Page 99 of When Bones Whisper
Maybe she’d gotten it wrong. Perhaps she was the one who was in fact obsessed.
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 toappear 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 thathe’dseen 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.
