Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charlotte ran her fingertips over the intricate gold markings on the horns and small ears, before dragging them down the rest of the mask covering half her face.
With a deep breath, she walked into the ballroom, noting how ordinary it looked.
There were no signs of the massacre. How Nathaniel had gotten away with so many missing people from his ball, she did not know, but she assumed that as wealthy and ancient as he was, he likely had an inspector and a few officers in his pocket.
Nathaniel stood at the helm the ballroom, his face half-covered with a mask of a wolf.
The ears, nose, and brushed edges of the mask were painted gold, while the rest of it, engraved to appear as fur, was a shade of dark gray.
His black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, the top few buttons undone.
The muscles in his forearms tensed when he flexed his fingers, curling them inward and outward as if he was practicing for later.
A shiver of anticipation cascaded over her from head to toe.
She should be angry, afraid, hurt, after everything that had happened, yet all she could think about was how good she knew he smelled. That musky scent of smoked wood, cedar, and his own masculine sweat was imprinted in her memory. Sometimes, she could even detect it in her dreams.
With a hard swallow, she tilted her head, her gaze trailing the snug fabric over his toned thighs, to the obvious print of his length, impressive even in its docile state.
Heat scored the column of her throat, and she scowled at herself, aggravated not only that she had glanced there, but that he’d seen her looking.
She was just grateful for the mask to cover at least half of her unpredictable expressions, although, surely, both he and Alexander had heard the pickup in her heart rate.
His lips curved into a wicked smile, flashing fangs stark behind those full, perfect lips sending an aching throb directly down and between her legs.
Damn him.
A shiver ran up her arms to her throat when she saw he was already glaring at her, his eyes that of a predator who’s sighted easy prey.
I want you to catch me.
Her words floated back in her mind, a stupid confession said in the throes of lust when she didn’t know any better.
Wide-eyed, she jolted when his words spilled into her mind, just like they had done at the ball. Nathaniel’s deep voice sounded in her head.
I hope you’re prepared. Don’t make me catch you, little lamb.
She’d read in her grimoire how one of the vampire abilities was to speak into the minds of their victims.
Shaking her head, she mentally blocked out the seductive caress of his voice and instead glanced down at the spill of dark waves hanging over her chest, in stark contrast to paleness of her ivory dress.
His jaw loosened as he slowly raked his eyes over her body, the pace scarcely quicker than that of spilled molasses. Her skin prickled when he lingered on the curve of her breasts.
Alexander cleared his throat. “The rules of the game are simple,” he enunciated, but all Charlotte could focus on was Nathaniel, standing behind him, watching her as if she was his favorite food.
She fought against a shiver and steadied her breathing as Alexander stated the instructions for their twisted game.
“To win, you must go an entire hour without being found.”
Adrenaline spiked through her veins and momentary dizziness lightened her head. “How long is the countdown?” Nathaniel crossed the room in a blur, his lips tipping into a dark, salacious grin when her breath hitched.
“You have thirty seconds, love. Starting now.” A wildness flared in his eyes, a low animalistic growl rumbling his chest.
Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s not enough time.” She stepped out of his shadow, fingers trembling when a carnal, predatorial hunger sharpened his features. “You’re not even giving me a chance.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Her heart hammered in her ears, shock coursing through her veins. She didn’t have enough time to perform the spell.
“Twenty-eight.”
Bending at her waist, she grabbed one shoe from each foot, flinging them to the side before taking off at the fastest sprint her body could manage. His voice echoed in her mind, taunting the edges of her sanity.
Run, run, my little lamb.
With burning calves, each pained breath screeching in her lungs, she raced into the foyer, unable to think of anything as the seconds counted down her death sentence. The staircase loomed on the other side of the room. There was no way she could climb that in time.
Clutching her chest, she veered left into the parlor, nausea swarming through her when she knew her time must be up. Shakily, she whispered the incantation, messing up the order of the words the first time.
“Hell and damnation!” she whispered, digging her nails into her palms. With a steady breath, her stomach in ribbons, she incanted the spells once more, this time correctly.
