Chapter 28 Hunting Party
Hunting Party
Maybe she should tell Ambriel about the amulet or devise a way for him to get it.
Surely Charlotte had no idea of its true value.
Lady Harrison was known for paying top dollar for the ugliest and oldest pieces of jewellery she could find.
The idea of the Harrisons with any tie to witches or demons was laughable.
Elizabeth worried that if she told Ambriel she had seen it at all, he might be angry with Charlotte for its possession, or worse, might assume she was somehow involved with demons. If rumours spread about the Harrisons having such ties, it would destroy them.
Maybe she could discuss the amulet with Charlotte first, then figure out what in the Seven Hells she was going to tell the angel.
She still couldn’t believe that one of the most powerful families in Rhodea had an item of extreme intrigue and value, chucked carelessly in a drawer. She wondered if someone had given the amulet to Charlotte’s mother as a gift, unaware of its actual value.
With her thoughts occupied, she let Fiza dress her in a sweeping black gown. Fiza admired her handiwork and held out a pair of earrings with large onyx drops.
“They would suit,” Fiza said, displaying them beside her face.
Elizabeth thought the gems looked like black tears and immediately hated them. The clothing in this land was so dark and depressing. She nodded anyway, allowing Fiza to dress her however she liked.
The only boundary she refused to cross was wearing anything too revealing.
Caspian had purchased several gowns for her with plunging necklines and slits up the sides of the legs that showed far too much skin for her taste.
One gown that hung in her closet was hardly more than two flimsy slips of fabric—clothing ill-befitting a lady—and her lip curled every time she beheld it.
She was an Ashcroft, and a highborn Lady of Rhodea, and frankly, she was highly affronted that he thought she would wear such things.
And so, she made her way downstairs, wearing a dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, leaving only her arms bare.
Mammond and Asmodeus were seated at the table with Caspian. “We missed you at dinner last night,” Caspian said, looking bored.
“My apologies, Caspian,” she murmured, trying not to look guilty.
He steepled his fingers together and tilted his head. “I do wonder where it is you go when you’re out of the castle.”
“Nowhere exciting. I wanted to see one of the cities nearby. I apologize for missing dinner with you all.”
Caspian blinked at her response and swiftly returned to his conversation with Mammond, leaving her to eat her meal in peace.
She focused on her meal, but snatches of their conversation were impossible not to overhear. Mammond mentioned something about an enemy in the Underworld who had recently started launching attacks. Apparently, this new demon was well on his way to destabilizing the current regime in the Underworld.
“A war is coming. You best ready your legions. Lucifer will come to call,” Mammond said darkly.
Caspian drawled, “We will be ready when he does, if the little squirt even gets that far, which I highly doubt.”
Her feelings of revulsion only intensified as Mammond finished his goblet, smacked his lips, and turned to Caspian. “Shall we go hunting again today?”
Caspian glanced at her before nodding.
She excused herself, standing up swiftly, and curtseyed with her eyes glued to the wall, unable to look at them. What poor woman would meet her end tonight?
The question haunted her as she climbed the stairs. She tried to distract herself—arranging the inky black poppies in the vase on her bedside table, organizing her jewellery box, and determining which items she might be able to sell next—but nothing could quiet the churning in her stomach.
Every creak and sound from below made her angrier. Made her wonder if the demons were preparing to leave to hunt for another innocent woman.
Was she better than the monsters? If she stayed here and allowed Caspian to dress her in tulle and silks and give her sacks of gold?
The blood whore of a demon.
That’s what she had become.
She closed her eyes. The gold he gave her each week, and the safe landing where she didn’t have to pay for accommodations for a few months, would likely mean the difference between being a well-off commoner when she left, and being so poor that life would become very difficult.
She bit her lip, and her brows drew together. She had always assumed that she couldn’t leave because of the contract—that she had no choice but to stay the whole three months, but guilt was eating away at her.
Would there be another body in the cellar tonight?
And by saying nothing, doing nothing, had she caused the girl’s death as surely as if she had wielded a knife?
