I still remembered that lonely feeling after learning of their death. I was lucky, because both Kristoff and his mother were warm, welcoming, and loving. But it took a while for that hole in my chest to heal, for that feeling of being all alone in the world to go away.
Kind of like I’ve been feeling since I left the States, I thought with startling realization.Until yesterday anyway.
“Where is Kian?” I asked, eager to change the subject. I hadn’t seen him all day, since the tour of the house, and I was starting to think he was purposely avoiding me.
“Working.”
“Here in the house, or does he go into an office?”
“Mmmm.”
I wouldn’t learn anything about his whereabouts from her.
“Have you worked here for a long time?” I asked instead. There were a few different ways to skin this cat, and I was nothing but a stubborn, determined woman on a mission to learn more about Kian Cortes.
“Oh, yes. My mother worked for Mr. Cortes’s grandfather, and I took over when she got sick. Then Mr. Cortes came, and he trusted me, so I stayed.”
“Trusted you?” That was a weird way to phrase it. “He liked your cooking?”
She chuckled.
“Everyone likes my cooking,” she announced matter-of-factly. “But trust is even more important to Mr. Cortes, considering his business.”
My brow furrowed. “His import-export business?”
Her movements faltered. “Yes.”
Now I was certain there was a lot more to Kian, and I intended to find out exactly how much more.
Leaving Sonya in the kitchen, I decided to explore the property. I spent an hour outside before realizing it was way too hot to enjoy the grounds.
I made my way back inside and scouted every square foot of it. I wandered barefoot across terracotta tiles, trading one hallway for another. The house was cool, despite the sun blazing outside. Whitewashed walls curved softly around me, catching the light, and as a soft breeze swept through, a tapestry fluttered against the wall, revealing the latch to a… door?
I gasped and stood there, uncertain whether I should open it. I couldn’t recall Kian mentioning any concealed passageways.
“But he did say to explore,” I whispered to myself while my mind chanted,Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed the cat.
Ignoring reason and hospitality manners, I pushed behind the woven material and pulled the copper handle. It opened with a creak that seemed to echo through the house. I glanced behind my shoulder, almost expecting someone to appear and chastise me, but there was nobody.
A wise person would have taken this as a cue, but something about it seemed soforbidden, and that only spurred me on. At this point, I fully anticipated finding a sex dungeon.
“Wouldn’t that be unexpected?” I mumbled as I stepped inside.
The chill instantly hit me, burrowing into my skin.
I noticed a spiral staircase carved directly into limestone and followed it deeper. Each step was polished stone, seemingly built hundreds of years ago. The light from above faded fast, replaced by a heavy dimness that smelled of damp rock and rust.
My fingers skimmed the wall as I descended, coming away gritty with dust.
At the bottom, the space opened into a low-ceilinged room.
Iron rings were set into the walls, some with chains still looped through them, their links dark and dull. A thick wooden table stood off-center, its surface gouged and scored, the marks crossing each other.Along one wall, shelves held neatly arranged objects—metal pieces, leather straps, things shaped to grip or bind.
A shudder rolled down my spine and my breath came too loud and too fast. The stone seemed to lean in, the coppery scent of blood hanging in the air.
“This certainly isn’t a sex dungeon,” I rasped, my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon or climbed a hundred stairs rather than descended into hell.
Then, a dark shadow in the far left corner moved and I yelped, my heart about to crack my ribs and my pulse thundering loud enough to rattle my skull.
