Because the alternative means I was right all along. I never should have brought her. Never should have trusted her to hold it together in a room full of vipers who still remember the half-dead girl they found by the creek. Never should have had faith in a girl carrying more trauma than she can bear to face. I should have kept her locked away where nothing outside of the House of Night could touch her.
But I didn’t. I was soft. Manipulated by DK. More worried about making her cry than keeping her safe.
“What about security?” I ask Tristian, eyes skimming the room behind him.
He blinks like I’m testing his patience. “Benedict handles the door and no one is getting past him that isn’t on the list. Besides that, my father has cameras all over the fucking place and guards posted all around the outside.”
Killian must sense that I’m close to making a scene because he makes a sharp gesture, causing people to scatter. Tristian leaves to find the estate’s head of security, and a few guests who seem to know it’s best not to cross my path drift to another part of the ballroom. Story returns a moment later, cheeks flushed from moving fast through the crowd.
“She’s not in the bathroom,” she says, breathless. “I checked all three down here. I didn’t see her anywhere.”
“What about the person she was talking to?” I ask. My voice stays level. Barely. “Any sign of him?
She shakes her head. “No.”
Tristian returns and speaks low. “Come with me.”
He leads me toward the security office tucked behind a discreet panel near the grand staircase. Killian follows close behind. Even Rathbone has materialized from somewhere–silent and watchful.
Tristian leans over the desk, speaks low to the head of security. “Anything unusual tonight? Uninvited guests? Gate crashers?”
“You know how important this party is to your parents,” he shakes his head. “The guest list is tight. No walk-ins.”
I lean in, speaking to him myself. “What about my wife? She’s wearing a red velvet gown. Peacock tiara. Dark hair–”
“Young enough to be his daughter,” someone mutters. I turn and Rathbone smirks. Another night and I’d lure him into my crypt and make him pay for the disrespect.
I clear my throat. “Any sign of her leaving on her own?”
The guard simply shakes his head and says, “No one’s exited since the last sweep fifteen minutes ago.” He flips through some still footage and a grainy black and white image of Arianette shows up. “Cameras show her in the ballroom. Then nothing.”
An uneasy feeling coils in my gut, cold and certain. She wouldn’t walk off without me. She wouldn’t leave. She knows better.
It hits me then, hard like a fist, that this may be more than her having another breakdown.
“What are you thinking?” Story asks quietly, the knowledge of what it means to be a woman in Forsyth right now etched on her face.
My brain runs over everything we’ve learned over the past few days. The fact that someone is using the tunnels with unfettered access. The entry under Strong Manor. Mayfield. It’s too much but not enough. Pieces that almost fit but refuse to lock together.
I turn to Story again. “Tell meanythingyou remember about the person she was talking to. Spare no details.” My eyes meet hers. “I have to find her.”
“Um…” She’s nervous, eyes darting between her Lords. “Dark eyes. His hair was also dark, and kind of…” she nods, more sure. “I think it may have been back in a ponytail.”
The words land like ice water.
Turning to Tristian, I demand, “Show me where they are.”
“Where what is?” he asks.
“Show me the access to the tunnels.” My voice drops to something dangerous. “I know you know where they are.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
But the room is too bright, the music too loud, and Arianette is gone. Somewhere beneath our feet, in the tunnels and a darkness, someone has swallowed up my world.
Mercer must realize I’m one second away from doing something we’ll all regret because he gives me the smallest nod and says, “Yeah, I think I know what you’re looking for.”
42
