9. Chapter 9
Julia
Adrian sprints after Percy, their long legs eating up the corridor in seconds, leaving me standing alone like some useless bystander. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. That's exactly what Adrian thinks I am, someone to be protected and left behind.
No. Absolutely not. This is my wedding to save, my reputation on the line.
I kick off my heels, grab them in one hand, and take off running.
The cold marble floor sends shocks up my legs as I sprint down the corridor, my stocking feet silent compared to the thundering footsteps of the men ahead.
I round the corner just in time to see Adrian's broad back disappearing through a doorway at the far end of the hall.
"Wait!" I call, but my voice echoes uselessly off ornate walls.
By the time I reach the doorway, they're gone. I lean against the frame, catching my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. The hallway branches into three different directions, each one identical with their dark wood paneling and dragon-motif cornices.
I’ll never catch them. This estate is so big, it’ll take me a half hour just to find them. I’ve truly been left behind. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I’m not law enforcement.
What help does a werewolf and a dragon need from a human wedding planner anyway?
"Great," I mutter, smoothing down my dress. "Just perfect."
I strain my ears, hoping to catch some sound of their passage, but the manor seems to have swallowed them whole. The silence presses in, broken only by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere.
That's when I see it, a flicker of movement at the far end of the leftmost corridor. A shadow sliding along the wall with purpose, all dressed in black and wearing a face covering.
Someone who doesn’t want to be seen.
My pulse quickens. That's not staff. The staff here move with efficiency and openness. This figure is hunched, furtive, heading toward what looks like a service entrance.
Logic says I should find Adrian. Logic says I shouldn't pursue a potential thief alone in an endless mansion.
But logic has already lost this battle when I see the figure pause at a small, unobtrusive door, glance over their shoulder, then slip inside .
I check my phone, intending to text Adrian, but the signal bars mock me with their absence. Of course there's no service in this part of the building. The walls are practically fortress-thick, designed in an era when "cellular reception" was akin to science fiction.
The sensible thing would be to find help, to track down Adrian and let the actual law enforcement officer handle this. I'm a smart woman. I should call for help.
I start walking toward the service door.
Because sometimes, being sensible doesn't get results. And I need results. I need this wedding to happen, need the tiara found, need everything to go perfectly so I can salvage what's left of my career.
The service door is plain oak, unadorned unlike every other surface in this ostentatious manor. It's been left slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. My hand hesitates on the tarnished brass knob, common sense making one last desperate plea.
I push it open anyway.
A narrow stone staircase spirals downward, illuminated by weak electric sconces that cast more shadows than light. The temperature drops with each step I take, the air growing heavy with moisture and the musty scent of age. My breath forms small clouds in front of me.
The stairwell is claustrophobic, the walls pressing in on both sides.
This is not just a staff stairwell. This is going down to the basement.
I put my shoes back on, then make my way down the stairs.
Each step echoes softly despite my sensible rubber soles, the sound bouncing back at me from the cold stone.
I place my hand against the wall for balance, feeling the damp rock beneath my fingertips.
With each turn of the spiral, my heart beats faster. What am I doing? This is madness. I'm following an unknown person into the bowels of a dragon estate with no backup, no weapon, not even a decent pair of shoes to run in.
But I keep going. Because turning back means I could lose track of the thief. This could be our one and only chance to catch him.
The stairs end abruptly at a massive oak door bound with black iron. It's ancient, imposing, the wood scarred with age. Unlike the service door above, this one is meant to be seen, to intimidate. A small sliver of yellow light spills from beneath it.
I press my ear against the wood, holding my breath to listen for any sound from within. Nothing. Just the hollow silence of a large space.
I try the handle. It turns smoothly, surprising for something so old. The door swings open with barely a whisper, revealing a cavernous space with a vaulted ceiling supported by stone arches that disappear into shadows.
I’m in the wine cellar, I realize.
