Free Heroes are My Weakness by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

She set her jaw and did it anyway.
    As she reached for a dust rag, she heard the attic door close above her followed by the click of a lock and the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. She told herself not to turn around, but she did anyway.
    He stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the doorjamb. His gaze moved from her untidy hair to her breasts—barely visible beneath her heavy sweater—then glided over her hips, lingered, moved on. There was something calculating about his inspection. Something invasive and disturbing. Finally, he turned away.
    And that’s when it happened.
    An unearthly sound—half moan, half growl, and totally chilling—seeped into the room.
    He stopped in his tracks. She twisted her head to look up toward the attic. “What’s that ?”
    His brow knit. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to offer an explanation, but no words came out. Moments later he was gone.
    The door slammed below. She set her jaw.
    Bastard. Serves you right.
    T HEO ’ S BREATH FOGGED THE AIR as he unlatched the door to the stable, the place where he’d always go when he needed to think. He’d thought he’d anticipated everything, but he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be back, and he wouldn’t tolerate it.
    The interior smelled of hay, manure, dust, and cold. In past years his father had kept as many as four horses here, animals boarded at the island stable when the family wasn’t on Peregrine. Now Theo’s black gelding was the only horse.
    Dancer gave a soft whinny and poked his head over the stall. Theo had never imagined he’d have to see her again, yet here she was. In his house. In his life. Bringing the past with her. He rubbed Dancer’s muzzle. “It’s just you and me, boy,” he said. “You and me . . . and whatever new devils have shown up to haunt us.”
    The horse tossed its head. Theo opened the stall door. He couldn’t let this go on. He had to get rid of her.

Chapter Five
    B EING ALONE IN THE COTTAGE at night had spooked Annie from the beginning, but that night was the worst yet. The windows had no curtains, and Theo could be watching her at any time through his telescope. She left the lights off, stumbled around in the dark, and pulled the covers over her head when she went to bed. But the dark only stirred her memories of the way everything had changed.
    It had happened not long after the dumbwaiter incident. Regan was either at a riding lesson or locked in her room writing poetry. Annie had been perched on the rocks at the beach, daydreaming about being a beautiful, talented actress starring in a major motion picture when Theo had come along. He’d settled next to her, his long legs emerging from a pair of khaki shorts a little too big for him. A hermit crab had scampered through a tidal pool at their feet. He’d gazed out toward the break where the waves began to curl. “I’m sorry about some of the stuff that’s happened, Annie. Things have been weird.”
    Sap that she was, she’d instantly forgiven him.
    From then on, whenever Regan was occupied, Theo and Annie had hung out. He showed her some of his favorite spots on the island. He began confiding in her, at first hesitantly but gradually being more forthcoming. He told her how much he hated his boarding school and how he was writing short stories that he wouldn’t show anyone. They talked about their favorite books. She convinced herself she was the only girl he’d ever confided in. She showed him some of the drawings she now did in secret so Mariah couldn’t critique them. Finally, he’d kissed her. Her. Annie Hewitt, a gangly scarecrow of a fifteen-year-old with a too long face, too big eyes, and too curly hair.
    After that, every moment that Regan was away found them together, usually inside the cave at low tide making out in the wet sand. He touched her breast through her swimsuit, and she thought she’d die of happiness. When he’d pushed the top down, she’d been embarrassed because her breasts