Pointing back the way I’d just come from. Because of course, I instinctively started walking in the wrong direction.
I take off, not bothering to thank the guy, because me leaving him alone is probably thanks enough.
Two flights of stairs, and all the way down the end of the longest hallway later, I enter the Elite halls. The servants give me odd looks, but go back to their tasks. Someone’s scrubbing the floor. Someone else is polishing door handles. Obviously when the Sabers are out, the mice clean everything.
The spaces between the doors have grown wider, and four black stripes have been painted along the white walls, but everything else looks the same.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing a servant. “I’m looking for Commander Pax’s room.”
She frowns at me, taking a step back as if talking to me is tainting her air.
“Last hall, on the left. His name’s on the door.”
All of the doors have names on them – except I can’t read. Not a word in common, and not a letter in whatever their language is. I didn’t even know that their scribbly writing existed. It’s all swirls and dots.
I tap the plaque on the nearest door and ask, “How many letters in his name?”
“This says ‘Commander’,” she says, pointing to the first word. “And this is where his name will be – three letters,” she snaps, turning away from me and leaving the hall altogether.
Three, that actually helps. I hunt down the hall, then the next. And another.
It feels like forever, but finally I’m standing in front of a door with three brass letters shiny enough to see myself in.
Yay, for the mice.
I grip the doorknob and feel a rush of static pinch at the nerves in my fingers. It probably should be scary. But in an odd way, it’s the same kind of tingle I get from the thunderstorms in the green mist that surrounds the enchanted forest… this forest. It makes sense that some stuff in this place tingles – and that logic feels a little comforting.
Having reassured myself, I push the door wide, step inside and close the door softly behind me. I’m in a sitting type room with four black fabric lounges – Lord Martin had one fabric chair beside the hearth and these guys have four two-seater couches around a low, round, timber table. A fireplace set into one wall and a nice whole-wall-of-glass window next to that. A short bench with a water bowl, jugs, and cups sit right beside the entrance. To the far right is a bookshelf, which I find instantly odd because I had not picked any of them as the reading type, and to the far left is a writing desk, also equally odd. So this guy can read and write.
There’s four more doors leading off this room, but I don’t have to explore them because right beside me are four sets of boots.
They’re all slightly different riding or hiking styles, but I scrape the food into the first one without even thinking about which boot to choose. All the better if the food starts to go moldy before he puts this particular pair of boots on. Crunchy orange bread first, meat second, creamy saucy stuff, then mushy green stuff. I mean it smells delicious, but it’s the weirdest food I’ve ever seen.
Gods, I wish I could be here when he puts this boot on.
But that would be suicide.
Too late – the door handle is already turning.
Crap.
My legs work at double speed, matching the crazy thumping of my heart, and backing me to the nearest door. I throw myself into the room, shutting the door behind me as softly as I can.
There’s no window in here, but a small lamp protruding from the wall has been left glowing, and I can clearly see I’ve managed to get myself trapped in his bedroom. The dominating feature is a big four-poster bed, and I mean big. The kind with six huge pillows. Who needs six pillows?
I dive, then scramble on hands and knees to get underneath the bed. Pushing myself as far up close to the wall as possible, past a scattering of books, some odd socks and a discarded shirt. Pax is a messy guy.
Several voices emanate from out there, so he isn’t alone.
The door opens, flooding everything with light. It doesn’t escape me that I’ve found a shadow to hide in, but the sound of someone walking into the room and closing the door behind them is front and center in my mind.
Whoever it is sits on the bed and fiddles with the lamp, turning it up. All I can see is his bare feet and the legs of his black trousers. He opens one of the drawers in the chest beside the bed, then starts to pull on thick woollen socks.
Why would he come in, take his boots off at the door, then go into his room and put socks on?
I relax a little, puzzling over this and considering that if he hasn’t realized I’m here yet then he might not realize it at all. He can walk out of here and put his boots on with my added surprise inside. I can hear his reaction, then he leaves, then I leave, and the rest of the day will be amazing because I’ll be riding this high of revenge.
On the run up here, it might have been worth snacking on some of that food. The hunger pangs are getting unbearable.
My stomach growls, and I stop breathing. Next to me, the sock-going-on-foot action pauses.
With one sharp tug he pulls the sock on, then he leans over the edge of the bed, looking ready to murder someone.
But it’s not Pax’s head.
Nope, looking me square in the eyes with a flicker of aggression is Three. Long haired, short mo-beard combo, born-tanned skin, and intense-dark-eyed, Three. The aggression vanishes, replaced by a smile. The kind of emotion that fills his whole expression, and pools intensely in his gaze.
“Hi,” I say, giving a little wave.
What the bralls is Three doing here?
Of course, they share a space. They’re an Elite Unit-type-thing. Out in the lounge room, One, Two, and Four are getting ready to kick ass, and in here Three is staring at me while I’m flat on my back and all too aware of the rapid rise and fall of my chest and the minimal gap between the mattress slats and me.
He tilts his head, noticing every part of me, but keeping his gaze on mine, pure arrogance leaking off him.
