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Reaper gazes at me, his expression a mix of longing and fury. His posture shifts from relaxed to tense, pupils dilating as he licks his lips. He steps toward me, reaching out with familiar movements. Suddenly, his eyes blaze red, eyebrows angling inward, cheeks hollowing. The muscles in his neck ripple with rage. I sense his desire to kill—perhaps me. My instincts scream to flee.
I blinked back to reality, gasping. My mind reeled, torn between the vision and my gut feeling. Was he going to kill me, or was this another trick? In this house of pain, alliances and secrets were inevitable—and deadly. I had no intention of falling into that trap.
As Valorsyn’s commands echoed from the house speakers, signaling the start of the battle, I steeled myself. The game had barely begun, and I was already fighting for my life—and my sanity.
“Get ready, devils! Aaaaaannnnd go!”
Discord and fury churned throughout the crowd, and I steeled myself for whatever came next. A simmering tension infected every breath, and the excitement of the moment gave way to a sense of terror as the group’s fervor slipped. In the next breath, a savage maelstrom exploded, the energy in the air shifting and the roar of the contestants swelling louder as they turned on each other, ruffling the threadbare Persian rugs lying scattered across the floor.
In the midst of the violence, as the crowd closed in around me, fists flying, which I dodged artfully, bodies collided in a frenzy. A stuffed raven perched atop a grandfather clock fell to the floor, its glass eyes glinting malevolently in the dim light. The echoes of flesh pounding against flesh peppered the dark, shaking the cobwebs adorning every corner and igniting a chain reaction as bodies surged, melding into a writhing mass. The violence spread like wildfire, escalating into a full-blown, bloody brawl.
With a resolve born of desperation, I rushed through the throng toward the stairs, past ornate peeled wallpaper with cryptic symbols carved into the plaster beneath. Being smaller than most and lithe enough, I dodged like a bat through the twisting labyrinth of bodies, over weathered parquet flooring, its deep scratches and dark stains hinting at violent histories. The floorboards groaned with each step, giving the impression the house itself was alive and in pain.
In the frenetic energy of the crowd, my shoulder crashed into a hard body.
Reaper again.
The look on his face was one of pure determination.
I shrank back.
He grasped my arm.
I tried to tug free, but he dragged me toward the bottom of the stairs, where a broken statue of an angel lay toppled, its wings shattered into pieces, its face frozen in an eternal scream.
He didn’t stop there.
Ascending the staircase, Reaper seized a man in our way by the front of his shirt, swung him in a large arc, and let go, catapulting him down the wide staircase behind us.
The man crashed into the group on our heels like a bunch of bowling pins.
I screeched, barely able to breathe at the tumult piling on top of me.
At the top of the stairs, Reaper clutched me tight, fingers digging into both biceps.
My back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he would do.
Surely it was over for me already.
But would it be painful?
Chapter Seventeen: A Moment in Forever
Maverick 1562
The pub was alivewith the sounds of laughter and clinking goblets, a refuge from the dark and tumultuous world outside. I sat at a corner table, nursing a pint of ale, lost in thought. The light of the fireplace wove shadows across the walls, adding to the warm atmosphere.
Across the table sat Evelyn, a charming woman I’d met a couple hours ago. She told a story of when her sister fell into the mud when they were sneaking out at night to visit boys they were forbidden to see. Her eyes sparkled with mirth when, suddenly, she froze. Her eyes rolled back and then returned with a milky white sheen. Her spine straightened, and the lively conversation faded into an eerie silence.
“Evelyn?” Leaving my glass on the table, I reached out to touch her hand, but it was as cold as ice. She stared throughme, rigid as a cadaver. No one seemed to notice. They were all embroiled in their own conversations.
When her lips moved, the voice was not her own. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in years, but recognized instantly.
Susannah’s voice.
“Maverick,” she declared, her tone filled with desperation and pain. “They found me, Maverick. The hunters. They found me, and they bound me up, blindfolded me. Stuck a dirty rag in my mouth. Then they took me away to some dark and disgusting room. It was so cold, and they stripped all my clothes off. My skin burned and blistered, even without fire. They swore they’d stop if I told them where you were, but I don’t know. They didn’t believe me. No matter what I said, they didn’t believe me. Please, Maverick, I’m all alone now. Help me.”
