Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Keeping his voice too low for Henri to hear, he hissed, “I’m done letting you cause rot in my home. You and your little whispers and rebellions. It was pointless. Useless. You’ve lost and I’ll punish all those you dragged into this fatal little scheme. You want freedom so badly? Well then, you shall fucking have it.”
The guards broke their wall in front of us as Victor stalked forward, dragging me beside him.
Peter let me go.
He fell back.
But Victor said politely, “Guards, please ensure Peter joins us. He’s a guest of honour tonight.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Seamlessly, two black-suited men slipped into place, stepping into line behind me and Victor, blocking Peter between us and preventing Henri from getting too close. Victor grinned over his shoulder. “Are you ready, mon ami?”
Henri vibrated with energy.
His lifeforce didn’t fit inside his suit anymore, his lines blurring with rage.
But he still managed to follow our script.
Managed to act and simper and lie. “Of course, Vic. Looking forward to it. Whatever it is.”
I choked on a sob.
I opened my mouth to scream for him to run.
But two more guards slipped behind Henri before a procession of guests fell behind them.
We were trapped.
Corralled.
Livestock heading to the slaughter.
He didn’t know.
Didn’t hear what Victor had said.
Didn’t hear Victor’s low chuckle as he dragged me through his castle. Or his whisper as cold as snow. “Time to die, little diamond. Let’s go set you free.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
……………………….
Henri
FUCK.
Fuck.
Fuck!
My mind overloaded as the clip of polished dress shoes marched over stone pavers and the rustle of velvet capes whispered in the dark. Every Master came. Multiple guards interspersed with black-masked men.
All male apart from one.
Ily.
The only splash of white came from her and Peter at the front.
No other jewels.
It was as if Victor didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. Single-minded and entirely focused on whatever horror he had planned.
Stalking at a fast pace, Victor guided us down a corridor, through an archway, across a courtyard, and into a tower with a flag fluttering high in the star-studded sky.
Every metre, I tried to figure out how to stop this.
Every heartbeat, I begged for supernatural powers to surge through me and smite Victor where he stood.
This would be so much easier if I could kill with just a thought.
A bolt of sorcery.
A well-placed curse to the brain.
I had no idea which guards were on our side.
Ben and Stewart trailed a few men behind.
My back prickled as they stared at me.
I wanted to fall back and talk to them.
Plan a siege as we walked because tonight was the fucking night.
There would be no Christmas.
No coup.
No bombs, no bullets, no freedom.
Victor knew.
How much he knew, I didn’t know.
But he knew something.
And none of this was fucking good.
Stone swallowed us whole as Victor vanished into the tower and we all followed. Echoes throbbed with ice. Eternal coldness bit into my bones with fangs.
A guard stepped forward and pulled out a ring full of brass keys from his pocket.
They jingled painfully loud.
The scratch of metal on metal as it slipped into the ornate lock. The creaking hinges as the door opened.
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
The door screeched, dragging over the stone pavers as the guard wrenched it wide and stepped aside for Victor to climb down the stairs.
We followed.
So many stairs.
A winding corkscrew of never-ending stairs.
Electrical torches flickered like fire on the walls, granting just enough light not to trip but not enough to get my bearings.
Where the hell is he taking us?
Musk and dankness billowed like a swamp.
The air turned dense and earthy, growing colder and colder until my toes turned numb, and claustrophobia clawed at my throat.
The glow of Ily in her stunning white gown was the only thing keeping me sane.
She was my beacon.
My north.
My only.
She glowed, not because of her dress, but because of her spirit. The light in her that tempered my black. Her goodness to my darkness. Her redemption to my remorse.
Peter didn’t say a word as Victor reached the end of the stairs. His shoes clicked and hissed on rock. The sound bounced around us, the tunnel we’d reached as narrow as a fucking coffin.
I swallowed hard.
My skin itched.
It felt as if he’d buried us alive.
Lights snapped on as Victor triggered sensors.
One after another, disrupting the never-ending black with pinpricks of illumination.
I passed by a shadowy tomb to my left.
I crashed against the wall to my right.
A cell.
Bars.
Shackles on the wall and a drain in the middle.
The dungeons.
We’re in his motherfucking dungeons.
Victor snickered from his place at the top of the line. His voice was cool and collected like any good tour guide offering facts to his tourists. “I hope you like the aesthetics, Henri. I spent many hours poring over the blueprints from Linlithgow Palace and its ruins. I ensured my builders gave me a replica. Right down to the sandstone, granite, and oak.”