Chapter Twelve
Dane
You’re a straight-up idiot if you do it. I paced in front of my bedroom door, blowing air back and forth inside my cheeks to make them puff out. Just a quick stroll to stretch the ole legs.
“While vampires converge on you.”
But damn it. I’d been stuck in this room for two freaking weeks. It was now Malachi who brought me food, and shit, I missed Kyson. Although Malachi had told me he was recovering, I needed to see for myself. Even if it meant dodging vampires, I was determined to visit him.
First I had to find his room.
I’d wanted to check on him, but every time I asked, Malachi would tell me it was too dangerous.
Dangerous for whom? I’d seen that bloody sword. Every time I inquired about it, Malachi fucked my brains out, the question somehow disappearing from my thoughts. The guy had amazing stamina. Honestly, I was thinking about waving a white flag the next time.
Even so, I was done being a prisoner, though I planned on continuing to ask him about the sword. I needed the workout.
What bothered me was the fact Malachi never asked about my sanity, or lack thereof, from being cooped up in this room.
I reached for the handle but yanked my hand back. Damn it! I could do this. If I spotted a vampire, I knew how to run like the devil was on my heels.
Which, technically, would be happening.
All I kept seeing was Osiris through Kyson’s eyes. It had to have been torture to be possessed by him and then collapse. Kyson had hit his head, and I felt for him, but the smoke that had come out of his mouth had given me some restless nights… or days.
Malachi was effectively switching my hours around. There were some nights when I felt like I should have a flashlight and a set of keys, roaming the halls to make sure everything was all right.
Stop letting your mind go to weird places. You’re not a night watchman, dork. Though I would still pay to see a supernatural smackdown on television.
“Please, brain, stop,”
I groaned. “See, this is why I need to get out of my room. I’m having too many ridiculous thoughts.”
I hadn’t seen Malachi since he’d left earlier. Hopefully he’s not roaming the halls.
I yanked the door open, only to slam it shut.
“Try again, only this time, you’re supposed to walk out, not stay inside your room.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, blew out a breath, then gripped the handle once more.
This time I managed to make it into the hallway. Idiot. I changed my mind, but the door had closed behind me, and when I turned the knob, it was locked.
“Shit.”
My head snapped around as I strained to listen. The place was quiet as a tomb. It might turn into yours if a vampire catches you.
I was getting sick of my damn mind throwing shade. How hard could it be to find Kyson’s room while not getting drained along the way?
Piece of cake.
So why wasn’t I moving away from the door?
“Come on, Dane. You can do this.”
One. Stay away from the vampires. Two. Stay away from the vampires. And—wait for it—don’t get drained.
I really missed Kyson’s quirkiness.
With a deep breath, I pushed away from the door, forcing myself not to turn around and beat on it, shouting, “Let me in!”
My steps were slow, cautious, my heart beating like crazy as I moved forward. I remembered the way to the kitchen. From there, I recalled which room Malachi had taken Kyson to. I just had to get to the kitchen so I could find him. It was the only logical way since all the halls look so much alike. Amber red and black obsidian walls and flooring. Malachi really needed to hire an interior design professional.
Maybe he was so grumpy all the time because the red and black were depressing the hell out of him.
As I crept down the hallway—smirking every time the scones distorted my image on the wall, making it seem as if I was looking into funhouse mirrors—I heard something tapping. Or was that knocking?
I strained to listen. That was definitely knocking.
“Oh my god,”
I said under my breath, “you’re really going to see what that noise is, aren’t you?”
No one could ever claim I was the brightest color in the rainbow. My feet guided the way, my body along for the ride. My nosiness was going to get me killed.
It was bad enough I was spreading my scent around like a calling card. Now I wasn’t even going in the right direction. The kitchen was the next left, but I kept going straight.
Clearly my self-preservation was on the fritz.
A moment later, I stopped and glanced around. This section of the castle had potted plants and a small desk, like someone would actually use it to get some work done.
In a deserted hallway.
My mind conjured up the craziest image of Malachi sitting behind that small desk, his back hunched over, using that black feather of his to write.
When I heard the knocking sound again, I whipped my head around, only… It was coming from a black lacquered door to my right. Tiptoeing, I pressed my ear against it. If this was a closet, someone seemed desperate to get out.
Shut up, brain.
The knock was heavy, causing me to jump back. “Who’s there?”
