Chapter 22
Mina’s eyes struggled to adjust to the absence of light surrounding her, to the disorientation of being within this darkened room somewhere in the castle.
Frustrated snarls and barks came through the closed door behind her, claws scratching at the wood that stood between them and their prey.
Instinctively, Mina stepped away from the door, reaching back to touch the stone wall and using it to guide her through the blackness.
As her eyes searched the room, she noticed dim light from above—a staircase, leading to a second story. If she could just reach the upper floor, perhaps there would be another exit. Another way to escape.
The heavy breathing of the stranger cut through the quiet, sending a chill down her spine. She had run from one threat straight into the arms of another.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“A simple thank you would have sufficed.”
The voice was gruff and deep, and the confirmation that this was, in fact, a strange man before her sent a fresh wave of fear crashing through her. Outside, sharp barking and growling continued, and a pit opened in her stomach.
She could just make out the outline of a figure a few paces away—tall and broad, a black shape against shadow. She moved slowly, edging toward where she hoped the stairs would be.
“My husband will have your head if you do anything to me,” Mina said, working to steady her voice.
He scoffed. “I would expect nothing less,” the stranger said. “The Count is quite possessive of his toys.”
Confusion washed through her. “Is that why you led me here?” she asked, her foot brushing against stone. “To provoke my husband?”
“Led you?” His tone sharpened. “If you’re asking why I saved you from those wolves, rest assured—it was impulse, nothing more.”
She lifted her foot and eased onto the first step. Whatever awaited above could not be worse than the wolves beyond the door—or the raider before her. Leaning into the cold stone for balance, she climbed slowly, careful not to draw attention to herself.
“And if your intentions are so noble,” she said, “why are you here at all? Why trespass in the night like a thief?” She did not know whether his words were true, but keeping him talking seemed the only way for her to know of his location in the room.
A faint hint of light hovered above—perhaps moonlight reflected off the snow—which meant a window. Escape seemed unlikely if the wolves still waited below.
“Ironic, that you should call me a thief,” he said. “Where is Father Petru?”
She furrowed her brows, thinking back to the man who had married them. “I don’t understand the question. He returned to his home the morning after I arrived.”
“So it’s denial you’ve chosen,” the stranger replied.
Denial? Did he think the priest was still here—somewhere within the castle? Her mind leapt back to the night she’d been made to believe hadn’t happened: the invaders, the chaos. Was this the connection? Did the raiders believe the Count had done something to Father Petru?
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” she asked.
The man did not answer, and a chill ran down her spine. Nearing the top of the staircase, she took the last steps before she could lose her nerve.
The second floor opened into a small, empty room with a handful of windows overlooking the courtyard below. Mina crossed over to one and peered out into the night, catching the restless movement of shadows that could only belong to the wolves.
A shift of weight sounded behind her. She turned to find that the man had followed her up the stairs.
In the dim light, she saw more of his appearance—he was tall, broad-shouldered, his jaw square beneath a dusting of stubble, his hair unkempt. She noticed, too, with an unexpected flicker of awareness, that no offensive scent clung to him.
“Why are you here?” she asked, trying to steady the tremor in her voice.
“Consider it a rescue mission.” There was a note of amusement in his reply that set her on edge.
Then realization settled in. “You’re here for me,” she said. The words made her stomach drop. Was this why he’d left the note—to draw her out, to spirit her away? Some twisted act of retribution against the Count for what he believed had been done to Father Petru?
Before her thoughts could spiral further, a harsh laugh cut through the quiet.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” the man said.
She blinked, more confused than ever. “Then why leave the note?”
“I’ve already told you—I didn’t leave you any note. I was just as surprised to see you as you were me.”
“Considering you don’t belong here,” she said, the words escaping before she could stop them, “I very much doubt that.” She bit her lip, aware she was only endangering herself further with each remark.
