Page 14 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

She finally found a random staircase and was heading downward when she heard a hollow moaning sound.

She froze. That didn’t sound like the wind. It sounded like…

No. No ghosts. This was not a gothic subdimension. Or a horror movie.

The sound came again, and then came a murmuring, whispering sound, like the ghosts were having a conversation.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck.

Instead of going down, Trish crept up the stairs, toward the source of the sound.

Because that’s what horror movie victims always did. Went toward the bad shit instead of away from it. She might as well have gone ahead and put on the slutwear.

She paused on the upper landing. The whispering was a bit louder here, but still faint. It sounded like it was coming from a curtained alcove about twenty feet down the hall.

Trish crept softly toward the alcove. Maybe it was just two servants talking, but her hackles were still standing up. Just as she reached the alcove, everything went silent.

She hesitated. She couldn’t scent anyone inside. Did she really want to pull the curtains back and see a bloody decapitated ghost? Talking?

Fuck it.

She swept the velvet curtains back in a sharp, sudden movement.

There was no one inside the alcove—just a window with a cushioned window seat.

Trish stood still, listening, but the noise had definitely stopped. She felt a presence, though—as if something was in the alcove, watching her.

So. Creepy.

Slowly, Trish backed out of the alcove and let the curtain drop. She turned and headed back down the hall, walking faster and faster. She went down the staircase at a run and stopped at the bottom, panting.

The sense of a presence was gone.

By the time she found a maid and got directions to the dining room, she was almost ready to laugh at herself. All this spooky atmosphere was getting to her. There sure as shit hadn’t been ghosts having a conference in the alcove.

Probably.

Finally Trish found the dining room. It was empty of people, the long polished table formally set for seven, with crystal, china and two elaborate silver candelabra in the center, still unlit.

The drawing room should be across the hall.

It, too, was empty, though there was a log fire burning in the fireplace, and the lamp globes were lit. It was furnished in the same ornate style as her bedroom: dark wood furniture, velvet and brocade, and way too many knickknacks and figurines made of gold and porcelain and a purplish metallic substance she didn’t recognize. Everything looked heavy, expensive, and rarely used.

Unless Emon was one of those psychos who replaced everything as soon as it got a little tear or stain or worn spot. She’d read a truly terrifying book about a guy like that.

There was a tray with decanters set up on the sideboard, but Trish didn’t feel comfortable just pouring herself a drink, especially since she didn’t know what was in any of the decanters.

She’d assumed the places at the table were for some of the other researchers: Mina and Noah, probably, and Tristan—but if so, where were they?

She could almost believe they’d disappeared, and she was alone in the castle with two half-insane dragons.

Or maybe all the way insane.

Too antsy to sit, she wandered over to the fireplace and looked at the painting above it. Not Emon, as she half-expected.

Instead, it was a portrait of a handsome blond man in a black robe, with two dogs at his feet.

It was a decent enough painting, if you liked that sort of thing. It beat the blood-and-death tapestries in her bedroom.