“Sheriff Whitmore and Deputy Harrington.”
I blinked, not expecting the door to answer me. Either I was having a pretty fucked-up dream or the cops were on the other side of it. Well, if I was going to die, at least I could appease my curiosity.
“Please don’t be a vampire,”
I whispered as I opened the door.
The sun nearly blinded me after being in the dark for so long. In front of me stood Sheriff Whitmore and Deputy Harrington.
On a porch.
A swing hung on the big tree to my right, and birds flew by, chasing one another. The smell of fresh-cut grass hit me like a memory I couldn’t place, sharp and strange in this castle of marble and stone.
I stepped outside, forcing the two to move back. My gaze swept over the exterior of… a farmhouse? When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a set of wooden steps leading to an upstairs. There was a brightly lit hallway and part of a living room on the left. A small table was butted up against the wall of the hallway, a huge flower-filled vase in the center of it.
At least it’s not a small desk.
The place looked like it belonged on a calendar, a little farmstead, complete with a tire swing and a perfectly trimmed lawn. My stomach turned at the dissonance. I’d walked out of Winterhaven’s marble mausoleum and into a Better Homes and Gardens spread, and that wasn’t comforting.
It was horrifying.
“Dane?”
Sheriff Whitmore said. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
Was I okay? I really wasn’t sure.
My gaze swept the peaceful country yard, and I inhaled a lungful of honeysuckle…and the sheriff’s cologne, which caused me to sneeze. Then I knocked on the wall next to the door. It felt solid.
“I’d say he’s on drugs. A hallucinogen from the looks of it,”
Harrington said. “Is the big old house scaring you, Dane?”
I whipped my head around. “I don’t know you well enough for you to call me by my first name.”
I was freaking out, so Deputy Douchebag would bear the brunt of it. “How would you feel if I called you Chase?”
His name was as pretentious as a duck in high heels.
“We came by because we found your car,”
Whitmore said. “There was a lot of blood in the backseat.”
He held up a scrap piece of paper. “This address was left on the driver’s seat.”
“If he’s not the victim, then he must be the perpetrator.”
Harrington reached behind him, like he was going for his cuffs.
“Now wait.”
Whitmore held up his beefy hand. “Let’s hear Dane out.”
His smile was warm. “If I may call you that.”
I stopped myself from knocking on the house again. “You can. He can’t.”
The look Harrington gave me should have shriveled my soul. Luckily, I’d sold it as a kid for a weekend without my crappy dad. He’d come home and said he was taking off for two days and to feed myself. After that, I’d sold my soul at least a hundred more times.
I was ten and didn’t know any better. Plus, nothing else worked after my initial barter. Maybe I’d actually sold it the first time. I hadn’t been to church since I was seven, so I wasn’t big on the whole soul going-to-hell thing.
Until I’d met Osiris.
Stop thinking about him.
“Dane?”
Whitmore arched a brow, drawing my attention. “Mind telling me what your car was doing in the impound lot and why there was blood all over the back seat?”
“Impound lot? What impound lot?”
Malachi had told me it was parked far away from Ashwood. Plus, I didn’t even know where I was, and wasn’t dumb enough to leave an address on the driver’s seat. Damn. Emmett had set me up, making me look like a straight-up suspect.
Now Whitmore was really looking at me, like he could actually see the crazy in my head. “The one a block over from the station, son.”
I ignored the “son”
thing. My brain was already cracked enough. Also, I didn’t want to think about my dad whenever I looked at the sheriff.
Which, if I was lucky, wouldn’t be again after this visit.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
Huh? I whipped around at the calm, smooth voice behind me to find Dick standing there. What was the cook doing out here, and why wasn’t he bursting into flames? I looked him over, but he refused to meet my gaze. I’d only met him once, the night I’d arrived and Kyson had taken me to the kitchen. He exuded an unmistakable air of authority as he stared at the sheriff.
“This matter is with Dane ,”
Harrington replied smugly. The jerk said my name on purpose.
“I’m sorry, but we haven’t met. I’m Sheriff Whitmore.”
He stuck his hand out, and Dick…shit…Richard shook it.
“Richard Wellington, Sheriff. It’s a pleasure.”
In the sunlight, Richard didn’t appear so eerie. He had a nice smile and, wow, pretty brown eyes that reflected the sun.
