Page 73 of Entombed By Blood
Evelyn
What they’re suggesting isludicrous, and I’m still struggling to get my head around it hours later, as I lie in the bed they’ve given me. I woke early—though I’m not sure I even slept at all. The sky beyond the huge window of my room is still obnoxiously bright, telling me it’s not even evening yet.
Samuel died that night. He was the first of our brothers to die, the start of the end for Cain’s sons. There is no way Morwen would’ve disobeyed our sire. I still remember her coming in, covered in his blood and soot from the flames as she brandished his severed, burned hand, still wearing the signet ring that had been a gift from our Sire. It was convincing enough for Cain, and he trusts no one.
But Finn insists that Samuel is still alive, and that he was targeted because he discovered a secret that could kill Cain.
Only, they have no idea what that secret could be. All they have are theories and conspiracy. Whispers from people long dead or too stupid to keep their mouths shut.
This whole thing is an impossible dream.
In all honesty, I’m surprised anyone remembers Samuel at all. He was never the brightest spark. He could fight, but nothing like our siblings. He was smart, but not overly so. The vampire blended into the fabric of Court so well, I often wondered if that waswhat Cain liked about him.
It takes a special kind of bland to make someone invisible. Or a special kind of intelligence to con everyone into underestimating you.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, I leave the comfortable bed behind and go through the motions of getting ready to face the day. I choose some charcoal jeans and a soft crimson tank top on purpose. The colours were my favourites once—before the dress—and I have the oddest urge to reclaim them for myself.
As for the dress itself, I know the pack thinks that I’m mad for keeping it.
But if Cain discovers I burned it—like I so desperately want to—the punishment will be severe. I’ll be pushing the limits of his patience by even wearing anything else when he catches me.
No matter what the pack thinks, I still expect his warriors to come marching through the door any second. Silas has told me, again and again, that we have somehow evaded his clutches, but I don’t see how that’s possible with the cameras they’ve told me of. My sire has finally become the god he’s always believed he is. Nowhere is out of reach from him now.
My first step out of the room and into the hallway is daunting. I half expect Draven to pounce from the shadows and accuse me of running again.
He doesn’t, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I close the door behind me. The corridor is empty, but I can hear movement coming from below. Logically, I should descend the stairs on my left and join whoever is down there, but if I do, I risk facing Frost and all the emotions that entails.
So, like a coward, I turn to my right, where half a dozen closed doors are waiting for me. These men know everything about me, so why shouldn’t I learn what I can? They’ve made some outlandish claims, and they’re still remarkably secretive for people who expect me to trust them with my life.
Plus,a little dark voice whispers from the back of my mind,when Cain recaptures me, my odds of survival will be better if I’ve uncovered some information of value that will ‘prove’ my loyalty to him.
Decision made, I pad softly to the first door, only to pause when I catch a hint of Draven’s scent.
The vampire will be asleep, and the last thing I want to do is be caught snooping by him. I hurry past his door as silently as possible and find myself in front of one that shares the same warm, soothing scent as Finn.
The door is already ajar, and that makes me feel better as I slip through and into a chaotic jungle of wires and clothes.
The omega is a slob. His bed is unmade, his clothes are scattered everywhere, and his desk is littered with a combination of wires and… tiny bottles?
I pick one up, examining it.
“Nail lacquer?” I read aloud.
Is this how he achieved those incredible flames on his fingernails? I replace the bottle after a moment of longing. Perhaps, in the future, he’ll give me something similar.
I eye the technology that takes up the rest of his desk furtively. I don’t dare to touch it. The huge clear glass screens are currently blank, and I don’t know enough about them to use them.
With a sigh, I slip out of the room and move to the next door. Gideon’s room is just as unremarkable as mine. The only touches of his personality are in the three photographs which decorate his bedside cabinet. One is of the pack, with Finn and Silas front and centre, grinning, with the other four behind them. I don’t know who the photographer was, but they’ve managed to capture Gideon’s exasperation, Vane’s patience, and Draven’s cold amusement perfectly. My eye catches on Frost, who looks the most out of place among them all. He looks nothing like the man I know. There are shadows under his eyes, and his full lips are turned down as he stares darkly into the distance. I don’t want to look too deeply into the reasons behind his expression, so I move on to the next photo.
It’s a landscape I don’t recognise. A rolling valley of golden grass frames the lone willow drooping over a still pond in the centre. A peaceful scene—the composition making it all the more serene—but there’s something maudlin about the picture. Perhaps it’s the tree itself, or maybe it’s the stormy colour of the sky in the distance, but looking at it for too long makes me uncomfortable.
My heart drops like a stone as I regard the final, oval-shaped photograph. Only, on closer inspection, it’s not a photograph at all, but a palm-sized oil painting of a woman. The artistry is crude—the details of her features not quite in proportion—but the reverence with which this muse was painted is clear in every stroke.
Who is she, and why does Gideon have her likeness? They don’t share any features that might make me believe they’re related…
I don’t dare pick up the old wooden frame to examine her further, for fear of leaving my scent behind. Whoever she is, that painting isold. For Gideon to have it after all of this time, she must be very important to him. I don’t want to touch the camera either, so I head out of the room, sealing the strange collection of photographs inside.
The door to the next room is open, and I slip inside, recognising the scents covering the space as belonging to Vane and Silas. I suppose the size of the cabin means that they had to share so I could have a room of my own, and I’m grateful for their thoughtfulness.
