figure? That can't be; my neighbor was definitely thereI don't know which would be scarier—imagining someone or if someone was actually there. Not wanting to dwell on it further, I head back into the house and decide to drive into town to buy some groceries and something that could serve as a weapon. Feeling determined, I head to the small supermarket I spotted when I arrived. I'm surprised by the good selection and even find a metal rod, the best thing resembling a self-defense weapon. The young brunette woman at the checkout eyes me skeptically but is friendly. I'm a stranger, and people in the countryside are often more wary of newcomers. Today, I'm not in the mood to make new acquaintances. The restless night and long drive have taken their toll.

Then I head back to the cabin and carry my groceries inside. Just as I'm about to put some bottles of wine into the cabinet, I notice a shadow behind me, and the bottle slips from my hand, crashing to the floor with a loud shatter. I turn around frantically, pressing myself against one of the kitchen cabinets, breathing heavily.

"Who... who are you, and what do you want here?" I ask fearfully.

Standing before me is a tall man, certainly over 1.90 meters, with a chiseled face and black, shoulder-length hair that falls in strands across his face, partially covering it. He's lean yet muscular, as far as I can tell. He clears his throat awkwardly and raises a hand, presumably to be reassuring, but it doesn't calm me at all. A stranger has entered my house without asking. Could this be Mr. Guenthers? With a deep, rough yet melodic voice, he says: "I live next door, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. The door was open, and since I didn't introduce myself this morning when you were on the porch, I wanted to come over now and do it officially." He holds out his hand, which I eye warily, unsure if I can trust him; why did he come into my house without knocking?

A bit annoyed, I say, without taking his hand, "So after nearly scaring me to death this morning, you thought you'd repeat the whole thing now?" He shakes his head, looks down, and seems unsure and embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't know someone would be here, and I was surprised to see you." Only now do I realize my snappy behavior. Of course, he didn't know. He's absolutely right; I'm the intruder here. The house is usually empty.

Reconciliatory, I now extend my hand to him.

"It's all right, let's just put it behind us and start over. My name is Emily, and we can switch to first names if you prefer, after all, we are now neighbors." He takes my hand with his strong, large, warm hand. His hand is so big that it seems like it could easily crush every bone in mine.

"My name is Adrik, welcome to the neighborhood. Well, actually, it's just me living here," he says with a crooked yet somehow affectionate grin. Only now do I notice his eyes—they appear completely black. He has a short beard, full eyebrows, and beautifully shaped lips. His entire appearance looks like a mythological god carved in stone.

My neighbor Adrik is absolutely hot.

I regain my composure and quickly pull my hand away. He's still looking at me with an intense gaze that makes me almost uncomfortable. I nervously brush a strand of my long red hair out of my face. Now it's my turn to clear my throat.

"And Adrik, have you lived here long?" I ask. With a slight smile, he shakes his head. "No, only for a few years. Before that, I moved around a lot. I was rather restless and never felt at home. Then I came here and fell in love with the secluded tranquility; I enjoy being by myself and can't really deal with the hectic world."

Once again, he looks at me as if he can see straight into my soul. His eyes are as black as the night; you'd have to look very closely to distinguish the pupils.

"And what brings a woman, all alone, to this wilderness, Emily?" The way he emphasizes my name sends a shiver down my spineWith a shaky voice, I reply, "Um, well, it wasn't a conscious decision. This house belonged to my parents; we always came here when I was a child, so it's been many years. I didn't even remember that the house was still in our possession. My... my father, he passed away... that's when I found out that we still owned the house. Well, I wanted to check it out, so I'm not living here permanently. But I just needed a break, and this place seemed perfect for that."

He gives a slightly mocking grin. "Ahhh... so just a tourist looking to see if they can squeeze some money out of this place?"He takes a step toward me, looking around the kitchen, and his statement angers me. I’d really like to kick him out for his arrogant attitude, but I don't want to upset my only neighbor.