Page 14 of Bought by the Broken Beast
I move to the steps, my feet finding their familiar places on the worn stone. I press my ear to the door, listening. Nothing but the distant, muffled sounds of a household settling for the night. I lift the latch, the click deafeningly loud in the silence, and slip through the opening.
We are in the back passages, the narrow, unadorned corridors used by the staff. The air here is warmer, scented with beeswax and polish, a lie that masks the misery of the cellar below. I move with a speed and confidence that surprises even myself, my body remembering a map my mind doesn’t have to consciously consult. We are ghosts in the arteries of the house, staying close to the walls, our movements timed to the distant chiming of the grand clock in the main hall.
Votoi follows, a mountain of shadow at my back. For a creature of his size, he is impossibly silent, his heavy footfalls making no more sound than a sigh of wind. His presence is a constant, terrifying, and deeply reassuring pressure. Every shadow seems to hold an enemy, every corner promises an ambush, but the solid wall of his body behind me is a shield against the fear.
We reach the main corridor that leads to the study. Polished marble gleams under the sconce lights. Portraits of Kairen’sancestors stare down at us with cold, disapproving eyes. This is enemy territory. Open ground.
I hold up a hand, and Votoi freezes instantly. I listen, my senses straining. A pair of house guards, their armor creaking, are approaching from the far end of the hall. I pull Votoi into a small alcove, a space designed to hold a decorative urn, and press myself back into the shadows. He crowds in behind me, his body a furnace of heat, his chest a solid wall against my back. The space is so tight I can feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart against my shoulder blades. The scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, and something wild and uniquely his own—fills my senses, overwhelming the sterile smell of the house.
The guards pass, their conversation a low, bored murmur. They do not even glance in our direction. We are just another shadow in a house full of them.
When they are gone, we slip from the alcove and continue to the study. The heavy oak doors are closed. I push one open, the hinges silent, well-oiled. The room is exactly as I left it. The ledgers sit on their shelves, silent witnesses to the crime that set my world on fire. The air still smells of my ink, of my presence. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“What are we looking for?” Votoi’s whisper is a gust of warm air against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine despite the urgency of our situation.
“I don’t know,” I admit, my own voice a strained murmur. “Another ledger. A hidden strongbox. A letter. Anything that ties Kairen more directly to Malacc. The manifest is not enough. We need something that cannot be denied.”
We begin a frantic, silent search. I go to the desk, my fingers flying across the familiar drawers, checking for false bottoms, hidden compartments. Votoi moves to the massive, ornate bookshelf that covers one wall, his huge hands surprisinglygentle as he runs them along the spines of the books, testing for a hidden release, a hollow space.
My fingers find it. A small, almost invisible seam at the back of the bottom drawer. I press, and a section of the wood clicks open, revealing a small, hidden compartment. Inside is not a ledger, but a single, rolled piece of parchment, sealed with a dollop of black wax. The seal is not Kairen’s merchant guild stamp. It is the snarling wolf’s head of Captain Vorlag.
My heart leaps. This is it.
Before I can even pull it from its hiding place, I hear them. Voices. Approaching the study, loud and angry.
Panic, cold and sharp, seizes me. There is nowhere to run.
Votoi is on me in an instant. He grabs my arm, his grip like iron, and pulls me toward the one place in the room that offers any concealment: the heavy, floor-to-ceiling tapestry that depicts a historical Minotaur sea battle. He shoves me behind it, pressing me against the cold stone wall, and crowds in behind me, his body a shield, a cage.
The doors to the study swing open, slamming against the interior walls. We are inches away, hidden by a thin sheet of woven thread.
“The girl is still missing!” Kairen’s voice is a furious bellow, stripped of its usual shrewd calm. “Almost a week, and your men have found nothing! If she talks, Vorlag, if she finds her way to the Zu Kus, we are all dead!”
“Lord Malacc is not a patient man,” a second voice replies, cold and sharp as a shard of ice. Captain Vorlag. His voice is exactly as I imagined it: cruel, arrogant, and utterly devoid of honor. “He is… displeased with your inability to control your household assets.”
I am an asset. A number on a ledger that has become unbalanced.
Votoi’s body is a wall of heat at my back, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. His hand, massive and calloused, clamps over my mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to betray us. His touch is not violent, but it is absolute, a silent command to be still, to be silent. I can feel the coiled tension in his muscles, the readiness to explode into violence at any moment.
“I have men searching every corner of this city,” Kairen snarls. “The docks, the gates, the Lowtown. She is a human slave. Where could she possibly go?”
“That is your concern, not mine,” Vorlag’s voice is a dismissive sneer. “Lord Malacc has authorized a bounty. A generous one. Find the slave, Kairen. And when you do, kill her. No witnesses. Is that clear?”
The order hangs suspended in the air, a death sentence delivered in a calm, conversational tone. Every fear, every desperate gamble, every moment of terror has led to this. They are not just trying to silence me. They are actively hunting me, with the intention of putting me in the ground.
My entire body trembles, a violent, uncontrollable tremor. Votoi’s hand tightens over my mouth, his other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me back against his solid chest, holding me steady. His strength is the only thing keeping me upright, the only solid thing in a world that is dissolving into pure, undiluted terror.
A floorboard in the hall outside the study groans under a heavy weight.
My blood turns icy in my veins.
Vorlag goes silent. Kairen lets out a sharp, indrawn breath.
“Who is out there?” Vorlag’s voice is a low, dangerous hiss.
The footsteps are heavy, armored. A guard on patrol. He must have heard their raised voices.
“Captain?” the guard’s voice is hesitant, respectful. “Is everything alright?”
