Page 2 of House of Pawns
Rath nods. He crosses to Ian and grabs him by an ankle. At just the touch, Ian screams in pain. But he can’t move more than to curl into the fetal position. Violent shakes rip through his body.
“What are you doing?” I demand as I follow Rath.
He drags Ian down the hall of the south wing. “We need to control him until we can figure things out.” He stops at a huge portrait of three women in beautiful, ancient dresses. Rath swings it out away from the wall, revealing what is almost an imperceptible door. He presses it in and it pops back out.
He swings it open, and before I can rush forward to see what is hidden there, he flings Ian inside, and Ian disappears.
There’s a scream, and then a thud with a crunch and a splash.
“Ian!” I scream as I rush forward. And stop just at the precipice.
The door opens up into a small space. There is no floor. What looks like a stone well drops straight down, probably twenty feet. I can barely see Ian at the bottom, lying in the fetal position in a puddle at least eight inches deep.
“He might drown down there, Rath!” I scream. “He can barely move!”
“A vampire cannot drown,” Rath says as he breathes hard. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but pulls his cell phone from his pocket and starts scrolling through contacts. “This will keep him contained until I get back.”
“Release him,” I demand. Rath closes the door, nearly slicing my arm off as it slides closed, and I realize it’s made of solid metal. I hear a heavy sounding click, like a lock sliding into place. It’s clear: the door only opens from the outside. “Where are you going?”
“To get dinner for your resurrected, Born vampire boyfriend.” His voice drips with malice. I dart down the hall, jogging to keep up with Rath.
“We’re just going to grab someone off the streets for him to drain?” I ask in horror. Rath turns for the garage and grabs the keys to the Ferrari.
All signs of his limp from a few days ago are gone.
“Your father had connections.” And, without another word of explanation, he shuts the door out to the garage in my face.
I place both my hands on the door. I’m breathing hard, quick, sharp pulls, in and out. In. And out.
The engine on the other side of the door roars to life and the garage door opens. The car hums as it back out and then the door closes once again.
It’s a difficult thing, more difficult than it should be, to turn away from the door. To remove my hands. And walk back down the hall.
The painting is still hanging away from the wall. I easily find the door once again now that I know it’s there.
I press in the spot I thought Rath had. Nothing happens. I push on every surface of the door, slam my weight into it.
“Ian!” I yell. I shove my shoulder into the door, but all it does is hurt me. “Ian, can you hear me?”
But if he can, he doesn’t respond. Or his response can’t be heard through the door.
He’s down there, in the water, in the pitch black.
He’s confused.
Thirsty.
Alone.
“Ian,” I whisper against the door. My hands settle on its surface, my forehead resting, as well.
And I just can’t handle anything else.
I break down in sobs.
Chapter
Two