“Hi,” he finally says, his voice silky.
I swear he’s only said, ‘hi’, but my whole body is acting like he just said ‘come closer to me.’ I order my body to shut up as I slide a little further from him.
“Why are you under my bed?” he asks, the syllables slipping beneath my skin, but my brain is having trouble deciphering them.
“Hiding,” I manage to say.
“From me?” he asks.
“Pax,” I get out.
“I don’t suppose you’ve been here long enough to know that Pax is not your only problem,” he says.
Something about one of the boys not being allowed a mortal, soot, into their rooms by law was mentioned.
“You,” I begin, pointing a finger at him, but how do you accuse a guy of killing people without becoming his next victim?
“I?” he asks, and he’s smiling.
Where’s my sense of self-preservation gone?
Run, Shade. Get your ass out of here! I know that’s what I should be thinking – but my internal dialogue throws in, soon, you’ve got this right now.
My thinking or his?
“If you’d wanted to be in my room, in my bed would have been more comfortable,” he says slowly, and my body translates his words into ‘take off your clothes.’
I push hard against the impulse. I will not be taking my clothes off!
He’s way over there, and I’m way under here, and there is a thumping great big bed between us. One – taking my clothes off would be physically impossible, and two – unless he grabs a sword and starts stabbing, he can’t hurt me under here.
I’ve never had the desire to get naked in front of someone before. Jamie stole a kiss from me when we were ten. The next day, Lord Martin sold him to the blacksmith two towns over. Just a coincidence. When did Lord Martin start pursuing me? Even this far away, the idea of Lord Martin – just the idea – clenches like an iron fist around my stomach.
Three leans under the bed, grabs me by the wrist and in one sudden movement drags me out. I slap my hand over my mouth, holding in the rush of fear.
Three is right here, my heart racing and all, but Pax is just outside that door, and he scares me more.
I’m laying with my back flat on the floor, with all of me but my legs out from under the bed, and he has a foot planted on either side of me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“You know you want to,” he says, and his silvery words make me gasp.
Bloody gasp.
The war inside me threatens to rip me in half. I try to tell myself that he’s doing something, he’s working some magic or something, but that only increases my level of alarm.
“Want to what?” I ask.
“Get comfortable. Relax. Bend to my desires and slip out of those clothes,” he says, something deeper in his tone. Not a sound, but a kind of pressure on my mind that comes with it.
Hypnotic. Undeniable. More pure than my brain’s own impulses.
My left hand lifts, and my fingers find the top most button of my shirt and pop it open. They’ve moved on to the next one before I realize what’s happening and freak out.
I’m taking my damned clothes off!
He chuckles and runs his thumb over the stubble on his cheek. But his gaze stays on mine, like what’s under my shirt isn’t the point of this. He’s more interested in the thoughts going through my mind.
“Hurry up, Roarke,” Four growls through the door, thumping it a few times to prove his point.
Roarke, Three, leans down lower to me. My struggle to stop myself from undoing my buttons has only managed to freeze me in place.
“Maybe… run,” he whispers in his do-what-I-say voice. “Before you regret it.”
Before I regret it? Anger overtakes my flustered female desires. I swear I’m going to have a serious word with myself about this.
I jump to my feet, and Roarke sits up, his eyes still on me, but he doesn’t stand. He doesn’t try to grab me, hold me, block me. He doesn’t need to, all he needs to do is say the right words and… I cut my thoughts off by slapping him across the face.
What was it that Four told him as they discussed what to do with me? That I wasn’t a pet?
Nope – not a pet. Yep – am pissed off.
“You don’t want to run?” he asks, surprise in his tone.
So surprised that he doesn’t realize my foot is moving to kick his balls until pain creases his expression. He gasps, then holds his breath.
I kneed Lord Martin in the groin once. He whipped me into unconsciousness. That does some damage to a girl’s back.
“I wasn’t going to make you go any further,” he gasps out.
“Roarke,” Four pounds on the door again.
And I run.
I would barge through the door, but Four has already opened it, and I dash past him before he has a chance to react.
Which puts me in the lounge room. Roarke is struggling to get off the bed behind me, because he’s in pain – one can hope. Two’s sitting on the back of a couch with his feet on the cushions. Four is right behind me, and One is sitting on the edge of the small round table a split second away from pulling his boot on.
I change my mind. Being here to watch this happen is a really bad idea, but it’s too late.
The Commander’s head snaps up, his lips pull back into a growl right as his foot goes in the boot. The movement is audible. Foot-in-food has its own unique squelching sound. Not as good as mud-in-Jake’s-boots, but close.
Instantly, Two bursts with laughter, like he already knows what Pax is going to find all over his sock.
One’s brow creases and slowly he pulls his foot back out of the boot. The ankle of his sock is black cotton. The rest is a mix of red meat sauce and the green and white stuff – with chunks. Let’s not forget the chunks.
His wide-with-shock expression doesn’t last long, though. His golden eyes burn redder, and his jaw tenses so hard that for a moment I wonder if he might actually have turned to stone.
