“Where are you going?” he calls after me.
“I need time to think.” I’ve almost reached the door when a shadow wraps around the handle and he forms beside me.
“Be careful, Eloise. Please.”
I offer him a curt nod.
His face is cast in shadows as he backs away and allows me to push past him.
I shove through the heavy door and run down the stone hallway, my feet falling in a silent way that would be impossible if I were human. My mind races, trying to make sense of it all. Everything we’ve done up to this point has been to end an injustice. I used the candle to call Damien because Tony was trying to steal my home. I broke the candle’s hold over him because the Gowdies were using him as a slave. We battled the vampire queen together to free Night Haven from her ruthless tyranny. We slaughtered the Denardis so that they couldn’t hurt anyone else.
We are the good guys.
So then, how is it we are living in this castle with the bad guys?
Even as I think it, I remember that Brahm is Damien’s only remaining family. My mate has lost everything he once loved—his parents and sister, but also the kingdom he fought for. I was wrong to think his actions tonight were a sign of weakness. It shows incredible control and strength of character for him to be level-headed enough to know we need a plan.
I take a deep breath of the fresh night air, thankful that this castle has no glass or screens in the windows. In time, I feel like myself again, my former anger ebbing to understanding. Before I think to turn back to our room, though, I see an open door at the end of the hall, carved with a gorgeous portrait of a stag on one side and a tree with large, round fruit on the other. Curious at the magnificence of the carving, I run my fingers over it and then poke my head inside.
It’s a library! One that would put the Beast’s from the famous story to shame. Books are shelved in circular rows that spiral into the opulent, gilded center of the room and rise three stories above me. A curved staircase follows their ascent. I’m drawn to the center of the marble floor, where a compass is inlaid in white marble and edged in gold. I study the stunning craftsmanship, then lift my chin to check out the upper levels. The ceiling is as decadent as the floor, decorated to a gold-emblazoned point.
I try to think where I am in the castle, where I might see this room from the outside. I must be inside one of the towers, under a spire. Damn, it’s a large space for a library and so extravagant. What types of books are even stored in a place like this? I approach the nearest shelf, but I’m unable to read the aged spines. When I brush a finger over the leather, I realize it’s not wear but a layer of dust that obscures the titles.
This library hasn’t been used in a very long time.
Beside me, a gold candelabra holds an assortment of blood-red candles. I’m already exhausted, but I can’t stop myself from trying. I close my eyes and search out the tingle that I associate with fire magic, but I can’t seem to latch on to it. It feels too far away.
I open my eyes and try to force it. Staring at the candle wick only inches from my face, I beg, “Light!” Warm, wet blood oozes from my nose. I swipe it away, more frustrated than ever.
“Phantom,” I call. I’ve tried a million times to call my ancestors to me since arriving, but I try again. “Phantom, come!”
A thud to my left has me spinning on the balls of my feet. With my vampire speed, I’m there in a heartbeat. But disappointment seizes me again to find, not the fox that embodies the souls of my ancestors, but a book, on the floor between two shelves. I lift the tome and blow dust off the cover. Introduction to the Gods of Tenebris.
How did this get here?
“Phantom?” I whisper into the shadows. There’s no answer, and when I draw deeply through my nostrils, all I smell is my own blood and the faintest hint of apples.
Someone dropped this book. It couldn’t have just fallen off the shelf. It was squared in the middle of the walkway. I move to the center of the room and search the other floors with my vampire vision, but I’m alone. I’m sure of it. With a sigh, I carry the book to one of the plush red chairs at the end of a row. When I open it, my suspicions are confirmed. Whoever left this for me bookmarked a section.
Thanesia, Goddess of Death. I look around again, now extremely curious about who left me this book. Is it a threat? Did Nevina leave this for me as a warning to keep my mouth shut or I’d be meeting this goddess face-to-face? Who else would be in this library?
I lower my eyes to the page again and begin to read.
Thanesia is a jealous and proud goddess who guards the gate between Tenebris and the Darklands. She is traditionally depicted in a warrior’s garb with her bow and quiver and her three nighthounds at her side. Although her title is Goddess of Death, her domain is over darkness and night itself, fertility, and harvest. She is the patron goddess of Tenebris who guards the end of the shadowpath, the route souls take to the Darklands. Upon the death of a loved one, it is customary to give an offering of blood to Thanesia in exchange for her opening the door to the Darklands for the person who has died. Without this offering, it is said the door remains closed, and the souls of the departed are left on the shadowpath where they continue to haunt this world.
There’s a sketch of Thanesia on the opposite page, curls of her dark hair breaking free from her braid. Daggers are sheathed in the crisscrossing leather on her chest. Talons at the ends of her fingers dig into the arms of her blood-red throne. Her bow is hooked on the edge of her chair, and a quiver of arrows spills at her feet. Three fierce hounds lie in wait around the sides of her throne. Under a skirt made from strips of leather, her thigh muscles strain, the heel of one of her gladiator sandals lifted as if she’s ready to attack at any moment.
Thanesia is a force to be reckoned with.
I curl my legs under me and turn the page.
17
The Thrill of the Hunt
DAMIEN
I let out a sigh of relief when I find Eloise asleep in my father’s library. She’s curled in one of the chairs with a book about our gods clutched to her chest. What the hell is she doing in here? I’m surprised this place still exists, considering Brahm never had a love of the written word and I sincerely doubt his bride does either. But then, the layer of dust would indicate it’s been a long time since anyone was in here. It’s all exactly as I remember it.
