“I’ve already seen it, princess. I’ll be all right.”
Slowly, she nods, then lets out a shuddering breath as she pulls back, putting distance between us again. “Thank you. I found some candles in the kitchen. Even though the windows are shuttered, I didn’t think it wise to turn on lights, in case Mathias or the Anarki decide to return and check on the house.”
Smart woman—but I’m not surprised.
I send her a faint smile as I take a candle from her. “Excellent.”
With a flick of my wand, I light both. Her hand shakes so hard that the flame flickers, the wax drips.
“Careful.” I steady her hand, then urge her toward the stairs. “Up you go.”
Sabelle glides silently up the staircase. Despite wearing yesterday’s clothes, her face drawn with exhaustion, and her golden braid askew, I still think her the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Stupid sap.
Once on the landing, I disappear inside the first room, a parlor of sorts, with all the bodies of the human servants. The men I can look at. The abused women and butchered children…no. Their twisted faces and tortured flesh pain me like a serrated knife to the gut.
The children especially gut me. Each small, broken body a growing person—innocent, trusting, unaware that monsters like Mathias exist. The rage building in my chest threatens to crack my ribs, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from roaring my fury. Sabelle doesn't need to see that side of me. Not yet.
Turning my back on the corpses, I search everywhere else. Floor, ceiling, furniture—or what is left of it. Nothing. Damn it.
Mathias has already succeeded in killing one of the seven most powerful wizards in all magickind. I can’t let the prick obtain any device that allows him to communicate with—or manipulate—the others.
Twenty minutes later, I give up and close the door behind me before pausing at the top of the stairs to listen. Sabelle’s soft footsteps move methodically from room to room, the occasional creak of floorboards the only sound in this tomb of a house.
Later tonight, while she sleeps, I’ll remove the bodies and give them each a decent burial. It is the least I can do after all they suffered for a cause they didn’t understand. And it will give me something to do besides watch Sabelle as she sleeps while I burn to seduce her. Possess her.
“I’m going down to the cellar,” I say as I peek into one of the upstairs bedrooms, which Sabelle currently searches, one hand on a curvaceous hip, the other clutching her candle.
Is the bedroom MacKinnett’s? It is certainly grand enough, all chocolate browns, golds, and wine reds. Heavy draperies, rich coverlets. A fireplace on the wall across from the bed, and a long, flat-screen above the mantel. I’ve never embraced the idea of human television. Their news is not mine, their shows too trivial for my taste, but many in magickind enjoy keeping up with their less magical cousins.
Sabelle spares me a glance. “I’ll meet you in MacKinnett’s office when I’m finished.”
“Agreed. Let me know if you need anything.”
She sends me a soft, grateful glance. “You spared me the worst. I appreciate that more than you know. I’ll be all right.”
Before I read too much into her gratitude, I turn away and head for the cellar.
Down the winding stairs I go. Each step echoes hollowly in the confined space, the sound swallowed by stone walls that seem to press closer with every breath. The silence upstairs felt oppressive, but down here it’s suffocating—thick with the weight of death and secrets. The acrid char of burned flesh completely smothers the normally damp, dank scent of this room. The odor has grown stronger in the past few hours as MacKinnett’s body decomposes. I swallow against my gag reflex and set my candle aside. No windows in the cellar, so I can turn the lights on. No one outside will see.
The room itself is vast with a cement floor that has a slightly damp tinge to it. Dusty wine bottles rim one wall, all neatly lined in racks. Hundreds of them, some no doubt very old and rare. I’ve never understood such collections, but then Rykards have never had the money for luxuries. No doubt, my father would have scorned them, claimed such things make a man soft. Sabelle, however, would likely think such a wine collection not only desirable but a necessity.
Frowning, I turn away. Nowhere to hide the mirror there.
A soft thud from upstairs makes me freeze, my hand instinctively moving toward my wand before I recognize the sound of Sabelle shifting furniture. She’s alone up there, searching through rooms where innocent people died screaming. The thought of her pale face in that flickering candlelight, surrounded by reminders of Mathias’s cruelty, makes my chest tighten. I need to find this bloody mirror and get her away from this place.
The next wall to my right is both narrow and completely bare. To the right again, the wall behind MacKinnett’s body is floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with family treasures. Journals, heirloom goblets, a crystal ball. I smirk. I can’t think of anyone who’s used one of those in easily five hundred years. A few skulls, a cauldron—the typical Dark Ages tools. But nothing that looks like a family crest or a magical mirror.
At the far end of the room stands another narrow wall. Furniture has been stacked against it. A sofa blocks the whole wall, enormous and dusty. I suspect it was once white. A massive dining table rests in front of it, its pedestal carved from a gnarled, massive tree trunk. The remnants of a few of its chairs are in small pieces around the room. A table that size had likely seated twenty or more, and I suspect the rest of the chairs were destroyed and used as the kindling to burn MacKinnett at the stake.
Something nags at me as I survey the room again. The Anarki tore apart everything else in the house with methodical thoroughness, yet this wall of furniture sits undisturbed, covered in dust. Were they too lazy to move the heavy furniture? Were they arrogant enough to assume that one man couldn’t possibly outsmart them? Or did they find what they were looking for before they got here and burned the manor’s master alive?
Determined to leave no stone unturned, I move the table, lifting and grunting until I drag it a few feet from the wall. Yes, I could have used my wand, but I’m running low on magical energy and need to conserve. Bound now exclusively to Sabelle, unless she shares my bed—and soon—I’ll be completely drained of energy. What good will I be against Mathias and the Anarki? How can I possibly protect Sabelle?
However I get energy…it can’t involve another woman. Not only is it impossible to fuck another since speaking the Call to Sabelle, I don’t want anyone else. Ever.
If I’m going to find this mirror, I have to preserve my magic. Luckily, Marrok taught the Doomsday Brethren human combat since he began training us, and I like challenging my body, forcing my muscles to perform more difficult feats of strength every day.