I rush for the door – and make it all of one step before Four’s massive hand lands on my shoulder and pulls me in a direct line with Pax.
I gulp.
In the background, Two is laughing so hard that he topples over the back of the couch.
Which only makes me gulp again.
Pax stands, not caring that his messed-up sock leaves food footprints in his wake.
His fist clenches. My whole world snaps around that one detail.
He stops where he is, as if drinking in my fear. I barely register Two darting from behind the lounge, no longer laughing, to step ever so slightly between me and Pax, or Roarke emerging from his bedroom and stopping next to me.
“Do you feel like running now?” he whispers in my ear.
I rip myself from Four’s grip and sprint for the exit. Not caring that I run clean into the door before managing to get the thing open and escape.
“How did she get in here? Go after her,” I hear Pax shout.
“Not you, Roarke,” Four’s deep voice follows me down the hall.
I keep running – if someone wants to catch up to me, I’m not about to make it easy for them.
I’m still running like a crazy woman with fire ants up my ass when I burst back into the dining hall where eight servants are carrying stacks of dirty plates toward the kitchen.
Crap. I forgot that minor detail.
Major detail.
Yep – I’m in trouble.
I take a step backward to check the hall behind me. No angry Elite on my tail.
The other servants practically ignore me as I move to the nearest table and collect up as many plates as I can carry, then follow them into the kitchen, trying to blend in.
The kitchen is a buzz of activity again. Someone else is at the sink, scrubbing with quick, efficient movements and another person is drying the clean dishes. There’s ten people working on getting this job done, and Clara was going to make me do it solo. Granted, a good hour or more was just wasted. Which was enough time to have had the job done if I’d broken a sweat and not been off trying to get myself killed – but still, it’s the principle of the thing.
Because my priorities are a bit skewed like that.
“Yes, her,” a voice says somewhere near the servant’s entrance, and the whole kitchen goes quiet.
I ignore it, putting my stack of plates on the sink.
“Hadn’t thought you’d come back,” the person keeps talking. “You soot never live long.”
The mention of the word ‘soot’ has me paying attention, but I’m a few seconds late.
I’ve just started to turn when someone rests their hand on my head, and my heart literally stops.
* * *
I’ve woken from being knocked out a few times before. Twice from Lord Martin’s fists, and another because I tried to run from Lord Martin and fell off the top of the garden wall.
That sucked; this sucks worse.
The pain thrumming through my whole body is so deep that thinking hurts. So I try not to think as I lift my head and take in my surroundings. I’m outside, and storm clouds are rolling in. My hands and neck are pinned between two specially built chunks of wood, secured by a big iron lock on one side. Shackled – held in place by the timber. I’m on my knees, and my knees are numb, so I must have been here for a while.
“What happened?” I groan, trying to stand, or even wriggle, but the idea of this contraption is to keep me in the most uncomfortable position possible.
“Servants can’t just skip out on their duties. There are consequences,” a voice says – a voice I recognize.
Standing beside me, leaning against my damned contraption, is Seth. I can’t turn my head to the side, so it’s impossible to see his expression or body language, but his tone is amused.
“Screw your duties,” I groan again.
“Doesn’t work that way,” someone else says.
There are other
people here, held in place by their own wood and big lock contraptions.
Of course, it doesn’t work that way. I got caught up in the one bit of freedom I did have on the Estate, the freedom to be a human being when Lord Martin wasn’t around, and forgot all the other details.
Two squats down. Now I can see his eyes. Brilliant blue eyes. Pain-in-my-ass eyes.
“I quite enjoyed it myself,” he says. “Been a long time since anyone has dared to play a prank on Pax, myself included. The commander’s deadly, and yet you survived.”
“I’m so glad,” I croak.
He laughs, straightens, and the next minute, he’s lifting the top piece of wood off my neck. I try to stand, but succumb to the pain in my back, legs and head, and end up sitting on my ass.
The guy was wearing a pair of black cotton trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt, exactly what he was wearing when he fell off the couch laughing. Has he been here this whole time, just waiting for me to wake up?
How long was I supposed to remain here?
On that thought, I stand up and put my wrists and neck back in the half-moon grooves.
“Lock me back in. Last time you tried to help, I ended up in this shit-pit of a castle,” I say.
“There’s no escape,” the guy locked into the next wooden restraint mumbles, then turns his head a little and appears to settle in for a nap.
Stepping right in front of me, Seth squats down again.
“Actually, last time I tried to help, I stopped Logan from doing whatever nasty things it is Logan does to a woman. Besides, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. And if you can’t, then figure it out.”
“Okay, I don’t want to.”
“I don’t care –”
He cuts me off by putting his palm on my forehead and giving me a shove. I topple back and land on my ass.
Metal fibers litter the timber around me. He didn’t have a key – he just disintegrated the locks with his crazy Elite strength. So he can’t put them back on.
“Are all of you crazy strong?” I ask.
It’s either that or I start swearing at him.
He shrugs like maybe he hadn’t considered it before. “Maybe.”
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 7
