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)
What did matter was finding shelter or at least a damn blanket so I wouldn’t freeze by morning.
Moving toward the stairs, I eyed the item the panther had dropped off.
Bracing against leftover vertigo from being half-strangled to death, I picked up the small tin box and gingerly wiped the feline saliva off it.
Cracking it open, a single pill rested inside. Quite a large pill. Round and silver and glossy.
Snapping the lid closed, I peered into the garden again.
Why had it brought me this?
Was it poison or a painkiller?
Surely a panther wasn’t intelligent enough to know I hurt and delivered help which meant...did Lucien Ashfall give me this?
Peering at the box again, I clutched it tight and headed into the flaming garden as if I could outrun the memory of his eyes, his touch, his fury.
I didn’t want to think about him.
I never wanted to see him again.
Then hide, before he finds you.
Walking as fast as I could, I headed toward a pavilion in the distance.
* * * * *
Stepping through the round hole in the whitewashed wall, I eyed up yet another pavilion. I’d searched all night. I’d fallen twice thanks to dizziness and wedged a fist in my snarling belly as hunger became unbearable. But no matter how far I’d travelled, each place had been already taken by the twenty-nine—wait...twenty-seven—other women who’d fled into Cinderkeep and vanished.
A few pavilions I’d stumbled into hadn’t had lights on but as I’d hauled myself to the front door and stepped gratefully over the threshold, a vase or curse had been thrown at my head, proving it already had an inhabitant.
I’d almost given up hope.
I’d travelled so far, I couldn’t see the main palace this far across the meadow, but...I might’ve finally gotten lucky.
Sneaking inside the walled courtyard, I cut through the pretty garden with a babbling stream. A covered patio protected a table and chairs, and the roofline of the pavilion swept toward the stars with wing-shaped eaves.
No one shouted at me for trespassing.
No porcelain was thrown my way.
Cracking open the carved door, I hesitantly stepped inside. “Hello?”
And nothing.
Blessedly, thankfully nothing.
My relief almost sent me crashing against the wall.
I’d had dreams of taking a hot bath. Of raiding the cupboards for food. Of drowning my worries in wine. But the exhaustion I’d been fighting ever since my headache first appeared barely gave me enough time to bounce my way off the walls and into the large open-plan suite.
No walls separated the bedroom from the living room. Oriental embroidered cushions littered the floor by the huge window, and the bed was piled high with white fluffy blankets.
With a sob, I staggered across the carpet and crashed face-first onto the mattress.
Pain snatched my broken consciousness, hurling me into sleep just as my fingers went lax.
The tin box with its strange pill tumbled from my grasp and clattered to the floor—
Chapter Eleven
TWO DAYS PASSED.
I spent most of it asleep and healing.
Occasionally, a shrill scream would sound on the breeze, sending my stomach churning. Was that him slaughtering another woman? Was it his panther picking its new favourite snack?
If I was a better person, a stronger person, I might’ve ventured out and tried to help the other captives hiding in their own places of refuge. But...apart from the four or five other girls who were like me—dragged into this unfortunate place by sheer accident—the rest seemed to have come here willingly.
They knew this man.
They knew enough to want to kill him.
That group, I could understand. I didn’t condone it, but I understood it. It was the others who wanted to sleep with him and have his illegitimate child that I didn’t get.
Who was this man who invoked such attempts? And why did I keep remembering the way he’d shuddered as I’d crashed against him? The way he’d groaned with pain as he’d bellowed for everyone to scram.
Not my problem.
Shoving such thoughts far, far away, I worked my way through the fresh grapes I’d found in the fridge. Turned out, Marcus Ward had been telling the truth. Each pavilion was fully stocked with food and if I could forget what happened two days ago and put aside my constant terror, I could almost pretend this was yet another resort in another nameless location, designed to protect me from a world I wasn’t equipped to exist in.
And the best part?
The cupboards had wine.
Unique and fancy wine, not just red and white. Earthen jars labelled with apple-blossom, sour pear, and cherry. Each fragrant and floral. And really rather potent.
Plopping another grape into my mouth, I braced myself for the pain of swallowing and self-medicated with another sip of apple-blossom wine. The bruises had steadily changed in colour, lacing my throat with an unwanted necklace from his fingers. But as long as I didn’t look in the mirror and stayed a tad tipsy from the wine, I could forget.