No, wait. That wasn’t a reflection. His eyes were slightly glowing, the kind of glow you’d expect from a firefly, not a person. What the fruitcake was going on in this place, and why wasn’t either cop drawing their weapon? Surely, they had to see the glow.
“I’m Dane’s uncle.”
Richard’s smile didn’t reach his glowing eyes. The sight made me want to shove my hands into my pockets and stop existing.
“It’s a pleasure,”
Whitmore said then told Richard why they were here.
Richard frowned. “Oh my goodness. My nephew told me his car had been stolen the night he called me for a ride.”
His hand was flat against his chest, appearing genuinely shocked. The cook had missed his calling.
“What night was that?”
Whitmore asked as Harrington swept his gaze over me, a slight curl to his upper lip.
“The night…”
Richard tapped his chin. “Two weeks ago. I told him to file a report.”
He glanced at me, and I wanted to look closer at his eyes. Were they a part of this fucked-up dream?
“Oh!”
I spun to face the sheriff. “He did tell me to file one, but it slipped my mind.”
“Your car was allegedly stolen and it just so happened to slip your mind?”
Harrington’s condescending tone was grating on my nerves. I never wanted to bitch-slap someone so badly in my life.
Richard’s voice dripped with disdain as he said, “My nephew has been dealing with numerous mental health problems. I would appreciate a more respectful tone, particularly from law enforcement.”
The way Richard dressed down Harrington was fire. It was like getting reprimanded by your father.
“Why don’t you wait in the car?”
Whitmore said to his deputy with a sigh.
I smirked at Harrington right before he stormed off, but schooled my features as I faced Whitmore. “I’m sorry. It’s true. I, um, have these moments where I think some things are real.”
Since the sheriff already thought I was crazy, why not lean into it? An excuse hadn’t come to mind, and so far, Richard was saving my ass. It wasn’t as if I could tell Whitmore an ancient vampire had been bleeding in my back seat. Then again, it might lend credit to Richard’s story.
The sheriff pulled out a notepad and started jotting something down, and then asked for our information, including social security numbers, which Richard flawlessly provided.
Who, exactly, was this guy? Or what was this guy, because he wasn’t human and he wasn’t a vampire if he could stand out in the sun.
“Go ahead and have your forensic team tear the car apart,”
Richard offered. “We have nothing to hide.”
I curled my lips in to stop the snort.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Wellington.”
Whitmore touched the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod. “We’ll be in touch.”
He looked at me. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
“Yeah, me too.”
As the sheriff walked off the porch, I glanced at the house again. “How is any of this possible?”
“Fairy dust. Now get your ass inside. Prince Malachi is going to have my head for this.”
One more tap on the house and a quick glance around before I walked back through the door. As soon as we crossed the threshold, we were once again inside the castle. That was… trippy.
When I saw Malachi, I wanted to run back outside and take my chances with Whitmore and Harrington. The vampire’s eyes were burning red, his lips flat and his nostrils flaring.
Oh boy.
He barreled toward me, his strides long as Richard closed and locked the door, sealing me into my tomb. I tried to spin and run, but Malachi swung his arm around my waist and hauled me off my feet.
“Put me down!”
As angry as he looked, I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. But he didn’t put me down. He kept me coiled tight in his grip until we reached his bedroom. Once he locked the door, he walked to the bed and tossed me onto it. I bounced with the mattress as I tried to scramble to the other side, but then I thought better of having him chase me.
Malachi stood at the end of his bed, his hands on his hips, his wings expanded, and a scowl that scared the piss out of me.
“Explain.”
I stayed on my knees, sitting slightly, my heart pounding. If he went left, I was moving right and vice versa. The fire in his eyes was only growing stronger, and I wasn’t risking my life to see just how livid he was.
“Dane,”
he snarled.
I heard him, but I couldn’t form any words in response. All I could focus on were his hands and feet. He could shoot bolts of lightning and wield a sword.
His feet, I could watch to see which way he moved then try to counteract him.
There were two doors out of this room. Malachi was too close to one of them, and a wall blocked the other. I was small enough that I could dodge around him if it came down to it. At least I thought I could…
“Dane.”
Someone said my name and I froze.
When he tried to touch my face, I jumped back, curling into a ball. I had to protect myself.
He could get to my back and sides now, but I refused to let him put any more scars on my chest. If I didn’t find a way to escape, Osiris wouldn’t stop until there wasn’t anything left to carve.