Chapter 32
Mina froze, flashes of that night so long ago passing through her mind.
Their teeth, the sinking pain in her skin, the crashing of the glass falling about them.
She looked to the man with fear in her eyes, desperate for him not to antagonize the woman any further.
He couldn’t know of her nature, couldn’t know the beast that lay behind her beautiful exterior, but Mina knew then that they were dead.
“And who let you out of your cage, little Jane?” Clarimonde asked, tilting her head as if in amusement. A soft smile touched her lips, and if Mina didn’t know better, she might have thought the gesture was sincere.
“We mean you no harm,” the stranger said, stepping between Mina and the woman. He stood tall, nearly blocking Mina’s view entirely. “Just let us go.”
Clarimonde raised her eyebrows in surprise, then her laugh echoed off the walls. She clasped her hands together. “Oh, you’re just darling,” she said, a smile to her face. “You couldn’t do me harm on your best day.”
“Step back, Mina,” the man said under his breath. Mina looked between the two, then walked backward, the glow of the lantern wavering in her shaking hands.
“You wouldn’t harm a woman, would you?” Clarimonde asked, taking a step forward. “A big, strong man like you.”
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Clarimonde blinked her wide eyes. “Her.”
Mina took another step back instinctively, the thought of returning to that dungeon sending a chill down her spine. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—return. She’d rather die here and now.
“And why is that?” he asked. “Your husband not entertained enough with the three of you?”
The smile vanished from Clarimonde’s face, anger behind her green eyes.
In the blink of an eye, the woman had crossed the path and now held him firmly by the throat, lifting him off his feet.
Mina gasped, her thoughts going back to that night in the study, to the way the Count had done the very same to Clarimonde, and just like that night, Mina knew she was powerless to help.
“Stop,” Mina said, panic woven into the syllable.
The stranger did not grasp Clarimonde’s hands or try to wrench free.
He simply stared down at her, a low grunt escaping him as his gaze locked with hers.
It was suddenly clear—despite the woman’s size, she was far stronger than he was.
She seemed to realize it as well, and that knowing smile returned to her lips.
The man shifted.
Suddenly, there was a strange sound, and a wooden stake jutted from Clarimonde’s chest.
She buckled with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide as she stumbled back, first looking down at the stake, then up at Mina, who stood frozen in horror.
The stranger lifted his foot and kicked Clarimonde many paces down the tunnel. She struck the ground hard, landing on her back, hands trembling as they reached toward her chest, her dress already darkening with blood.
“Let’s go,” the stranger said forcefully.
He snatched the lantern from Mina’s hand and dragged her by the arm. She stumbled, barely keeping her footing as he hauled her down the tunnel toward their escape.
The image replayed relentlessly in her mind—the stake, the shock in Clarimonde’s eyes, her body crumpled in the shadows.
“Did you just—” Mina began.
“Yes,” he cut in, not slowing.
Nausea rose in her throat as she struggled to keep pace.
Her thoughts turned to Sofia—to the way the Count had so casually ended her life before Mina’s eyes.
She had known this man was dangerous, but now the fear returned in full force: the sickening realization that she might have fled one predator only to fall into the hands of another.
Light bloomed ahead, and an icy wind swept over her as they neared the mouth of the tunnel.
They emerged into a forest blanketed in white, snow still drifting down despite the thick layer already coating the ground. Mina wrenched her arm free at last.
“You killed her,” she said, tears burning behind her eyes.
The man looked down at her, brow furrowing. “We don’t have time for this.” He reached for her again, but she stepped back.
“Do you kill often?” she demanded, anger finally breaking through the shock. “Because you seem far too comfortable with what you’ve just done.”
He stared at her, disbelief flickering across his face. “Must we discuss this here, or can it wait until we are out of grave danger?”
“You’ve just driven a blade through that woman’s heart before me,” Mina said, her voice tight, “and you expect me to follow you into the woods?”
He sighed heavily. “She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re so upset about. She is merely . . . paused.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the forest. “I’ll explain when time allows. For the moment, we’re fleeing—an activity hardly suited to discourse.”
Mina blinked, weighing his words. Was it true? Or simply what he needed to say to keep her moving? Cold swept over her, raising gooseflesh along her arms. She hugged herself, wishing fiercely for her cloak.
