Page 49 of Coal Hearts

Stepping into me, he flashed a look at the open door before muttering under his breath, “You heard Victor. You’re mine for the weekend. If you play along and—”

“Henri. What the hell is taking so long?” Victor’s cultured accent flowed up the steps. “Hurry up.”

Gritting his teeth, Henri stepped back. Our eyes locked but whatever he was going to say was replaced with a snarl. “Move.” Shoving me around, he almost kicked me out the door.

I caught myself on the railing at the top of the airplane stairs.

My eyes tipped up.

I froze.

I gawked at the most beautiful building I’d ever seen.

Not that it could be called a building.

It wasn’t a house or mansion or dwelling.

This thing...this acropolis...this citadel was in a league of its own.

Wherever the hell we’d just landed and whatever flag this land flew paled in comparison to the sheer size and imposing presence of Victor’s sadistic playground.

Medieval in its turrets, gothic in its towers, and utterly barbaric with its ten-metre-high stone wall complete with wide parapet and guard stations. Men in black uniforms patrolled and watched us from above, rifles slung over their shoulders, and more weapons glinting on black belts in the sleepy morning.

One guard shone a large spotlight in sweeping arcs over the manicured lawn leading to the airstrip where we’d landed, no doubt hunting for runaways.

Not that they could run far with a wall ringing the entire estate.

The castle itself sat in a sprawling mess of arrogant power. Up lights bounced over its battlements, kissing stonework and arches, casting shadows on giant leadlight windows, and playing on the angels and gargoyles poised to pounce and fly from the gutters.

Sharp chimney stacks punctured the fading stars, and glossy ivy climbed up one side of the castle as if determined to hide the monstrosities happening within. Gun ports and arrow slits promised death, while the spiral pinnacles looked like some sort of torture device.

I blinked in wonder, completely forgetting, for one blissful moment, why I should hate this place and why I should run.

I fell into the story of this unknown citadel.

I shivered to know its secrets.

I might love gemstones and spend every ill-advised penny on pretty rocks, but history had always been my first love.

And this place...wow.

It bristled with it.

It beckoned me forward with promises of ghosts and tragedies.

I adored my job in the gift shop in the Tower of London—not just because I was near the crown jewels and my fantasies of one day studying them—but because the fort bled with the ancient past.

We thought life wasn’t easy now, but back then? Women were burned for growing the wrong type of herb, and men were mutilated for coveting another’s wife. The ingenious imagination of torturers back then twisted my stomach far more than the threats from men playing monsters in expensive suits.

“Go on, get.” Henri pushed me, herding me down the airplane steps. Roland eyed me as I reached the bottom. I quickly moved out of the way of Henri and his insistently bossy hand. He didn’t say a word as I stood in the lush, thick grass of the private landing strip, struggling to tear my eyes off the castle. He merely moved to my side, casting me in his shadow from dawn’s peach and fire tones.

Dawn.

I sighed and looked away from the walled fortress, focusing on the huge expanse of sky. The plane looked as if it didn’t belong. Like two timelines had somehow collided, blending modern with ancient.

I bit my lip as I stared at the rocky cliff edging the runway. Dangerously close to the windsock that fluttered in the faint sea breeze. Waves crashed angrily below, sea spray unable to splash up the cliffside, hinting how high we perched over the ocean.

Which ocean?