Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
So he hadn’t finished the job.
And his oversized cat hadn’t eaten me for dinner.
Why?
Why had he stopped when he’d proven he was more than happy to take the lives of all of us for trespassing into his hell?
Forcing myself upright, I braced myself to see the corpses of the women who’d died.
But...nothing.
The cavernous, dark ballroom held no one but me.
Where had he put their bodies?
Why hadn’t he taken mine?
I collapsed back onto the floor, my strength weak and jittery.
I didn’t know how much time passed before I attempted to move again but at least the second time, I wasn’t as hopeless. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my throat, I managed to get onto my knees and from there, it was an exhausting fight to get to my feet.
My shivering didn’t help, making everything that much harder.
I didn’t know why I fought so hard to get moving again or why I even left the ballroom. I’d already attempted escape and found out the impossibility of such a thing. I didn’t know what had happened to my rucksack and I was terribly, horribly alone.
But instinct drove me onward, hope kept me trying.
Stumbling through the palace, leaning against the decorative walls for support and clinging to heartless statues and ancient furniture, I tried to retrace my steps from earlier.
I wanted out of this place.
Even if it killed me.
By the time I stumbled through the foyer and out the double oak-and-dragon doors, I had nothing left and collapsed to my knees right there in the crescent moonlight.
My thick black hair obscured my vision, falling in sheets around my face.
Breathing hard, I tipped up my chin, brushed back my hair, and...
Oh, wow.
The gardens had been set ablaze.
Hundreds of lanterns swung from branches and covered walkways, each flickering like they contained a small sun. Bronze braziers lined the pathways, sending orange flames dancing over the gravel. Pagodas and patios crackled with fire, destructive heat spewing from the tops of black torches.
For the first time since getting off the bus this morning, I finally understood why this place was called Cinderkeep. Not an inch of it was untouched by fire. From the bridges to the courtyards, to the trees and flowers, every inch turned into an ember. Wisteria and oaks were braided with strings of tiny flames. Even the lawn held lamps that looked as if comets had fallen to earth and continued smouldering.
No wonder the main palace had no lights on.
Who would want glaring electricity when magic such as this existed?
I knelt there, unable to look away.
My stress slowly melted, thanks to the meditative beauty of fire.
All I focused on was the flames, feeling as if heaven had somehow merged with hell.
A silhouette moved in my peripheral, wrenching my attention into the maze of flowers. The blackest shadow slinked through the foliage, the yellow and orange of a thousand fires glinting off its pelt.
Staggering to my feet, I braced myself as the panther left the garden and slinked silently up the steps to the front portico of the palace.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
My hair stood on end as the giant beast came close enough to sniff me, its whiskers tickling my forearm. I bit my lip as it prowled around me, its shoulders as tall as my hips, its tail coiling around me like a velveteen vine.
It huffed as it came to a stop in front of me. Its matching fiery eyes met mine and I swear it meant me no harm.
Not that I would touch it.
I wasn’t suicidal enough to stroke a panther and think it would appreciate it.
With a cough like spitting up a hairball, the huge predator spat something at my feet.
I backed up, my throat so bruised I could barely swallow, let alone scream.
With another huff, it nudged the small item it’d just delivered before leaping off the steps and loping into the garden.
It vanished amongst the fire and flame.
I didn’t know what was worse. Being judged by it where I could see it or being hunted by it where I couldn’t.
Another shudder worked through me, thanks to the icy English night.
Judging by the moon, I guessed it was close to two a.m.
I’d gotten used to telling the time based on the location of stars and sunshine. Mainly because I refused to have my cell phone attached to me and my inability to wear a watch. Just like I couldn’t handle corporate or charitable life, I couldn’t even handle the pressure of ticking time.
It reminded me that my only means of survival came across as lazy to other people. That every hour I napped or every minute I did nothing more than watch the clouds passing by was an hour and minute that others scrimped and slaved to survive.
Rubbing my goosebump-covered arms, I shoved those thoughts away.
None of that mattered now.