Chapter Five
Iend up choosing the vacant room that”s closest to Drake”s bedroom. I tell myself it”s just because I need him nearby in case one of the other vampires decides it wants a midnight snack. For better or for worse, he”s the one I trust the most in this strange new place, but deep down I know there”s more to it than that. The primal part of me may have a secret hope that he”ll wander into my room in the middle of the night, climb into my bed and─
I cut off that train of thought before it can get any further. The last thing I need is to start having sexy fantasies about him. It”s a recipe for disaster, jumping into bed with him, given how gorgeous he is and how much the idea of being his mate has rattled my brain. No matter how attracted I am to him, I need to keep my guard up until I understand his intentions better.
He may claim that he lied about me being his mate just to protect me, but that doesn”t mean I”m convinced. The way he snarled at Adrian when he started talking trash about me was downright feral, and the possessive glint in his eyes was hard to miss. I don”t know a damn thing about vampires and their mates, but I do know men, and Drake is a man first and foremost. The last thing I want is anyone, fanged or not, thinking they own me.
”Let me know if you need anything,” Drake says before bidding me goodnight, leaving me alone in my new bedroom.
It”s not quite as grand as his room, but it”s still bigger than my entire apartment, with a massive bed pushed up against the far wall and a large balcony that overlooks the garden below. This room has a more modern feel to it than the rest of the house, with black furniture and crimson red curtains on the windows and bedposts.
I drag myself over to the bed and crawl under the covers, so tired that I don”t even bother undressing first. Even with a bed as comfortable as this one and no matter how exhausted I am, my mind won”t shut off. I toss and turn for what feels like hours, going over everything Drake told me, wondering what the future holds for me now that I”ve been thrust into this strange new world of vampires and artifacts.
Eventually, I decide sleep is not in the cards for me tonight and get up to explore the rest of the mansion. Maybe a walk will clear my head.
I open the door to my room and creep silently down the hall, careful not to make any noise in case I run into a vampire roaming around. Again, vampire-newbie here, but I”m pretty sure they”re most active at night. At least, that”s how they are in books and movies.
The mansion”s hallways stretch out before me in an intricate web of shadows and moonlit alcoves. I tread cautiously, tensing at every creak and groan of the floorboards. This is an old house, so everything squeaks. It”s probably haunted as hell. I”m not easily spooked, but the eerie atmosphere has my senses on high alert.
I peer into open doorways and snoop around rooms that appear vacant. There are plenty of doors, and I”ve already walked the length of three hallways without finding anyone or anything of note. Someone could get lost in this maze of a mansion forever. When I wander downstairs, I find the kitchen is updated but still has an old-world feel to it with dark wooden cabinets and patterned wallpaper. A gilded clock sits on the counter, ticking away in the silence, but other than that it seems still and quiet.
I”m about to turn back when something catches my attention. Down the hall, a faint glow is seeping out from a crack at the seam of a blank wall. I can”t resist the urge to investigate, so I walk up to the wall and brush my fingers across it, feeling for a gap or a button or some secret opening mechanism.
The wall seems solid and smooth. Maybe it”s a light that”s reflecting off something or─
On the underside of a ledge on a nearby bookshelf, my fingers hit something that feels like a latch, and the entire wall swings open. I jump back, covering my mouth to stifle a yelp as the bright light from inside the room spills out into the hallway. The entranceway is a perfect rectangle, set into the wall like a door, except no one could”ve possibly seen it if they hadn”t been looking for it.
”What is this place?” I wonder aloud, pushing the hidden door open further.
I peer into the room, and there”s a narrow staircase leading downward into the mansion”s basement, where the light coming from the bulb swinging above my head doesn”t reach. My breath catches in my throat as I gaze into the pitch black abyss that yawns up at me. There”s something strange about this room. It gives off a sinister vibe that makes my skin crawl. I shouldn”t go down there, my brain knows as much. This is how horror movies start, but every cell in my body is screaming at me to keep going.
All it takes is one moment of weakness, and I”m descending into the unknown. I take one step and then another. Each step brings me deeper into the gloom, and soon I can”t see anything at all. I take out my cell phone and turn the flashlight on in front of me, illuminating the wooden steps. That”s when I notice a door at the bottom of the stairs, standing open just a crack. The floor beneath it is covered in dust, disturbed by fresh footprints.
Someone”s already been down here today. They probably forgot to turn off the light at the top of the stairs. I lower my feet carefully to the next step, wary of making any noise in case someone is down here with me. The last thing I want to do is get caught snooping around.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I nudge the door open with my toe. It groans as it swings inward, revealing a surprisingly large room. Bookcases line the walls, stacked to the ceiling with dusty old books. The smell of aged paper and mildew makes me cough at first, but my lungs adjust. This room feels like a forgotten sanctuary untouched by time. There”s an unlit candle sitting in a sconce on the wall and a tiny desk in the center of the room that”s clearly been recently used judging by the distinct lack of dust on its surface.
My eyes drift over the titles on the book spines, scanning over titles that allude to ancient history, magic, and herbal remedies. Some of them look ancient, with leather covers and faded titles. Others look newer, with glossy jackets and colorful spines. There are also maps, scrolls, journals, and other documents scattered around the room, some on tables and some on the floor.
”Of course the mansion has a hidden library,” I muse to myself with a wry grin.
My gaze falls on an old, yellowing scroll laid out on one of the tables, and I go over to inspect it. The unfurled parchment looks as if it would disintegrate if I touched it. Handwritten calligraphy fills every inch of the page, and it takes a moment before I recognize my name in the fancy script at the bottom: Lola Reeves.
Above my name, vines twist and intertwine like the roots of an ancient tree, branching upward and outward from a central point, connecting my name to various others. I squint my eyes, trying to get a better look at the rest of it in the dim lighting. It”s a family tree, I realize with a jolt. Since I don”t know my biological family, I don”t recognize any of the names aside from my own, but there”s no mistaking what I”m looking at.
Birth and death dates, with every loop and curve of the ink, the family tree becomes a living chronicle. In the margins, symbols and sigils emerge like arcane glyphs. I trace the lines with my finger, following the only tangible connection I”ve ever had to my biological family.
My mother”s name, Genevieve Woodward, is written in bold strokes closest to me, next to that of my father, Michael Reeves. Neither have a date of death, which I take to mean they”re presumably still alive.
”Holy shit,” I whisper to myself. ”I guess I have a family after all.”
As if in response, a gust of wind blows through the room, ruffling my hair and knocking over an empty candelabra. It clatters to the floor with a loud, echoing crash. I jump and cover my mouth to keep from screaming. A plume of dust rises from the pile of scrolls scattered across the table, and I hurry to pick them up and put them back in their rightful place.
”Hello?” I call out. ”Is anyone there?”
No one answers. Maybe it was just the wind. I”m sure this place is full of drafts. It could also be a trick of my mind. It”s been a long day, after all. I”m probably just tired and paranoid.
But when I move to pick up the candelabra, the book it has landed on draws my eye. It”s thick and bound in dark brown leather, and even though it”s nothing flashy, my instincts tell me it”s important. I have no idea how I know, but I feel it in my gut.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I reach for it and crack it open. The first page has a handwritten inscription that looks like an introduction. ”Genevieve”s Journal.” My mother”s name. I could be holding a piece of her, something she held and read and wrote in. As I skim through the entries, the dates squash that hope. This book was written long before my mother was born.
I carry the book back over to the family tree and notice that my great-great-grandmother”s name is also Genevieve.
”Huh.” I plop down on a cushioned chair and get comfortable. ”All right, Grannie. Let”s see what secrets you”ve got.”