The shovel. If I could reach it, I could bash him in the head and run, even though it was impossible to see in the dark. Gathering some of the sharp pottery shards as a weapon, I continued to crawl forward, but a hand clamped down on my ankle, forcing me to stop. I kicked out but missed as he dragged me backward, my body scrapping painfully across the floor. He flung me on my back and a weight settled on me, pinning me down. One hand caught my arms, dragging them above my head, and the other hand clamped down over my mouth and nose.
I thrashed and bit, arching my body to knock him off me, trying to clamp down on his skin. But it was to no avail. The man was much stronger than me and his hold stayed firm. I struggled for air, my attempts at escape growing weaker and weaker. This was the end. I should have left, like Carter suggested. The treasure was cursed, and this was my punishment for stealing.
* * *
I must have passed out,for when I awoke, the grave robbery seemed like only a nightmare. At first, I assumed I was back in my lavish room, about to awaken to a tongue lashing from my aunt’s maid, Uropa. I’d lost my title and wealth after my parents’ death, but my aunt and uncle still expected me to act like a lady, with a meek disposition and elegant manners, smiling at potential suitors, whether or not they were twice my age.
Fortunately for me, my parents had raised me to seek knowledge, ask questions, and maintain my independence. Unfortunately, their deaths had forced me to rely on the only family I knew, my aunt and uncle, the Lord and Lady of Dowler. I’d heard nothing but vague stories about the wealth of the mountain city they ruled over, for my father refused to discuss his older brother. My aunt sent for me after my parents died and at the time, I assumed Dowler would be a safe place to grieve. Now, I wished I’d never come.
Opening my eyes, I sat up and gray stone tilted beneath me. It hadn’t been a dream. The clean air was the first sign, slightly musty. I blinked, frowning at a fire in the hearth. Tiny flames licked at the wood as if it had just been lit. The floor beneath me was filthy. Gray cobwebs hung from the ceiling and odd lumps surrounded me. It took me a moment to realize it was furniture, covered with cloth. I gaped, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to work out where I’d ended up.
Shakily, I rose to my feet, and a voice floated out of the silence. “You’re not going to run, are you?”
It was the same masculine voice I’d heard in the tomb, and I whipped around. Amber eyes bored into mine. My breath hitched as I took in the man. No, not a man, for he had pointed ears that poked through a mane of fox-red hair that fell to his shoulders. His eyebrows were arched, his face a painful display of perfection and arrogance—full lips, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones. Warmth filled my cheeks at his state of undress. A once white shirt was open, displaying an expanse of hard, muscled chest. His sleeves were ruffled and his trousers were far too tight, too short even. Was this the man who assaulted me in the tomb?
“Who are you? Where am I?” I demanded breathlessly, eyes darting across the small room. If I snatched a burning branch from the fire and tossed it at him, would it give me enough time to escape?
His lips parted in a feral grin and his nostrils flared, as though he sensed my desire to flee and it awakened a wolfish need to hunt. Jeweled eyes narrowed as his gaze raked over my body. “I caught you, little thief, so you’re going to explain your actions, and I’ll decide a fitting punishment for your crimes.”
Punishment. I gulped and scanned the room again. He had his back to the door and the windows were high. If I broke through one, would I land on the ground? In water? It was hard to tell how far up we were. I peeked at the man who watched me with a chilling expression, which turned harder as he glanced at the fire and then the windows.
“We’re in my castle. There is no escape,” he said bluntly.
I clutched my cloak in my fists, determined to show no fear. Jutting my chin out, I demanded. “Who are you? Not the groundskeeper, I’ve seen him. How do I know you weren’t robbing the tomb too? No one was supposed to be down there.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and a smirk covered his face. He held something in his hands, which glimmered. It took me a moment to realize it was the strange pyramid I’d taken. Even from a distance, it sparkled with a beauty that made my stomach twist.
My fingers twitched with the desire to snatch it from him, but a flash of white pulled my gaze back to my hands. A bandage covered the cuts on my palm. I drew in a sharp breath and glared at the man.
“No, I’m not the groundskeeper,” he confirmed. “I was sleeping peacefully in my coffin, and you woke me up.” He held up the pyramid. “With this.”
A numbing sensation of terror swept over me. “You’re the ghost of Saint Dowler,” I breathed, despite the fact he did not look like a spirit. Then again, I’d never seen one before. Perhaps spirits didn’t look like wisps of whiteness. Maybe they looked alive, like he did. Although I couldn’t image how his flesh hadn’t rotted.
He smiled, showing off a neat row of canine-sharp teeth. I shivered. The idea of jumping out the window sounded better than facing him for much longer.
“I’m no saint, but it’s ironic you would think so. The tomb was built to keep me in, to ensure I never woke to cause chaos or chase retribution again. The ruse was to pretend it was the tomb of a saint, to pile it with offerings—gifts, treasure—all to hide the keystone, a way to awaken me. A secret, hidden in plain sight.” He chuckled darkly. “And you, my bold thief, entered my sacred crypt, took my treasure, and woke me up. Wouldn’t you agree you owe me?”
My lips trembled as my breath caught. Suddenly, I understood why the graveyard was on the outskirts of town and the rumors that surfaced about it. It had all been a hoax to keep everyone out, perhaps even the reason for the curfew. Did Lord Faren know the truth and keep the citizens in the dark? This situation was very wrong, yet the horror that consumed me wasn’t born out of surprise, but the awareness that something awful like this would happen in Dowler.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, deciding it was best to grovel and apologize. I’d never been one for tears, but now I wished I could force them from my eyes to try and soften his hard heart. “It was wrong of me to steal from you. I’ll give everything back.”
He snorted. “I took the liberty of emptying your pockets while you slept.”
I stepped back, pained at the thought of him going through my pockets while I lay unconscious. But he had taken the time to bandage my hand which had to mean he didn’t want to kill me. “Will you allow me to go home?”
“Home? Where is home for a pretty thief like you? The gutter? A dark alleyway? Perhaps an empty house, the owners dead and rotting.”
A bolt of anger sizzled through me at his taunting words, and I found my tongue again. “No, if you must know, I live in the palace where the Lord and Lady of Dowler dwell.”
He went rigid and ceased tossing the pyramid. A strange look crossed his face, eyes glinting with … greed? Giving me a wolfish grin, he stepped forward. “Tell me, how much time has passed? Who rules Dowler now?”
I had his attention. “My uncle is Lord Faren and my aunt, Lady Matzie.”
“Ah, and you grew up here?”
“No.” I bristled. “I’m from the city of Solynn. I only came here two years ago, after the death of my parents, and I was only robbing your tomb for passage back to the city.”
“An orphan. Why would you want to leave Dowler?” He asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