Rows upon rows of wine racks stretch into the gloom, bottles gleaming dully in the weak light cast by bare bulbs hanging from chains. The air is cool and heavy with the scent of earth, old wood, and the complex bouquet of aging wine and fungi.
Along one wall stands enormous oak barrels, their staves darkened with age. Stacked wooden crates form labyrinthine passages between sections. The floor is flagstone, worn smooth by generations of feet.
My heart beats fast and adrenaline courses through my veins. I’ve never done something so daring, so reckless. But here I am, tracking down a potential criminal.
The light creates pools of visibility surrounded by deep shadow, perfect for hiding. Perfect for an ambush .
I step inside, the door swinging partially closed behind me. The chill seeps through my thin dress, made worse by the humidity. I strain my eyes, searching for any movement among the bottles and barrels.
Suddenly, rapid footsteps pound behind me, followed by a voice that makes my heart jump.
"Julia!" Adrian's voice echoes down the stairwell, tight with something between anger and fear.
I turn toward the door just as his large frame fills it, blocking the meager light from the stairwell. His eyes flash emerald in the dimness, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growls, stalking toward me with the fluid grace of a predator.
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "Someone was down here. I saw them."
"They could be dangerous," he snaps, looming over me. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. Now go back upstairs."
"I'm not going anywhere!" I plant my feet, glaring up at him. "I want this thief caught as much as you do."
Adrian's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, his eyes never leaving mine.
"This isn't a game," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Whoever this thief is, they’re not playing games."
"Neither do I." I fold my arms across my chest. "And unless you want to escort me back upstairs and risk losing the thief, then you’ll have to let me follow you."
Something shifts in his expression, a grudging respect replacing some of the anger. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in those unruly spikes that somehow make him even more attractive .
"Fine," he concedes, though it clearly costs him. "But you stay behind me, and you do exactly what I say."
"Deal," I agree, trying not to look too triumphant.
Adrian turns, scanning the cellar with narrowed eyes. He moves differently down here, more animal than man, his steps silent despite his size. He positions himself slightly in front of me, his broad shoulders a barrier between me and whatever might lurk in the shadows.
"Tell me what you saw," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Someone all dressed in black, with a face covering, trying to stay hidden." I keep my voice equally low. "They came down these stairs and into the cellar."
Adrian nods, his attention focused on the space around us. His nostrils flare again, and I realize he's tracking the suspect by scent.
"Someone was definitely here," he confirms, moving deeper into the cellar with cautious steps.
I follow closely, my eyes darting to every shadow, every darkened corner. The cellar seems to expand the farther we venture, revealing hidden alcoves and narrower passages between the wine racks.
Adrian's movements become more predatory with each step, his human mannerisms falling away as his wolf rises closer to the surface. His shoulders hunch slightly, his head cocking at small sounds I can't detect. When he glances back at me, his eyes gleam with that supernatural green luminescence.
It should frighten me. Instead, I find it fascinating, even comforting. Whatever else Adrian Wolfsbane may be, he's the perfect predator to have on your side when you're hunting in the dark.
He stops suddenly, his head lifting. He sniffs the air in one direction, then in the other .
"This way," he murmurs, moving toward a stack of wooden crates in the far corner of the cellar.
I stay close behind him, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. The shadows seem to thicken around us, the weak bulbs casting long, distorted shapes across the stone floor.
Adrian rounds the stack of crates, his body tense with anticipation. I wait, watching his back, the powerful muscles visible even through his uniform shirt.
That's when I see it, a quick movement behind us, near the door. A slim figure slips past the doorway, their features indistinct in the poor light.
"Adrian!" I gasp, pointing. "The door!"
We both whirl around, Adrian moving at supernatural speed. But we're too late.
The heavy sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the cellar, unnaturally loud in the cavernous space.
"No," I breathe, as the implications sink in.
We race to the door, our footsteps thundering across the stone floor. Adrian reaches it first, his hand closing around the ancient iron handle. He yanks, the muscles in his arm straining beneath his shirtsleeve.
It doesn't budge.