Chapter 47 Neve
FORTY-SEVEN
NEVE
“What did you do to him?” My words come out hoarse and my heart is still thrashing behind my ribcage.
With his arm around my shoulders, Sylvan isn’t looking at me. We’re not out of the maze yet. After Frostbite pulled me out of the chaos of the previous room, we’re in a silent black tunnel of sorts, only pinpricks of light at sporadic intervals dotting the ceiling.
I inhale deep, trying to calm the shakiness in my limbs. Instead, I only catch the scent of fog machines, bleach, and whatever Sylvan is made of—something like mint and smoke and soft leather.
Is it the haunted castle making my heart race, or the haunted boy beside me?
Where’s Ace?
Sylvan’s arm is strong along my back and as I try to catch a glimpse of his expression in the dark, I notice again how tall he is. Being under his arm feels safe in a way that doesn’t make sense to me.
Not when I think of Jackson.
Will.
Mitchell.
And what did he say in that room?
“Do you want to die tonight?”
He still hasn’t answered my question, about what he did to the employee who grabbed me, what he might have done to Ace, but before I can press him on it, a shadow seems to fall across me and I startle, whipping my head around.
A scare actor looms in my face, this one with a mask of solid white. No holes for a mouth, nose, or eyes that I can see, and the lack of human features in the dark is disorienting. The person grazes my hip, their fingers trailing along my ski suit. I jerk back, pushing closer to Sylvan.
His arm slips down to my waist, holding me tight, and when the scare actor pulls back only to lunge at me even closer, nearly nose-to-nose with me, Sylvan moves.
He’s so fast, I don’t anticipate his reaction until he’s done it.
His forearm is against the actor’s chest as he shoves him to the wall, and in the eerie silence, I hear the actor’s rough exhale, like the motion took his breath away. Sylvan is enormous compared to this person, so I’m not surprised.
“She’s off limits,” he says, and his voice is pleasant, like he’s talking to a dear friend.
His tone makes a chill crawl down my spine.
The actor swallows, audible in the dark, then nods, the white head jerking up and down.
I see Sylvan’s teeth flash, then the actor slinks back into the shadows.
Sylvan tightens his arm around me, and before we take another step, he dips his head, his lips ghosting over my ear.
“Do you feel safe?”
The question surprises me. Little hairs stand on end along the back of my neck.
Do I?
My heart is still beating a million miles a minute and whatever happened with Sylvan and Tasia doesn’t seem important anymore, but now that I’m under his arm, protected, the emotion starts to come back, flooding hot and viscous through my bloodstream.
I pull back, staring up into his light eyes. “Where’s your girlfriend?” The snarl in my words is embarrassing and my face heats, but I doubt he can see it in the darkness.
“Not safe.”
A lump forms in my throat. Flashbacks come creeping in from the first night we met.
But he’s not a suspect.
As far as I know, he’s not even a person of interest.
Even so, I don’t back down. For all I know, he’s using cryptic words to make me feel exactly this way: Confused.
I try to pull away from him, but his free hand snatches my wrist, quick-fast.
His fingers tighten and a low laugh leaves his throat. “I never expected you to be so jealous.”
I want to scream I’m not, but I know how that protest will sound.
Weak.
Like a lie.
It annoys me it’s the truth, so I stay silent, letting his eyes trail over mine.
In the bubble of our quiet, a scream cuts through from a distance, and my breath catches in my throat.
He doesn’t react at all. Not so much as a blink.
“How did you find me? You went through with Tasia.”
“I followed you,” he says simply. Honest for once. “I left her.”
“Why?”
“You were jealous. You left me this morning after letting Faust inside you, but you hated her with me, didn’t you?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
“Why are you still scared?” he asks softly, and unlike his taunting voice or his eerie tone, the question seems strangely genuine.
He pulls me closer with his arm snaked around my waist, until my breasts are pressed to his firm body.
I tilt my head back to hold his gaze.
His thumb grazes my pulse point along my wrist.
“Don’t you know I’ll kill for you?”
I suck in air and I don’t exhale for a long moment. My body is warm, the world seems to be standing still, and nothing about this moment makes sense, least of all the emotion welling up inside my chest, right there behind my ribcage.
“Do you even know me?” But I feel it. Our connection.
He smiles, but it isn’t leering or dangerous or charming. It’s sad.
Leaning close, his lips graze mine.
My body grows infinitely hotter.
“Let me in deeper.”
When we slip through the heavy black curtains that separate the end of the haunted house from the foyer of Bloodsword, the lounge inside Castle Morack, it’s as if I’ve awoken from a dream.
The lighting is dim, but still far brighter than anything inside the winding, dark rooms I’ve left.
The air is colder, the scent of pumpkin and autumn fills my nose, and standing with Sylvan’s arm around me in the light feels obscene.
There’s a host—judging by his white collared shirt and black pants—waiting for us in a red velvet chair by the closed door to the lounge and he smiles, half of his face donned with skeleton paint.
He’s on his feet before I can extract myself from Sylvan’s grip. “Would you like a table, or the bar?”
My mind shifts to Cynthia and I say, “My friend is in there. She got taken out? I need to see if she’s okay.”
Sylvan’s fingers squeeze my waist.
The waiter’s dark brows pull together, then he says, “Cynthia?”
I nod once, wondering how many people surrender. Doubtful it’s many, because people don’t like to hurt their pride, by Cyn does what she wants no matter what anyone thinks. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.
“Yes,” I say quickly, wanting to see her to make sure she’s okay and maybe, too, I want to be sure Tasia isn’t being a bitch to her because of me. I’ll fucking deck her if she is. There’s too much adrenaline in my bloodstream to play nice tonight.