The man turned and trudged through the snow. “You’re more than welcome to die of exposure,” he called back. “It seems a waste to me, but what do I know?”
She hesitated, glancing back toward the castle looming above. From this angle, she could see only its upper edges—the stone walls, the many dark windows peering down. She imagined someone watching even now, witnessing her escape, and nausea rose in her throat.
With a sigh, she followed him, ignoring the protest of her ankle as she went.
They hadn’t been walking for long when she lost all feeling in her feet and began to stumble, slipping on ice beneath a layer of white powder.
She grasped the branch of a nearby tree to steady herself, but before she could even look up to see where the stranger was, she was lifted through the air.
She yelped, embarrassment washing through her as she realized he was now carrying her through the snow. Another reminder of her weakness.
“I’m perfectly fine on my own,” she said. Her body trembled from the cold, betraying her instantly.
The man only grunted, his eyes fixed ahead as he navigated through the snowy trees.
She was tense at first, embarrassed by her need for such assistance. But then the cold became too much to bear, and she found herself slowly pressing into him, seeking his warmth.
Her teeth had begun to chatter when she noticed a stone structure up ahead, standing against the edge of the hillside. It rose only two stories high, the front half of its exterior destroyed, leaving only the skeletal remains of what must once have been a watchtower.
The stranger carried her toward the structure and up the worn stone steps. A distant part of her wondered what they were doing here—whether he planned to harm her—but fear did not come. Her body rattled too violently with cold.
Mercifully, the wind lessened within the broken walls of the building.
On the floor, she saw a pack and a folded blanket of some sort.
He set her down on the stone, the chill seeping into her bones and stirring memories of the dungeon.
She wanted to stand, to remind herself that she was not chained to a wall, but she was too cold to do anything but shiver and stare as he began to unpack his things.
He draped the blanket over her shoulders. Next, he uncorked a flask and held it out to her.
“Drink,” he instructed.
She hesitated. What if he had put something in it—a poison, or some mixture meant to render her helpless? But as she took in the scene around her, the blanket he had so clearly brought for her, she decided that whatever he wanted, it was unlikely he wished her dead.
She let him lift the flask to her numb lips and felt the burn of alcohol slide down her throat. She grimaced, her stomach twisting in protest. Then he unwrapped a small slice of brown bread and held it out.
She shook her head.
He sighed. “We have a great deal of travel ahead. I can’t have you fainting off the horse.”
Her brows knit together. “Horse?”
“Eat,” he said, pressing the bread toward her.
She reached out, her fingers so numb she had to stare at the bread to be certain she was grasping it. Then she lifted it to her mouth and tore off rough chunks, the dryness in her throat turning it nearly to dust. Still, she chewed and swallowed, forcing it down.
When she looked up, she found him digging through his bag, taking inventory as though to be sure everything remained where he’d left it.
“Who are you?” she asked between bites.
He didn’t respond—didn’t even acknowledge her.
“How did you know I was here?”
He looked at her then, meeting her gaze. “We can speak of this once we’re safe,” he said.
She swallowed, fear creeping back in as her senses returned. “Are we not safe now?”
He met her eyes, his voice firm. “No. So hurry up with that.” He gestured toward the half-eaten bread in her hand before standing and walking toward the exit.
“Will you at least tell me your name?” she asked. “You know mine.”
He paused, his gaze fixed on her, unreadable. “Abraham Van Helsing.”
As she finished her bread, he disappeared around the corner of a ruined wall. When he re-emerged a moment later, she saw the top of a large grey horse.
“Where on earth was he?”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Van Helsing said, patting the horse on the mane. “Cinder was perfectly fine.” He lowered his voice then, as if his next words were only for the horse to hear. “Weren’t you, boy?”
Mina tried to stand, leaning against the wall for support. Her feet and legs tingled uncomfortably, and she bit down against the sensation. Weak.
She looked up, finding both Van Helsing and Cinder seemingly waiting for her. She pulled the blanket more firmly around her and walked shakily out of the front entrance.
She swallowed, approaching, and allowing him to lift her onto the beast. Her heart raced as the creature moved. She hadn’t been on a horse in what felt like ages. Then he climbed on behind her, and she could feel the warmth of him at her back.