Chapter 14 Sybil
Sybil
The darkness was a shroud, concealing me as I glided down the empty, quiet halls.
There was a chill in the air, but I let that cold focus me, sharpening the raging flame coursing through my veins.
Slipping in and out of the shadows, I clung to the walls, hiding—biding my time—until finally Ambrose stepped out of a room.
I stole a glance inside from the doorway.
Books were stacked along shelves, surrounding a wooden desk.
Two large chairs sat in the middle of the room with a small table between them, where two small glasses with the dregs of finished brandy sat on top.
It was his. Lord Lowell’s office. His putrid smell of cigars, brandy, and sweat hung in the air.
I watched Ambrose pass by me, his face wearing that same disgusting, arrogant smirk he had during dinner, so unaware of the danger that lurked by his side. Part of me wanted to follow him, to go ahead and end him now, to be the wicked creature from his nightmares. It would be all too easy.
But it wasn’t time for him, not now—not yet. His time would come later, when I had him kneeling before me, his world torn apart, begging for mercy.
No, now was a time to let loose, to have a little fun. I watched until Ambrose turned the corner, then waited until Lord Lowell came out of the office, locking the door behind him.
I tilted my head, my smile sharpening as I blended into the dark, becoming nothing but an apparition—a phantom of the night. I silently drifted behind Lord Lowell down the halls, like a cat hunting prey, so oblivious to what was lurking behind.
Reaching his room, he opened the door, pausing to look behind him, as if he could feel I was there. I could hear his heartbeat increasing as I slipped past him, the night covering my every move.
Finding no one in the hallway, Lord Lowell shut his door, stripped out of his tunic, and headed into the bathroom.
I patiently waited, taking my time looking around his room.
His walls were the same nauseating red as the rest of the castle, the color only broken up by the many atrocious paintings hung everywhere.
His obsession with the paintings was strange, but that was a thought for another day.
Lord Lowell returned to the room, slipping out of his robe. His pale skin looked sickly in the moonlight. He laid the robe on the edge of the bed, his cock hard and twitching as he dipped his head back, fisting it twice before sliding under the blankets.
I raised my brow, watching him shove the blanket down his body until it reached his thighs.
He wrapped his hand around that tiny cock, slowly pumping, his breathing turning into hard pants, though it didn’t last long.
Seeming unsatisfied, Lord Lowell hissed a sigh and frowned, reaching over to pull the red rope hanging by his bed.
He was calling a servant. A servant to fill his needs.
A wicked laugh left my lips, and Lord Lowell jolted up, pressing his back into the headboard. “Who's there?” he hissed into the dark.
I laughed again, pulling myself away from the shadows.
His eyes went wide, and he sucked in a breath, but it was too late.
There was nothing to save him now. I lunged, my claws sinking deep into his chest, ripping into his soft flesh.
His screams echoed past me, and I cackled in delight, his blood bubbling under my hands.
A horrific scream resonated through the estate, jolting me from my sleep. I sat up, gulping down the cold air. The dream felt so real. I could still feel the hot, thick blood soaking my hands. I could still hear Lord Lowell’s screams ringing in my ears.
My heart thumped fiercely in my chest, and I glanced at my hands, looking for the hints of crimson that I was sure I’d find.
But there was nothing on them, not even under my nails.
A chill ran down my spine, and I looked around the room.
The shadow in the corner rippled, though it disappeared when more shouts and screams sounded from the hall just outside my door.
Ivara groaned as she sat up, her arms slipping around me to hug me close. “Why is it always so noisy in the mornings?” She breathed, sleep still clinging to her.
I prayed she wouldn’t feel the tremors in my body, that she wouldn’t notice my skin slick with sweat or how fast my heart raced.
I felt sick to my stomach. The dream was so real, so lifelike.
The enjoyment I felt—the pure satisfaction.
I shuddered and leaned into Ivara, willing my heart to steady itself.
A heavy fist pounded on the door, and I flinched, dread twisting low in my stomach. Ivara cursed softly, dragging herself from the bed and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair was tousled, but she didn’t seem to care as she opened the door to a grim-faced Daelan.
“What’s—”
“Are you both okay in here?” he asked, voice tight.
Ivara frowned while she studied his pale face and tense, raised shoulders. “We’re fine. Both of us.” Ivara looked past him, her eyes following the guards running down the hall. “What happened?”
“Lowell was found dead this morning. It looked like a beast ripped him to shreds.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my lungs feeling too tight. Dread sank low, pooling in my stomach. I swallowed down my nausea, my hand gripping my chest. “Do they know who did it?”
Daelan’s eyes met mine, and he shook his head. “They are still searching for who or whatever could have done it, but we have never seen anything like it before. It was like it dug until it reached the bed.”
I opened my mouth but quickly closed it. I didn’t even know what to say. Tremors threatened to take over my body, but something told me, in the far corners of my mind, to stay quiet, to keep that dream to myself.
Movement behind Daelan caught my attention, and Ambrose appeared at Daelan’s side, his face twisted with fury. “Dress yourselves. We are leaving. Now!”