The last thing I saw was my blood, red and precious, drawing mystical symbols in the fresh snow.
“Emrys,” I whispered, and darkness took me.
Daphne
The Lion’s Den
Aloud knock on the door woke me up. Instinctively, I tried to crawl out of bed, but a sharp pain in my neck made me gasp.
Wait a minute—
It all started coming back. My escape attempt, the demons…
And Emrys.
Startled, I looked around. I was lying in a bed with a burgundy velvet canopy above me. A soft comforter covered me. Gentle morning light trickled through the stained windows. The sheets smelled of dust and dried lavender.
Sweet Mary and Joseph! There was a linen bandage around my neck. So it wasn’t a nightmare!
The door knocks grew more insistent.
“Miss Draymoore,” an unfamiliar male voice called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready. And this tray is damned heavy!”
I pulled the comforter aside and crawled out of bed. My head spun as I walked to the door, the oak parquet creaking beneath my bare feet. The dress Vexley had given me was crusted with blood. Cautiously, I cracked the door open.
A tall man with an eye patch was balancing a silver tray on his knee, his hand still raised to knock. His warm brown eye crinkled when he saw me.
“Good, you’re already up. The tea’s getting cold. May I come in?”
I barely moved aside as he swept past me, his long black braid brushing my shoulder. The scent of warm food made my stomach growl. Jesus, I hadn’t eaten properly in ages.
He was wearing a livery made of black silk. Mysterious symbols were tattooed along his neck and onto the shaved sides of his skull. They barely concealed a terrible scar around his throat.
He caught my gaze lingering on the scar.
“It was worse than it looks.” He winked and set the tray on the bed. Then he crossed to the fireplace and tossed a log in.
“So this is the woman who brought a legion of Hollowborn to our doorstep!” he said, poking the fire.
My hands instinctively covered my throat.
“Hollowborn?” I asked.
He walked over to me, his single eye narrowing with an unnatural, foxlike sharpness.
“My, my, Lord Emrys was right. Vexley and the Renegade really sent you here clueless. Well,” he said, “I’m sure Emrys will explain.”
He rose, straightening his immaculate livery.
“How’s your wound?” His voice dropped to something close to concern. “A scratch like this can give you a nasty infection. Emrys treated it, but keep an eye out for any fever.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question, but the strange man hurried to the door.
“When you feel like it, go speak to Emrys. He spends his mornings in the greenhouse, tending to the flowers. He might use the company.”
A brief shadow veiled his stern features.
Did I hear wrong—our monster had picked up a gardening hobby?