Unable to bear the confines of her room any longer, she rose and walked briskly to the library—her safe refuge in this house of horrors.
At least there she would be alone and surrounded by books, far enough from the rest of the castle that she could pretend that the world outside the library walls didn’t exist.
The evening found her nestled in an armchair by the window, engrossed in her book, when something caught her eye. Another tendril of darkness snaking out from the bookshelf across from her, curling above the writing desk that held the coin and the stamp.
When she got up to investigate, it was gone.
She peered at the shelf, but there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. No answer as to where the tendril of black smoke could have come from. Frowning, she returned to her book, determinedly ignoring the corner of the library that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Elizabeth had just settled into her chair and turned the page when Caspian came up to her. He wore a dark travelling cloak, billowing behind his frame like wings of a bat. She glanced up, and then back down to the pages in front of her, struggling not to roll her eyes.
“Don’t,” he said, lifting a hand.
She looked at him in question.
“I saved you. I kept every ridiculous line you drew in the sand. Do not look at me like I am the monster.”
Elizabeth closed her book with a snap and strode up to him, so close their chests were almost touching.
Fierceness burned in her eyes, and she had never wanted to snap at someone so much in her entire life.
She smiled a cold, cruel smile. “Enjoy your hunting party,” was all she said as she turned on her heel and left, leaving him standing there looking incredulous.
She was proud of herself for not saying any of the vile things at the forefront of her mind.
He strode after her. She glanced back and caught a wave of his emotion, anger visible in every line of his body. What a horrible aura for someone to have. A pit of fire and burning rage. That’s all he was.
She walked faster.
He grabbed her wrist.
She looked at him sharply, and he glanced down at her arm, as if surprised to see he had grabbed her in anger and released her immediately.
He stepped forward, and she took a step back. He took another step forward, and her back hit the wall. Caspian put his hand on the wall beside her face, boxing her in, and gazed down at her intently.
He touched her cheek. “Kiss me,” he ordered, a man confident of the response he would receive.
She paused, reining in her anger and considering her next words carefully. “You will have another woman’s blood on your lips in less than an hour’s time. I owe you nothing tonight.”
She ducked under his arm and walked away.
“Elizabeth. Why have you gone so cold with me? What must I do to warm your affections?”
“As. If. You. Care,” she said acidly, and left him standing in the hall.
She asked Fiza to draw her a bath as she tried not to hear the voices in the hall or the door shutting as they went hunting for some poor woman.
Someone Elizabeth could not save from the horrors that were coming for her.
After her bath, she changed into a nightgown and spent the night reading.
She couldn’t stomach the idea of reading nonfiction tonight.
Her eyes burned, and the words blurred when she tried.
She picked up an old novel, one she’d read countless times, looking for something lighthearted to occupy her thoughts.
An escape from this world, if only for a few hours.
She dove into her book, devouring the pages until the burning in her eyes eased.
Sometime later, someone knocked on her door.
It was Caspian.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said, his face cold and expressionless.
“Hello, Caspian,” she said coolly.
He held his arms out, waiting.
“Come here,” he said.
Confused, she hesitated and walked into his embrace, not sure what to expect. His arms encircled her, pulling her in and holding her close.
She waited for the trick.
She stood stiffly, and a minute passed, and then two.
When his arms were still around her, and he showed no sign of letting go, she relaxed, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders.
He held her for what felt like an eternity—the devil himself offering her safe shelter.
He held her until, somehow, all her hurt melted away, and all her anger dissolved into nothing. How could she stay angry in the circle of his arms? She nestled into his embrace, her head on his shoulder.
After some time, he pulled back. “Better?” he asked, raising his brows as if the answer mattered.
She sniffed and nodded. “A little.”
“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her again. His lips found her forehead. There wasn’t any romance behind it. The act was purely comforting.
A silent apology from a man she knew couldn’t find the words to say it.
She wondered why he had bothered at all, but she was glad he had. She felt an unseen weight on her shoulders fall away and found a place of safety in his arms she would have never imagined existed.
She knew he had gone hunting some poor soul tonight, but she was afraid to ask.
Afraid to confirm it.