16. Chapter Sixteen Dance with Darkness
Chapter Sixteen: Dance with Darkness
Tess
As we entered the foyer, the air grew thick and heavy, laden with the musty scent of decay and something else—a cloying sweetness that clung to the back of my throat. The grand chandelier above projected specters across ornate wallpaper, its crystals tinkling softly as if stirred by unseen hands. Floorboards creaked beneath our feet, each step eliciting a groan that seemed to echo the pain of countless souls who had entered before us.
The dragon shifter guards, with their yellow eyes and bulky physiques, backed away toward the edges of the foyer, their muscled biceps twitching in the dim light.
I channeled every ounce of confidence and bravado I had, moving with a deliberate swagger .
The crowd chanting outside reached a fever pitch, their fervent energy carrying in and ready to crack like a mirror over the top of us.
Or maybe it was my psyche about to shatter into a million brilliant pieces instead. The walls themselves seemed to pulse with the intensity of it all, the peeling paint rippling like disturbed water.
Beside me strode a hulking figure, twice my size, clad in black shorts and a tank top, who smelled like he didn’t bother to shower all week. His bulk sketched a monstrous shadow on the faded Persian rug, distorting into something inhuman in the wavering candlelight.
I glanced over, failing to keep the displeasure off my expression. When he scowled, I smirked.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, arrogance would be expected. Weakness could not be shown under any circumstances.
I didn’t need him to knock me out before we even got started, but, compared to Ivan, this guy seemed quaint. That didn’t mean I could fight him, just that I couldn’t bring myself to cower.
My self-preservation instincts had been glitchy ever since childhood, when I figured out the violent visions no child should be subjected to were actually glimpses into the future.
Those years ushered me into my feral nature and tendency to play with fire.
I turned away and focused on channeling the calm I needed for the inevitable storm coming as both my father’s and Ivan’s specters clouded my mind. The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch our every move, their eyes following us as we ventured deeper into the house’s bowels.
As my eyes adjusted inside, my gaze drifted across the group, past Ivan with his back to me, already hovering over a couple of easy marks, and settling upon none other than Reaper.
I gasped, having not expected to see him here. Something about the intensity of his presence amidst the rest of the intimidating contestants held my attention longer than it should have.
Behind him, a mirror on the wall briefly showed the echo of a reflection that wasn’t there drifting past, sending a chill down my spine and reminding me of the supernatural dangers that lurked in every corner of this cursed place.
Despite Reaper’s daunting size and muscular frame, it was the air of confidence he exuded that caught my attention and a nonchalant twinkle in his eyes that I found myself drawn to.
A spark of recognition passed between us as his stance shifted subtly. His expression darkened, eyes widening as he bore down on me. Nausea stirred within me. If Reaper had it in for me, I was toast—charred and crumbled already.
A flash of bright white light disoriented me. At first, I thought it was an earthquake, but then I realized a vision was unfolding.
Reaper gazes at me, his expression a mix of longing and fury. His posture shifts from relaxed to tense, pupils dilating as he licks his lips. He steps toward me, reaching out with familiar movements. Suddenly, his eyes blaze red, eyebrows angling inward, cheeks hollowing. The muscles in his neck ripple with rage. I sense his desire to kill—perhaps me. My instincts scream to flee.
I blinked back to reality, gasping. My mind reeled, torn between the vision and my gut feeling. Was he going to kill me, or was this another trick? In this house of pain, alliances and secrets were inevitable—and deadly. I had no intention of falling into that trap.
As Valorsyn’s commands echoed from the house speakers, signaling the start of the battle, I steeled myself. The game had barely begun, and I was already fighting for my life—and my sanity.
“Get ready, devils! Aaaaaannnnd go! ”
Discord and fury churned throughout the crowd, and I steeled myself for whatever came next. A simmering tension infected every breath, and the excitement of the moment gave way to a sense of terror as the group’s fervor slipped. In the next breath, a savage maelstrom exploded, the energy in the air shifting and the roar of the contestants swelling louder as they turned on each other, ruffling the threadbare Persian rugs lying scattered across the floor.
In the midst of the violence, as the crowd closed in around me, fists flying, which I dodged artfully, bodies collided in a frenzy. A stuffed raven perched atop a grandfather clock fell to the floor, its glass eyes glinting malevolently in the dim light. The echoes of flesh pounding against flesh peppered the dark, shaking the cobwebs adorning every corner and igniting a chain reaction as bodies surged, melding into a writhing mass. The violence spread like wildfire, escalating into a full-blown, bloody brawl.
With a resolve born of desperation, I rushed through the throng toward the stairs, past ornate peeled wallpaper with cryptic symbols carved into the plaster beneath. Being smaller than most and lithe enough, I dodged like a bat through the twisting labyrinth of bodies, over weathered parquet flooring, its deep scratches and dark stains hinting at violent histories. The floorboards groaned with each step, giving the impression the house itself was alive and in pain.
In the frenetic energy of the crowd, my shoulder crashed into a hard body.
Reaper again.
The look on his face was one of pure determination.
I shrank back.
He grasped my arm .
I tried to tug free, but he dragged me toward the bottom of the stairs, where a broken statue of an angel lay toppled, its wings shattered into pieces, its face frozen in an eternal scream.
He didn’t stop there.
Ascending the staircase, Reaper seized a man in our way by the front of his shirt, swung him in a large arc, and let go, catapulting him down the wide staircase behind us.
The man crashed into the group on our heels like a bunch of bowling pins.
I screeched, barely able to breathe at the tumult piling on top of me.
At the top of the stairs, Reaper clutched me tight, fingers digging into both biceps.
My back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he would do.
Surely it was over for me already.
But would it be painful?