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“How the hell did you know that?” I ask.
“BCG. Two-three-seven,” Hunter says grimly.
Mayhem.
We push the door open, and the contrast is jarring.
Instead of another filthy basement, we step into a surprisingly modern, apartment-sized living quarters. Clean white walls, sleek dark furniture, recessed lighting, and a small but functional kitchen. Everything is neat, organized, and well-maintained. A large flat-screen TV is mounted on one wall. There’s even a small gym area in the corner with weights and a treadmill.
All those other places… those were just a ruse. This? This is where those bastards were living.
Arianette walks through the space, trailing her fingers over lamps, vases, and the back of the couch like she’s trying to absorb something from the objects themselves. Her movements have that slightly detached, haunted quality again.
We follow her into the bedroom.
The room is dominated by an ornate iron bed with twisted black metal posts. The black bedspread drapes dramatically over the edges.
“You survived one hunt,” she says cryptically, “you can do it again.”
“What are you doing, Doll Baby?” I ask, moving closer and running my hand soothingly down her arm. Her brown eyes have a glimmer.
“Looking,” she says, voice distant.
“Looking for what?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she drops to her hands and knees and crawls forward, peering under the bed.
“There you are,” she whispers, her voice suddenly giddy and strange. “Hiding like a good Daughter of Darkness, aren’t you?”
Hunter and I exchange a quick, confused look.
Ari reaches under the bed and drags something–someone–out by the ankle.
Lying on the floor is the last person I expected to see.
Regina.
13
Arianette
I drop to my knees and reach under the ornate iron bed. My fingers close around a slim ankle, and I yank hard.
A startled cry echoes from beneath the frame as I drag the person out by their leg. Her face comes into view, and my stomach drops when my suspicions are confirmed.
Regina.
The former Baroness lies sprawled on the floor–tall, beautiful, and completely out of place. She’s dressed in gray sweats and an oversized hoodie, her usually sleek hair pulled back into a messy bun with loose strands sticking to her forehead. This is not the regal, poised woman who helped me through the Hunt and stood beside me at my wedding. She looks scared.
No, she is scared.
“Oh, thank God,” Regina gasps, eyes wide, before she lunges toward me, pulling me into a tight hug. “Arianette,” she breathes heavily. “I didn’t know if anyone was ever going to find me.”
I sense my Barons behind me. They’re quiet, allowing me to take the lead. “Were you lost?” I ask, disentangling myself from her.
“Not lost but…” Her eyes flick behind me, before her words rush out, “Billy and Liam left me down here days ago with a few supplies and told me not to leave. They were acting so weird. I figured things were just off because of the missing girls and the recovered bodies.” She takes another gulp of air, eyes darting between us. “They should have been back by now.”
If she’s truly been down here for days, she may not know that her Barons are dead, but the way she’s looking between us, hands wringing, it feels off.