Page 45 of Dark Flame
Unsure of what I’m exactly looking for—if anything—my search is quick. The vanity, closet, and even beneath the bed reveals nothing interesting. As I turn to leave, the flooring by the door creaks. A light bounce reveals another creak, so I tap my foot, listening for the hollow kickback.
Would her parents really be so simpleminded to hide something beneath floorboards?
I bend and place my fist along the edge of the floorboard. With a bit of force, it pops up, revealing their secret compartment, and I’m instantly more intrigued by it than the rest of the house.
Inside is a shoe box, once again indicating their lack of originality. I lift the lid, taking in the stack of assorted documents. At the very top is a wedding photo, the fact it’s in this box compelling me to examine it further. Why would their wedding photos be hidden beneath the floor when they have one on display downstairs?
The couple in the photo is the same, but taken when they were younger, if the lack of age lines on their faces indicate so, as well as the dress’s style. But it’s not those details that make me pause; it’s the deep brown of the woman’s hair rather than her signature Sinclair red-orange.
That’s impossible.
It’s impossible because this woman, the supposedly younger version of Emily Sinclair, the one I left alive to be married and eventually birth Harlow, looksnothinglike the Emily I knew. Nothing…as in not the same person.
Resting it to the side, I flip through the documents, suspecting what I’ll discover before I do. When the expired identification cards state different names, ones not Emily and John Sinclair, I’m partially unsurprised.
Instead, they say Violet and Arthur Hartman.
“Fuck.”
Tucking the box beneath my arm, I run downstairs to retrieve the other wedding photo. The one involving the same couple, this supposed Violet and Arthur, older than the one in the box, her hair the same shade as the Sinclair red.
Which means the people who raised Harlow were not her biological mother and father.
Which spurns the question: What really happened to Emily and John Sinclair?
* * *
When I return home,there’s the faintest unfamiliar scent lingering in the air, and beneath it?—
That’s when she screams, and I take off.
Because death will be too generous for whoever thought themselves brave enough to go near my witch.
Eighteen
HARLOW
Alec doesn’t returnfor the rest of the night, so his task must be pretty big. I’ve come up with every possible scenario, but have no idea because who the hell knows what a vampire king’s duties are.
At some point, I dragged the second wingback chair, the one still beside the fireplace, to the large window to try and figure out exactly where I am.
Other than somewhere not tropical…it’s all I got. The castle looks out to a small stretch of flat, grassy land before reaching the edge of a forest; trees consume the rest of the view.
Who knows what country we’re in, or even which continent. If we’re close to civilization, or if we’re on an island.
There’s the faintest glow of sunrise on the horizon when the softest click of the door tells me I’m no longer alone. A quiet whooshing noise I’m now associating with Alec comes up behind me before a low thud pulls my attention away from the window and towards the second chair, last left beside the bed and now beside me.
Only it’s not Alec settling in it.
A man sits deathly still, his long hair a curtain brushing the tops of his shoulders as he looks entirely too lax for a creature about to attack. Blood-red eyes suck all the breath from my lungs, darting to where my hands tighten around the chair’s armrests.
“Don’t do it,” he murmurs in a grating voice. It’s not silk like Alec’s, but like he’s been screaming for hours. “If you run, we’ll be forced to hunt, and then it’ll hurt.”
We?A prickling sensation brushes the back of my neck as I twist around, taking in the other vampire standing by the base of the bed. With my attention, his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, drawing my notice to the two piercings there.
Fuck. Where the hell is Alec when I need him?
“We’re only here for a bite,” the one beside me says, drawing my focus back. I angle my body until they’re both in view, even if my place between the bed and the window means I’m trapped between the two monsters. “One bite each, and we’ll leave you alone.”