The man nods once. “This way please.” Then he turns and instead of opening the double doors in front of us, he pivots to a door I didn’t notice before, on the wall adjacent. Nondescript, with a golden knob.
He pulls it open and more ambient, golden light spills out onto the castle’s marble flooring. But as Sylvan and I move in tandem to follow him, his dark gaze flickers to Sylvan for the first time.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding it, “but Ms. Espinosa has requested only Neve Devine enter the private room.”
A laugh leaves my lips before I can help it.
I don’t know why Cyn got us a private room nor why she only wants me, but feeling Sylvan Connor, hockey god, stiffen at my side as if he’s been physically slapped gives me more joy than it should.
Now that we’re in the light and I’m far removed from the panic of crawling along the floor in the dark, I remember how it felt watching him with Tasia.
Fuck him and his reasons for it.
I pull away from him but his hand slides along my waist to grip my wrist, and I grudgingly turn back.
His light eyes lack all of the amusement I feel.
“Text me when you get home,” he says quietly. “If you don’t, you’ll see me.”
I’m drunk as I sit beside Cynthia on the couch in our living room in Darkmouth, a water bottle she shoved my way between my fingers.
Karter is crashing here tonight, and she’s perched on the black chair across from us.
Tasia left Castle Morack after Sylvan left her, apparently, and Karter didn’t want to leave with her.
She said Tasia feels as if she sided with “the enemy” but I don’t give a fuck how she feels.
I let her have Ace and she threw him away for someone who clearly doesn’t actually care about her—or anyone.
I texted Ace I was with the girls to ensure he was good.
He never replied. I don’t think about him calling my name in the dark.
Cynthia had the private room for us because she said Faust paid for it, telling her it was a favor for us. But only the girls.
“But why?” I ask Cyn now as she goes over it all for the third time. “Why did he want us together, and neither one of them wrecked our party?” I think of the bottle of Crown Royal the waiter brought in, apparently paid for by Faust, too, because we sure as hell didn’t have a tab.
I squeeze the plastic cup between my fingers as The Weeknd plays from the portable speaker on the coffee table.
Karter laughs, ducking her head as she drinks from her black plastic cup.
There’s a bottle of Jameson beside the speaker, and I want to reach for it because I’m feeling good, but I haven’t texted Sylvan yet like he wanted and I’m scared I might say something I’ll regret if I start talking to him now.
Cynthia rolls her eyes, then turns to me. We’re all in our comfy clothes now; me in a black set, Cyn in a white shirt tied at the hip, red shorts, and Karter in an oversized T-shirt that hits her knees with Grimace splashed across it.
“You really don’t know?”
I frown at her. “Spit it out.”
A smile curves her lips then. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it.”
Karter starts losing it over the innuendo and I blush.
“What?” I ask, throwing my hands up, water sloshing from the side of my bottle.
“Two boys who currently play for the Dragons want to bone you, Neve.” Cynthia spells it all out for me. “And I don’t think they like that they both want you.”
“Definitely not,” Karter says through giggles. “They’re fighting now for everyone to see, because of you.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head in denial. The psychoanalysis starts to slip free. Exactly what I’ve thought but not yet said aloud. “Sylvan only wants to take me from Faust, to prove a point. To one up his captain, and, arguably, the better player.”
Cynthia considers, her head tilted. Between the three of us, she’s the most sober, and I trust her judgment. She won’t tell me what I want to hear; she’ll tell me how it is.
Then she just shrugs. “I don’t know. Sylvan left Tasia, and she would’ve been a guaranteed lay for tonight. He’s playing with fire if he only wants to prove a point,” she mimics me.
I take another drink of water, my phone in the pocket of my black pants, and I want to ask Sylvan straight up what he wants.
But I remember what he said in the dark of Castle Morack.
“Why are you still so afraid? Don’t you know I’ll kill for you?”
I think of him breaking Will’s nose in this very apartment.
“Shit,” Karter says under her breath, breaking me from my tangled thoughts.
I imagine it’s something with Tasia, which makes me feel annoyed, but Cyn turns to Karter and asks, “What is it?”
And when I see Karter’s face, her eyes lifting to ours from her phone in her hand, I know it’s important. Her complexion nearly matches her hair.
I squeeze my water bottle tighter and feel dread ball into a knot in my stomach, even though I couldn’t say why.
“There’s another body on campus.”
My pulse raises. It’s like there’s static in my ears.
Cynthia glances at me, and I know I have to tell her about Sylvan and Will. There’s something in the way my body feels—the hairs on my neck raised, every limb tense—that tells me I’m not going to like what Karter has to say, and it’s going to be connected to everything else I’m suddenly afraid of.
“Do you know who it is?” Cyn asks quietly.
I swallow and despite the water in my hand, my mouth is dry.
Karter starts scrolling on her phone, her brows knitted, and I hold my breath as she searches whatever page she’s looking at for answers. After a moment of only the music playing between us, she shakes her head, and I start to feel a flutter of relief, hoping my bad feeling won’t come true tonight.
But then she says, “It’s on social, I don’t think it’s true, but…” She looks up again, and her eyes connect with mine as she swallows hard. “I need to find Tasia.” But she doesn’t move to get up.
My pulse beats so loud, I can’t hear myself breathe.
“Is it her?” Cynthia’s tone is ghostly. She sounds afraid.
She should be, no matter what the answer is. And she doesn’t even know it.
Karter shakes her head again. She’s still staring at me.
It’s hard to hold her gaze, but I force myself not to look away.
“It’s…” She clears her throat, then glances at her phone again, as if she’s read it wrong. “They’re saying, anyway, that it’s…”
“Say it.” I snarl the words, because I can’t stand the suspense anymore.
“Ace.” Karter whispers the name, and she doesn’t look at me again. “They’re saying it’s Ace.”