Page 65

I grip my hair at the roots and pull, hoping the pain will distract me from my racing thoughts, but frustratingly, my pussy is still screaming and begging for Kain’s fingers to ravish it again.

I’m so fucked up.

When I step back out into my room—the steam billowing out behind me—night has fallen and the moon is casting shadows around my room through the small openings in the curtains.

I spent so long in the shower I’ve turned into a half-prune. Not a good look.

There’s no noises outside my room—no loud music, only crickets chirp through my open window as I just stand here and contemplate what the fuck my life has turned into.

I slip on a pair of hot pink, silky pyjamas with a black lace hem and crawl into bed, sliding the old, dusty tome from under the spare pillow and opening it up to the bookmarked page. The moonlight is the only glow I have while reading, too afraid to turn anything on in case it brings someone to my door. So far, it’s been nothing but a language I don’t recognise and illustrations of what looks to be some kind of spell jars, which doesn’t aid in my search at all. I highly doubt Heath and Mother are sitting around in a potion room, mixing up concoctions like a pair of children.

Deciding the book isn’t giving me what I need, but not wanting to rule it out completely yet, I begin flicking through several pages at once, being careful not to rip the fragile paper. My eyes flash wide when I stop at an illustration of the Westbrook castle. It’s surprising but not, given the Westbrooks have been around for decades. There’s nothing unusual about the drawing—it looks more like something that someone painted to capture it back when cameras didn’t exist.

Curiosity piqued, I flip to the next page—nothing exciting, just some boring bible verses, in English.

Next page—a map.

Sitting up straighter, I place the book between my open legs, my finger tracing what seems to be a path starting at the grand foyer. The map and the line continue to the next page, and the next, and the next.

What is this?

I look at the clock and see it’s two in the morning. I rub a hand down my face, giving my eyes an extra scratch. How long have I been sitting here for?

I make a decision with the map I found. I scramble from the bed and slip on a silk cover up before sneaking out of my room as quietly as humanly possible because I don’t want to alert anyone, especially not Kain.

Opening the book to the dog-eared page, I search for where the path begins when I reach the dark foyer, and then I follow it. Up and down staircases, through corridors that look like they’re used daily, to ones that look like they haven’t seen a lick of clouds in millennia. The air feels like it turns below freezing, sending a chill through me when I take a left to be met with a pitch-black abyss. Not even sconces are lit and I’m sure if I could see, small plumes of frost would be coming out of my mouth.

My breath trembles as I glance at the map and start down the shadowed corridor like it tells me to. My hand guides the way, feeling for any doors. That is until a dim blue hue lights up part of the small corridor. I hurry towards it and I come to a bedroom. One that looks like it was recently used as the sheets look unkempt and creased, but not out of place. The air in this room doesn’t feel as stale as the rest of the corridor does.

Keeping my steps soft, I enter. This isn’t where the map says to go, but there’s a little bit of light so I can see where I need to head next.

Two sets of footsteps echo from the corridor.

Fuck. This part is literally covered in cobwebs, who would be coming down here? I’m still trying to figure out why this would be here, so why are they?

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. I run to the door and carefully shut it, throwing the book on the bed and pressing my body and ear against the wood. A yellow glow floods over my toes—the sconces have been lit in the hallway I’ve just come from.

“It’s nice of you and your friends to make a mockery of sacred ground.” That’s Heath’s voice.

“Isn’t it,” Kain deadpans.

My breath catches, what is he doing here?

Their voices are a hollow, muffled echo outside this door.

“This is all going to bite you in the ass in the future, Kain. You don’t know what you’re setting yourself up for.”

“I’m not here for a family meeting, old man.”

“Stop walking away from me Kain Westbrook, or you will regret it,” Heath threatens.

For some reason, I hate Heath talking to Kain more than I hate him simply looking at me.

The light from outside turns dark as a pair of footsteps stop in line with mine—directly on the other side of the door I’m pressed against.

“Please, if you’re gonna hit me, just do it.” There’s no emotion behind Kain’s voice. Absolutely nothing. It sounds like a casual demand. He seems completely unfazed at the thought of his father hitting him. Not like before where he’d withdraw into himself for days. When I’d kiss every bruise and he’d shiver.

I tense, my nails curling around the wood as the air shifts again and I await the next sound that comes. Kain being hit was a thought that used to send my stomach clenching, and I can feel that familiar feeling crawling its way up right now.