Page 46 of The Witch and The Cowboy
“We should come across stairs soon,” Freya warned. “It’s time to risk a fire.”
Hope and fear warred in my chest. The closer we grew to the Bloodblade, the sooner we got the hell out of this place, but taking risks wasn’t a number-one priority in a castle full of the living dead.
I pulled the torch from the back of my waistband.
“Wait,” Freya said. “I might be able to conceal it if I summon the fire with my own magic. Pairing it with a concealment spell will at least be better than nothing.”
She whispered a spell, and a hum filled the hall. While I tucked the torch away, a small flame erupted in the palm of her hand. In the orange glow of the flame, her face was even paler than before. The walls and floor shined—not a cobweb or speck of dust could be found.
We journeyed a few feet farther and came across a steep stairway. It descended into complete darkness, but the first few steps were distinguishable. The stairs were crafted of the same dark stones as the wall but were slicker than I anticipated. Everything about this place was designed to be difficult.
“Nice call on the light,” I said.
“I’ve already had too many close calls with falling to my death,” she replied.
We traveled down two cramped flights of stairs then entered a much larger space. Lights turned on around the perimeter of the room and revealed cases of jewels, crowns, and other riches. It was enough treasures to be easily worth triple my lifetime’s salary. For a moment, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Another light powered on. It came down from the center of the domed ceiling and shined on a silver platform.
An empty silver platform.
The fire in Freya’s hand went out like a smothered candle.
“They really did it,” Freya said. “They killed my mother.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, witch,” a man purred from behind us.
I jolted in panic and tried to face the newcomer, but my feet were stuck to the floor. No matter how desperately I begged my legs to move, they remained trapped in place. The most I could manage was to bend my knees.
“It’s a trap,” Freya whispered.
I tried to pull my feet free from my boots, but they also refused to budge. It was as if they’d grown into the floor, and I no longer had any control over them.
“Of course it’s a trap,” the same man crooned. “And I’m offended you thought sneaking into my home would be so easy.”
Footsteps echoed across the room, and the pale man from the suite—the Master—stood before us. Like some twisted, male Snow White, his hair was raven black, and his skin was so pale, it was practically translucent. His eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black. I fought not to squirm under his gaze.
The Master grinned and revealed his yellow, pointed fangs.
“You brought a snack.” He clasped his hands together. “That does lessen the insult.”
“You traitorous bastard,” Freya sneered. “My mother never harmed a vampire—even when others pressured her to do so—yet you killed her!”
“Remember where you are,” the Master warned.
Several more vampires crept out from the dark shadows of the room. Their stares were hungry, and their footsteps were silent. As they passed under the various lights, their skin shone like moons.
“I don’t care where I am,” Freya growled. “You will pay for what you did.”
She shook with rage, and my chest ached. I had to ask her to do the impossible—control herself when faced with her mother’s killer.
“Freya,” I warned.
The Master chuckled. “You should listen to your human.”
A tear slid down Freya’s cheek.
“You’ll pay for this,” she vowed.
She raised her palms and yelled a spell. For a moment, I thought her pain might actually be powerful enough to save us, but no hum filled the air.
