Chapter 2 - The Beast of Lake Michigan
The rules of the north wing were simple, absolute, and typed in bold letters on a card attached to the kitchen pantry door:
Never approach the double doors at the end of the hall after 8:00 PM.
Leave the silver meal tray on the low table beside the brass bell. Do not knock.
If you hear scraping behind the wood, step back three paces and wait for the bell to ring twice before departing.
If the door is open, do not look inside.
Sadie read the card twice, memorizing every line, then tossed it into the small wastebasket near the counter.
Evelyn was watching her from the kitchen island, holding a mug of dark coffee. "You think you're clever, girl," the housekeeper murmured, her voice laced with weary warning. "They all think they're different until they hear the chains."
"I don't think I'm clever, Mrs. Burke," Sadie replied quietly, picking up the heavy silver tray. "I just know how to follow directions."
On the tray rested a simple, pristine meal: rare seared beef, unseasoned roasted vegetables, a pitcher of ice water, and a heavy crystal glass. Next to the plate lay a second, larger bowl made of solid stainless steel, filled with raw prime cuts of venison.
The food for the man, and the food for the creature.
Sadie carried the tray down the long, shadowed corridor of the north wing. The floorboards here did not creak; they had been reinforced with steel girders beneath the floorboards to support massive weight. As she drew closer to the heavy oak double doors at the far end, the ambient temperature dropped noticeably.
She set the tray on the low mahogany table beside the brass bell, exactly as instructed.
Inside the room, complete silence reigned. No breathing, no footsteps, no rustle of sheets.
Then came a sound that made Sadie's blood run cold, despite her preparation.
It was a deep, chest-vibrating growl—a sound so low it felt like a tremor in the floorboards beneath her shoes. It was accompanied by the slow, rhythmic dragging of heavy steel links across hard oak flooring.
Sadie did not step back three paces.
She stood perfectly still, her hands folded over her apron, her pale eyes fixed on the narrow gap beneath the thick oak doors.
A massive shape shifted inside. A shadow crossed the line of light beneath the door, followed by the appearance of two enormous, dark paws pressing against the crack. The claws were thick, black, and worn down from years of pacing on stone and hardwood.
"Good evening, Bear," Sadie whispered softly, her voice pitched so low it barely carried across the wood.
The growling instantly cut off.
Inside the dark room, a sudden, sharp intake of breath echoed. Not from the animal—from the man.
"Who is out there?" a voice demanded from the darkness. It was a voice ruined by smoke and fire, gravelly and harsh, yet under layered with an undeniable authority that had once commanded thousands of men across the Midwest.
Sadie kept her gaze on the paws beneath the door. "The new maid, Mr. Vale."
"Evelyn was told no more maids," Roman Vale snapped, his voice rough as grinding stones. "Get out."
"I have work to do, sir," Sadie replied evenly. "And your dinner is getting cold."
"Let it rot," Roman growled. "Take the beast's food and leave before I open this door and let him take your throat."
Sadie didn't flinch. She looked directly at the oak panel where she knew his face would be if he were standing on the other side.
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"He won't take my throat, Mr. Vale," she said, her tone smooth and absolute. "He knows who I am."
Silence stretched between them—heavy, suffocating, and charged with sudden, dangerous tension.
