Wellness weekend.
Panther.
Him.
Sucking in a breath, I cried out at the bruises ringing my throat. I swallowed on reflex, whimpering at the throbbing agony left over from his fingers.
So he hadn’t finished the job.
And his oversized cat hadn’t eaten me for dinner.
Why?
Why had he stopped when he’d proven he was more than happy to take the lives of all of us for trespassing into his hell?
Forcing myself upright, I braced myself to see the corpses of the women who’d died.
But...nothing.
The cavernous, dark ballroom held no one but me.
Where had he put their bodies?
Why hadn’t he taken mine?
I collapsed back onto the floor, my strength weak and jittery.
I didn’t know how much time passed before I attempted to move again but at least the second time, I wasn’t as hopeless. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my throat, I managed to get onto my knees and from there, it was an exhausting fight to get to my feet.
My shivering didn’t help, making everything that much harder.
I didn’t know why I fought so hard to get moving again or why I even left the ballroom. I’d already attempted escape and found out the impossibility of such a thing. I didn’t know what had happened to my rucksack and I was terribly, horribly alone.
But instinct drove me onward, hope kept me trying.
Stumbling through the palace, leaning against the decorative walls for support and clinging to heartless statues and ancient furniture, I tried to retrace my steps from earlier.
I wanted out of this place.
Even if it killed me.
By the time I stumbled through the foyer and out the double oak-and-dragon doors, I had nothing left and collapsed to my knees right there in the crescent moonlight.
My thick black hair obscured my vision, falling in sheets around my face.
Breathing hard, I tipped up my chin, brushed back my hair, and...
Oh, wow.
The gardens had been set ablaze.
Hundreds of lanterns swung from branches and covered walkways, each flickering like they contained a small sun. Bronze braziers lined the pathways, sending orange flamesdancing over the gravel. Pagodas and patios crackled with fire, destructive heat spewing from the tops of black torches.
For the first time since getting off the bus this morning, I finally understood why this place was called Cinderkeep. Not an inch of it was untouched by fire. From the bridges to the courtyards, to the trees and flowers, every inch turned into an ember. Wisteria and oaks were braided with strings of tiny flames. Even the lawn held lamps that looked as if comets had fallen to earth and continued smouldering.
No wonder the main palace had no lights on.
Who would want glaring electricity when magic such as this existed?
