Chapter 15 Ch 15

Thinking of killing someone and then actually killing them turned out to be quite different. I wasn't instantly relieved as I expected. The unlucky guard stared up at me with a sightless gaze. His blood rolled across the gray stones like a burgundy liquid carpet. Some voice of reason prompted me to move. If I stood over his body forever, someone else would come. And I might not face the same opportunity again.

Tossing the bloody shard, I stepped over his body, around the ice, and picked up his trousers. I removed the ring of keys from a belt loop and the dagger from its hilt. My heart crawled into my throat. Time to go.

The door cracked when I reached the top of the stairs. Gulping, I edged it open. My mind raced with solutions for whatever lay behind this door. I didn't think this through very well, but I couldn't afford to screw it up. When the door was wide enough for me to squeeze through, I poked my head out.

A long, dark corridor stretched onward. One single torch hung in a mounted holder. My fingers trembled as they reached up to take it out. Once I had it in hand, it felt like a fire got lit under my ass. My wobbly legs took off. I didn't stop running until I reached the end of the corridor, where another door awaited me. It was locked but there was a lock pad on this side of the door.

Hanging the torch, I pulled the keyring off my wrist and began trying out each one. A piercing breath stabbed at my chest. Time was spinning out or maybe it was just my energy. They seemed to be competing with each other. One of the keys clicked into place and the door groaned loudly as it opened. My knees were feeling limp again like the short sprint had taken it out of me. Tears drizzled down my face.

I pushed the door open with a sob and staggered into the room beyond. Bright lights blinded me. A cry pushed out of my lips, and the last strand of energy within me slithered out. My eyes adjusted. Crumpling to the polished wood floor, I could see.

Basileus held Peter's Lycan to the wall by his neck. Tandan was running toward me. A slew of dead bodies covered the floor. Attached to one of those bodies was an arm, lifted, pointing at me. Her anguished face plagued my mind.

Angelica.

I thought I had passed out until a pair of arms scooped me up. They hugged me against a warm, solid chest. Someone was crying. It barely was audible, as if I was listening to someone across a forest.

There was a roar. I was transferred into something even warmer and softer. Fur. My thawing fingers tangled in it. Although I lacked the strength to open my eyes, I could smell him. His breath tickled my neck as he whined into my hair.

"My Flower," he whimpered. "You found me."

I didn't remember much after that. Mostly warmth and the feeling of being jostled. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in bed. My gaze roved the unfamiliar room. There was a painting I vaguely recognized on the gray wall and a window. It was open. A breeze filtered in and out, billowing the sheer white drapes. The bed was small, twin-sized. I curled my fingers into the sheets covering my body. They felt stiff.

A knock at the door startled me. I pushed myself up against the headboard and attempted to invite the knocked in. My words sounded more like the wind than any human language. Lee entered anyway.

Her eyes drank me in before she smiled. It was a devastating thing that held no positive emotion. I looked at the tray in her hands.

My mind conjured the image of a wooden tray. A cup of water that I spilled. Water that froze on my shirt.

"Anna?"

I snapped my head up. Lee was sitting on the bed. Her smile had been replaced with worry.

"Please, drink this," she said. Her hands lifted a ceramic bowl to my lips and I opened them right away. "It's garbage. A healing soup."

A delicious salty flavor coaxed my papery tongue and soothed a path down my esophagus. I drank it down greedily.

"Easy there." Lee chuckled softly as I grabbed the bowl and helped her tilt it farther.

A trickle missed my mouth and ran down my chin, onto my chest. She dabbed at my chin with a napkin.

Her momentary smile faded. "Can you talk, Anna?"

I swallowed the lingering taste and cleared my throat. "I think so." It sounded hoarse but comprehensible. Now that right there is progress, I thought hopefully.

"I know you're not ready to talk, but I . . . we need to know what happened to you, Anna."

"Peter took me," I said.

"What happened after he took you? Do you remember?"

My head nodded. "Do you have water?"

She took a water bottle from the tray and unscrewed it. After I'd finished it, I brought my knees to my chest and met her gaze.

"They put me in a wine cellar. Tried to freeze me to death, but I—I got out."

Rolling blood. Watching it reach my blue toes without feeling it. His cold, blank stare.

"We found the body," she told me. "Who was he?"

"Was his dick still out?" I asked, feeling a foreign smile curl at my lips. "I hope it froze. Like a little purple popsicle."

Her eyes analyzed my face worriedly. "Did he touch you?"

"No. Didn't you see the slit on his neck?"

"I didn't see his body. Basileus and I rushed you out of there."

"Where was there, exactly?"

She looked to the window and inhaled thoughtfully. "A French Chateau. Peter was using it as his headquarters."

"Mhm." Nodding, I licked my lips. "Well, the wine was shit. He obviously doesn't know how to properly store it."

I jumped when she gently squeezed my hand. Her eyes were locked on me again, pain in those emerald flecks.

"Anna," she spoke with wavering words, "your neck was cut. There was dried blood. Was that . . . Did you . . ?"

"Try to slice open my throat?" I finished with a snort. "Hell no. I wasn't about to live through that shit show and then kill myself. You can thank Basileus' dickhead brother for that. Where is he, by the way?"

"Basileus' brother? Who are you talking about?"

The air traced its cool fingers across my exposed arms and legs. I stewed in that revelation for a moment.

"You don't know either."

"Know what?" she insisted.

"Peter. He's Basileus' brother."

Her brows knitted together. "That's not possible—"

"She's right," confirmed the throaty source of truth.