“Aufer odorem e corpore, cela sonum ab omnibus auribus praeter me. Tege me silentio, sine ut nihil penetret spatium meum.”
Nathaniel’s warning resounded in her mind, splitting through her consciousness until she yelped.
I’m coming for you.
Bile bit up her throat. She had no idea if the spell had worked and didn’t have time to check. She had seconds, if that. Dropping to the floor, she crawled over the rug and under the cream sofa, the thin layers of her dress dragging over the carpet.
Beneath the small gap, her stomach was met with the gritty underside of her sofa, and she drew her feet close, adjusted the dress over her thighs, and pulled her hair around her neck, to hide any loose strands.
Her lungs were on fire, and she willed her muscles to remain as still as possible. The mask's sharp edges bit into the soft skin of her freckled cheeks. She huddled up small, listening intently as she stared up at the woven fabric over the wooden frame, and the nails that held it together.
How in the world was she supposed to remain hidden there for fifty-five more minutes? Cramps seized her calves, but she fought against the urge to stretch them out. Muscles feathered in her limbs and her nipples swiped against the tough fabric underbelly.
The image of him hunting her, those strong fingers flexing at his sides, those pointed fangs protruding over his lips as he stalked the shadows, sent a wild thrill crashing through her veins.
A slow creak snapped the silence of the parlor, his dark boots coming into view.
Slowly, she brought her hand to her mouth, covering her trembling lips.
She didn’t move a single muscle, not even when her hips itched from the soft tickles of the thick carpet poking through her gown.
Curling her toes against the floor, she side-eyed his shoes, her heart bashing her ribs when a low, eerie growl reverberated in the room.
Oh, God.
Had she left any signs on the carpet of her shimmying underneath?
“I can taste your fear,” he said aloud, in a taunting tone.
A tremor rolled through her spine, convulsing her body as she fought against it.
“Hearing your clumsy footsteps run to this room was far too easy. Where are you hiding, little lamb?”
The spell must have worked. If not, he’d have been able to hear her heart and smell the sweat covering her skin.
He paced in a low, tortuous circle. Did he know she was there, and was just drawing this out?
Flashes of images, of him suddenly grabbing her ankles and pulling her out, carouseled in her mind. She couldn’t stay in that position. Everything hurt from the absolute stillness she was forced to maintain. If she moved slightly, she’d be discovered.
A tug in her soul widened her eyes, magic scattering in her fingers and toes. She had the power of her entire bloodline in her veins but didn’t know how to channel it well enough to do any spells without an incantation.
But she had done it. When she was stressed and angry, the veil had lowered around her in brief moments, as if she were traversing it, moving between both realms.
She watched him walk to the room separator, peering behind it and chuckling darkly when he didn’t see her there. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
A slither of dread, and admittedly, desire, swept through her, but thankfully, the logical side of her brain was working today, silencing the moan begging to break free.
If she didn’t make him think she’d run somewhere else, she was going to end up dead.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the Latin Katherine had uttered to walk them into the Realm of the Dead, thinking them over and again, manifesting them out into reality. She didn’t have any intentions on returning there, but what choice did she have? This was life or death.
The room darkened, the colors leaching from each surface.
Every sound of Nathaniel’s heavy boots on the floor was muffled expertly.
Her ears strained to hear the placement of each step, heel to toe.
Tatters of wallpaper hung from the walls, the furniture in various stages of decay, and a heavy mildew and smoky scent lingered in the damp air.
Charlotte slunk from under the sofa, glancing back to see her still body remaining behind, curled up in a tiny spot.
Her dark hair fell around her face like a veil when she rolled onto her side and stood. The ghost of her watched Nathaniel moving with predatory grace as he ran his hands over the panels, sniffing the air. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of his jaw, glinting off the gold on his mask.
He could have used his vampire speed to search the large room, but he was purposely slowing his pace, either to make her more afraid, or because he wanted to take his time and savor every second.
A layer of mist covered the floor, coiling around her ankles. She needed to draw Nathaniel away from the parlor, but how?