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“You know you could just answer me like a normal human being.”
His snort landed somewhere between amusement and derision. “Stay with Barry.”
“What do I do with the—gift?” I asked.
His eyes were wild as he closed the distance. Now gloved, he brought his hands to cradle my face, something frenetic crackling between us. “You’re brilliant, Briar. Burn it. Burn it until no trace remains, then begin again. When you’re nearly done weaving, a black thread will form at the center—this time, you must watch for it. I’ll do my best to help you this go-around. Catch it before it can corrode the shellwork and unravel it—re-weave the hole together with the ropes.”
“I never mastered fire,” I admitted as his hand made a trail down my neck, almost… searching, as if reassuring himself I was in one piece.
“Now, who said anything about fire?” he challenged with an infuriating wink.
“What the hell else do you burn with?”
“Stay with Barry,” he repeated, dipping his chin as he made a beeline back for his ensuite.
“Adrastos!?” When my indignant squawk got no response, I repeated, “What am I supposed to burn it with?”
When he reemerged, he wore a heavy hooded cloak and held…
A mask in his hand. Golden. Like a gilded skull.
My stomach twisted for an entirely new reason as he placed it against his face, straightening to look at me. “Stay out of sight, stay with Barry no matter what happens. I mean it, Blythe. I’ll be back.”
Goosebumps rippled up my skin as he rushed from the room, and I forced a harsh swallow as Barry froze on the threshold, a plate of food in his hands. Bewildered, he stared after his cousin for a long beat before shrugging, resigned to babysitting me for the evening.
We read in silence for what must’ve been several hours, because Smith arrived with a platter of dinner, and left just as quickly. Eyeing the door skeptically, I closed the book I hadn’t been able to ingest anyway, and excused myself for the restroom, closing the ensuite door behind me.
Anticipatory nerves buzzed through my skin, vibrating within each rib and vertebra as I double-checked the lock and then cast a charm over the door to block any sounds within. Instead of rushing for the water closet, I hurried past the elaborate bathing chamber, tamping down the nauseating image of the man naked with those women—his little harem of lovers—and made straight for Adrastos’ looming closet, closing the door behind me and casting a second charm for concealment. For a man who possessed enough room for an entire department store to hoard its wares, he had a rather depressing color palette.
But I wasn’t here to admire—or judge—his finery.
With my heart suddenly pounding a war drum so loudly in my ears, my throat, my very flesh, that the world faded away entirely, I made my way to one of the many stacks of built-in drawers and threw the top one open.
Rifling through it revealed nothing but an impressive collection of high-end boxer briefs. With a roll of my eyes, I made sure everything was back in its proper place, not that it would matter if he read so much as a pair of knickers—he’d see me invading his privacy like a jealous ex. Or a spy, I guess. Though that shouldn’t surprise him at this point.
The second drawer was filled to the brim with dress socks that seemed mostly untouched as of late, the third held long socks, the fourth athletic ones—the ones dads wore with sandals just to rile the women in their lives—the fifth precisely folded T-shirts, the sixth more of the same but in charcoal rather than mourning black.
How many fucking t-shirts does one man need?
I glanced over my shoulder, unsure of how long I could rifle around before Barry grew skeptical of my alibi.
Methodically, I made my way through drawer after drawer, revealing all manner of luxurious men’s attire—enough ties to buy a decent car, bow ties, cufflinks, more fighting leathers than I could count. Weapons—oh my gods, the amount of weapons I’d slept feet away from, entirely unaware and unguarded. This was why Freya was The Wraith and I was just some useless Hazelharbor healer.
She would’ve had her pretty little fingers in here weeks ago.
Rushing now, I threw open the drawer beneath an entire assortment of throwing knives… and froze. My mouth went dry as a thick ball of panic formed in my throat.
Masks.
Dozens of masks. Skulls in abundance—varying colors and shapes, animal and human in likeness—elaborately carved demons, monsters that should only exist in nightmares. With shaking hands, I pulled one after the other, setting them aside.
My breaths came faster.
My pulse became a godsdamned war drum as I searched, increasingly frantic, praying I wouldn’t find it, praying he was just one of many warriors and my suspicions were unfounded…
Until my trembling hands fished out a leather demon mask… horned… with a scar beneath one eye and a gouge across the other.
A sob lodged in my throat as I dropped it like a hot stone, staggering backward only to catch my heel on an ottoman and tumble backward through his clothes. I reached for the shelves, my fingers grazing the edges as I went down—hard. My back slammed into the wall, flames igniting down the freshly healed skin. My tailbone took the brunt of the impact as I hit the marble floor. Pain shot through my spine, intense enough to bring tears to my eyes, as if they weren’t already streaming.