Her gaze flicked to the window behind her as she weighed the possibility of escape. Even ignoring the drop, the distant sounds of the wolves lingered—no longer at the door, but still close enough to be searching.
“Are you here of your own volition?”
She froze. Then her gaze returned to the stranger. “Excuse me?”
He took a step closer, and she took a step back, feeling the cold of the stone wall behind her. He put his hands up in surrender, though no apology slipped from his lips.
His hands dropped, and he sighed. “I asked if you are here of your own volition.”
It took a few moments, the two of them staring at one another, before his words settled in. What was he implying? That the Count had kidnapped her? Brought her here against her will and kept her as a prisoner?
“Don’t look so surprised,” he went on. “It’s not as though the Count troubles himself with a woman’s wishes.”
“Says the intruder,” she snapped. They stared at one another, anger flaring that surprised even her.
There was much she didn’t know of the Count, but in the time they’d spent together, he hardly seemed the type of man to resort to kidnapping.
He’d been kind and thoughtful, caring for her when she was ill.
That wasn’t the kind of man who would harm a priest or hold a wife hostage.
The man was silent, but the ghost of a smile appeared on his face in the moonlight. “I see.”
She swallowed. Realizing she had continued to push this man’s patience, not knowing the danger she was wading into further. But before either could speak again, he visibly stilled. She listened, afraid of what she might hear, but then she realized it had gone eerily silent.
Mina turned, stepping in front of the window and looking below.
But it was not the shadows of wolves that she saw—there, along the far wall of the castle, she saw a cloaked figure moving through the shadows.
Her mind went to Sofia, imagining the woman slipping out of bed, somehow sensing that something was wrong, and now coming out to look for her.
She needed to warn her of the wolves somewhere nearby, of the intruder, and the possibility of others elsewhere in the castle.
“Sofia!” Mina shouted. Before she could call out again, a hand wrapped around her mouth as she was pulled away from the window.
“Quiet,” he whispered into her ear, “or we’re both dead.”
Somewhere deep in her gut, fear flared, but her anger was stronger.
Anger at being left alone again by the Count, anger at being lured outside by someone—whether it was this raider or someone else—who seemed to have bad intentions, anger at this stupid man who thought he could simply silence her with threats and physical force.
She pushed against him, trying to pry his hands away from her, but he did not release his hold. She tasted dirt on his skin, and she opened her mouth as much as she could before clamping down.
He yelped, pulling his hand away, and she threw her head back, hearing a crack as pain lanced her skull.
As he loosened his hold on her, she pushed out of his grasp and ran as fast as she could, tripping down the shadowed stairs.
She missed the last step and fell to her knees, her skin bruised by the hard concrete, but she pushed through the pain, fear forcing her onward.
She stumbled toward the door and yanked it open, relieved to find the space empty of the wolves who had forced her here.
Mina didn’t spare another moment, turning and running across the courtyard, her heart pounding, her lungs tired. She didn’t look back, keeping her focus on the door she’d used to slip out of the castle.
As she got closer to the door, she couldn’t help but imagine the man just behind her, homing in on her, and she listened as she ran, her ears straining for the sound of either footsteps or paws on the stone.
Mina moved so quickly she almost missed the door, grasping onto it and pushing her way inside.
It was only then that she spared a glance back at the courtyard beyond.
In the darkness, she saw no wolves, no man chasing after her, but in the brief moment before she pulled the door shut, she caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure in the distance.
She paused, waiting to hear Sofia’s voice call out to her, but the shadow only stood there by the front gate, facing her, but unmoving.
Fear coursed through her as Mina slammed the door and slid the locks into place.
She sagged against the wood, sinking to the floor in the darkness of the front hall.
Memories rushed in—the brush of fabric against stone, the book left for her, the note that had drawn her outside just as three wolves emerged through the open gate.
She was certain now that the cloaked figure had not been Sofia, and that none of it had been coincidence.
Not only had the Count and Sofia been lying to her, but someone within the castle wanted her dead.