Page 74 of Dark Flame
At the end of her countdown, the ground beneath my feet vibrates enough I’d believe it was a hurricane if we were in the general path of one. Centuries of a firm foundation is rattled by a force so deadly, it staggers Freya, her hand catching on the doorframe.
Sheknewthis was coming. “What the fuck was that?”
“That would be your Bride getting her magick back.”
Twenty-Eight
HARLOW
Shortly after Alec leaves,I do too, refusing to be in the vicinity of anything of his. No matter what he claims, no matter what freaky instincts he has, I don’t share them.
“Fuck this. Fuck fate. Fuck the bloodsucker. Fuck everything.”
After stealing his shirt to dress in—because, turns out, there’s one thing of his I need—I leave his room, realizing I’ve never wandered the castle alone, which means having no idea how to get to the room he’s been putting me in. Walking down the hallway and past a window helps determine I’m on the same floor, so I keep walking until something seems remotely familiar.
The place feels dismal. Lifeless, with such low light streaming past the thick curtains hanging over the windows. To be so far away from nature, so disconnected from Hecate, makes me shiver.
It’s the physical reminder why Alec’s claim makes no sense. This castle is grim and dark, full of hatred and pain, the vampire king no better than a beast ruling within its walls. And apparentlyI’mhis mate? Vampires are Dark creatures, while witches and their energies are Light. We’d never fit.
Eventually I reach the end of the hall, being met with two directions. I choose the right by random guess, hoping it’ll take me to my room.
Finally at the end, I do find it, the door still parted from when Alec was in here and found me gone. The window is a gaping hole with the nighttime breeze blowing inside, adding a chill to the air.
Maybe another room for the night. Surely if I head next door, it’s another spare room.
Halfway turned, my gaze catches on something on the floor. Something that wasn’t there before.
A box. A shoe box, if the logo from a popular company is any indication.
But why is it here? Is it a gift? Finally proper shoes to battle the endless stone in this damn place.
I crouch and lift off the lid, half-expecting a pair of sneakers, but it’s not that at all.
There’s paperwork. Documents. Pictures. Plastic cards upside down.
I lift the top picture, attention drawn to the familiar faces of Mom and Dad.
My heart practically sings in sorrow at seeing them. Since being taken, I’ve forced myself not to think about them or the grief, because I couldn’t handle it plus fighting with a vampire. Focusing on the present for once, rather than the past, in order to survive.
But seeing them…all that pent-up emotion crashes into me, heavy and suffocating, like an intense pressure in my chest, squeezing my heart until there’s no blood left in it for it to beat.
The shadows slither around my neck, reminding me what I’ve been preventing myself from reliving. They’ve stopped bothering me over the past couple days, Alec’s presence keeping them away, as though I’m being given a reprieve to deal with one shitty thing at a time. Or if the shadows are linked to my grief, then being sad again has welcomed them back.
The sensation yanks me back to that night. To reliving the house fire, the final image of Mom’s and Dad’s faces is all I have before everything went dark. Until I woke up on the grass outside my house, human paramedics bent over me, firefighters standing around bewildered by the blaze that died on its own.
The picture is different than any I’ve ever seen, the colour a sepia rather than bright. Mom’s in a wedding dress and ceremonial white cloak and—wait.This is different from the one on the mantle. It’s an older style with more ruffles and lace, long sleeves and a high neck, while Dad’s suit is a light blue instead of black. They look younger, and Mom’s hair isn’t red. She must have dyed away the classic colour.
Were they wed before? They never mentioned the picture in the living room being their second ceremony. I suppose stranger things have happened, such as why this box is here. Alec must have found it in my house and—what, decided to torture me with the memories?
I rest the photo to the side, stroking my finger over Mom’s face before reaching into the box and retrieving the two cards, flipping them over.
Identification cards.
My attention goes to the name on Dad’s card, his picture a much-younger version of the man I knew, and the name…
Arthur Hartman.
What the fuck?
