Chapter 50
Fifty
IZZY
Why am I not surprised that the asshole extraordinaire lives in a mansion?
I step out of the car, gravel crunching under my shoes as I stare up at the monstrosity Ashton calls home. It’s massive—cold, dark, and quiet. Every window looks like an obsidian eye, watching me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I told myself that a dozen times on the drive over, but something pulled me. As in, that damn tether between us I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
But I won’t beg for Ashton to want me. I won’t plead or cry or do any of the other things he may expect from a simpering female. That’s not me.
This is his last fucking chance. After this, I’m done. I’ll find a way to break the bond between us, even if it kills me.
I take in the mansion’s looming presence, the structure standing like a forgotten relic from another time.
Its stone facade is dark, almost onyx in the fading light, with ivy creeping up in tendrils, as though trying to reclaim it.
The windows—tall and narrow—are framed with old, tarnished metal, casting reflections of the star-sprinkled sky like shards of broken glass.
Unease creeps up my spine like a spider.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be here.
Bad decision, Izzy. Bad decision.
I climb the steps, surrounded on either side by stone pillars, and pause when I reach the front door. It’s…ajar.
My pulse skips.
“Ashton?” I call out, my voice low.
Is he even here?
The air shifts as I push the door open. It groans softly on its hinges. Inside, the foyer is still. Too still. Shadows stretch across the floor, long and sharp in the moonlight drifting through the window. The chandelier overhead sways just slightly, though there’s no breeze.
“Ashton, if this is one of your games, I swear to fuck—”
A crash shatters the silence, the noise coming from upstairs.
I freeze, my heart pounding, every instinct I possess telling me to run. To get away.
This isn’t right.
My instincts kick in when footsteps creak a floorboard directly behind me.
I spin, my heart racing.
Four figures block the entryway, shrouded in darkness and their faces hidden behind smooth, featureless masks. The only thing visible is the cold gleam of their eyes—dark, predatory.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss, a chill running through me.
I don’t know who they are—vampires, shifters, witches, or Hunters—but I don’t need to. The intent in their frosty gazes is plain to see.
They want to hurt me.
Without thinking, I flick my wrist, pulling on the magic buried deep inside of me, coiling like fire. A sharp crack splits the air as a gust of wind whips through the room, knocking a vase off a side table. It crashes to the floor, but the men don’t even flinch.
They advance on me, two on either side. I’m outnumbered, but I’ve never been one to back down. I took out several Hunters before; I can do it again.
The first man lunges at me, a knife gleaming in his hands, but I twist out of the way, letting his momentum carry him past me.
In a fluid motion, I snap my hand out, and a bolt of pure energy shoots from my fingertips, striking him square in the chest. His body jerks back, and he crumples to the ground.
One down.
Before I can catch my breath, another man charges—faster than the first. Faster than any human.
Fuck.
Is this a vampire? Shifter?
I raise my hand, palm out, and the air around me thickens, turning heavy. His mask cracks under the force, but he’s still moving.
I only have a second to realize that his eyes aren’t red before he swings at me.
I twist beneath his arm, grabbing his wrist and using his own weight against him.
I pull him down, spinning him onto the floor with a brutal twist of his arm.
He yelps as my magic locks him in place, making him incapable of movement.
My focus sharpens as the other two close in.
Standing, I whirl to face them, my palms extended. “Who the fuck are you? Who sent you?”
“We need you to come with us,” one of the men says sternly.
I bite back my snort. “Yeah. Right on that.”
The man on the left lunges at me, and I don’t have time to move away. The force of his attack pushes me through a door—the wood now splintered—and into a living room.
And directly into a puddle of blood.
Fear skitters across my skin, and my heart begins to race even faster.
No. No. No. No.
My first thought is Ashton.
That’s Ashton’s blood.
But then I see the dead body lying a few feet away, his somewhat familiar eyes wide and unseeing.
Gregor?
Holy fuck.
Still on my back, I raise both hands, drawing on every bit of power I can summon.
These men killed Gregor, Ashton’s father. Who knows what they did to my mate himself? Unless… Unless Ashton’s in on it.
No, I can’t believe that. I won’t. I refuse.
The ground beneath me trembles, and with a guttural shout, I release a surge of energy.
It explodes outward in a wave, slamming both men into opposite walls with enough force that I swear the mansion groans in protest. They’re knocked unconscious, their bodies crumpling to the floor in twisted heaps.
I scramble to my feet, trying desperately to ignore the fact that I’m coated in blood.
So much fucking blood.
My chest heaves, and my heart thunders.
The silence that follows feels deafening.
What the hell just happened? Who are these people? Why did they attack me?
Why did they attack Gregor?
Where the fuck is Ashton?
Shakily, I begin to limp in the direction of the front door. I stupidly left my phone in the car. I need to call…someone. Anyone.
Fuck.
As soon as I step outside, bright headlights blind me.
Fuck, are there more?
I hold my hands at the ready, tension flooding my veins, when the car pulls to a stop. The driver’s door opens.
Matthew—the twins’ father—steps out, appearing flabbergasted.
“Isabella?” He blinks at me, his red hair standing upright on his head as if he forgot to brush it before rushing over here.
“M-Matthew?” My voice shakes.
“Why the fuck are you covered in blood? Is this why my damn sons were acting so strange?”
“Gregor’s dead,” I blurt, fear squeezing my windpipe until I can’t suck in a full breath. “Four men attacked me. I don’t know where Ashton is.”
Matthew’s face creases with concern. “Okay, okay. Come here. Get in the car. Fuck.”
I hurry the distance between us, desperation fueling my movements. Without it, I might fall to the ground and wither away.
“We need to find Ashton. I don’t know if he’s hurt or—”
“Ashton’s fine.”
The concern vanishes. The softness in his voice hardens, replaced by casual indifference. His eyes, which once held the illusion of care, now glaze over, going distant. His posture relaxes, and the corners of his lips twitch in the makings of a smile. It’s almost as if…
It’s almost as if that brief flicker of concern was nothing more than a carefully timed act, a mask that has now slipped off with chilling ease.
I stagger back a step, fear roaring through me.
“Ashton did what I asked him to.” Matthew’s smile widens. “He brought me you.”
Before I can fight back, can call on my magic, can do anything, something pricks my skin.
A needle.
No…
Then everything goes black.