Page 53 of Taken By The Vampire King

“My robe,” I croaked out. “It’s at my house. I always wear it when I’m sick.”

A half-smile crossed Jason’s face. “Has Nic not provided you with a robe? Sometimes, I think he knows nothing about women.”

I glanced toward the bathroom and thought guiltily of the hotel-quality robe hanging on the hook behind the door. “My robe was my mother’s.” That much was true. It was old and threadbare but wearing it still brought comfort. I was only telling half a lie. “Can you get it?”

Conflict marred his features. “I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

I forced a cough and rolled myself deeper before turning what I knew was my most practiced pitiful gaze on him. It always worked on Harry, anyway. “Please?”

Jason watched me for a while longer, his eyes narrowed, and I saw the exact moment he relented. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “Just don’t get out of bed.”

I made another noncommittal noise, stopping short of actually lying, and closed my eyes like I might sleep. “Thank you, Jason,” I whispered just before the bedroom door clicked shut. Then a tear escaped a corner of my eyes because I’d probably just fucked up that fledgling friendship.

I waited a few minutes, then stood at the window, peering from behind the drape as I held it aside just the smallest fraction. Jason set off down the driveway, and I released a sigh of relief. He shouldn’t be back for at least an hour. More if he got caught in traffic.

I wriggled into the hoodie I’d brought with me and a pair of my old jeans, and I quietly opened the bedroom door and crept down the hallway, the thick carpet cushioning my footfalls. I reached my double doors and had a clear view of the west wing double doors as they stood open. Score! I hadn’t planned much beyond brute strength or an attempt at lockpicking, but open doors was like fate herself had rolled out the welcome mat.

I crept out of my doors as a flash of movement from Nicolas’s wing caught my eyes, and I ducked back against the wall, hardly daring breathe as Mrs. Ames backed out of the corridor I’d been about to enter. She was singing loudly and off-key, the noise competing with the low hum of the vacuum cleaner.

She pulled the door closed and reached in her pocket like she was looking for keys but came up empty. Shaking her head, she powered off the vacuum and walked away, and I seized my chance, slipping into the west wing and checking I’d be able to get out even if she locked the door. I clicked it closed behind me, anyway, hoping she’d think someone else had already secured it in her absence.

I hadn’t been prepared for the dark. No light filtered from the various rooms because all of the doors along the hallway were closed, and any windows that might have allowed the daylight in were covered. It was like I’d stepped into a grave, and a shiver washed over my skin.

I opened the first door I came to and switched on the light, then stifled a gasp. A beautiful room had been destroyed. It looked like a cross between a werewolf and a Tasmanian devil had whirled through, all claws and sharp teeth, shredding and tearing apart. Claw marks raked down the posts of a bed that must have been spectacular, but now the canopy was shredded, and feathers from the half-empty pillows covered the room like a layer of snow. There was beauty in the ruin now it was peaceful, but the level of violence that had taken place here gripped my chest in an icy fist, and I struggled to draw my next full breath.

Back out in the corridor, I allowed the quiet and darkness to blanket me with calm, wrapping myself in those shadows as I crept to the next closed door. Once open, it revealed a room similar to the one where Sebastian had been on the verge of attacking me at the party. I swallowed against a rush of bile and glanced between the glass display cases. I had no interest in whatever artifacts Nicolas was hoarding.

I’d originally wondered if their crime empire was built on drugs, but stolen art and antiques was looking far more likely, however that worked. Still, crime was crime, and I had to be able to find something to blackmail Nicolas into letting me out of our contract. I was about to become the biggest pain in his ass he’d ever known.

I threw one last glance around the room, already closing the door, but then I stopped. Paintings. So many paintings lined the walls, and a familiar gaze blazed from all of them. Against my will, my feet carried me into the room, and I walked along the line of paintings, taking in the thick brushstrokes of bold oils and the gloomy color palette of years gone by. So many historical periods…

And Nicolas in all of them.

I choked back a laugh, almost unable to imagine Nicolas Dupont being this much into cosplay that he’d commission portraits of himself in historical dress. Such a strange thing to collect. But as follies went, it was possibly forgivable. Even if I did give them a little more side-eye.

As I moved forward in time—the paintings becoming more realistic, losing that strange round-eyed quality of historical portraits—to modern day now, with Nicolas in his usual black-on-black suit—he became increasingly handsome. Even immortalized in paint, there was something hypnotic about him, and every single painter had captured whatever quality it was about Nicolas that made him so hard to resist.

Because I did want to resist him.

But escape seemed a more likely bet.

I shuddered at the word bet in relation to Nicolas Dupont. The house always wins. Those were his words, I knew that much. I needed to win this time. I needed to get away unscathed and with my future intact.

I took one last, long look at the line of paintings, committing this Nicolas, the one with the half-smile that said he already knew most of my secrets, to memory. Then I left the room and closed the door, relief swallowing me that the corridor was still quiet, still calm. I needed to find something fast, though. I had to be back in bed before Jason returned with Mom’s robe.

I walked quickly to the next door. Stealth was almost guaranteed on these floors, and I couldn’t afford to waste time tiptoeing or being distracted by ruined rooms or odd portraits. I rested my hand on the next door I came to, about to push it open when I stopped and pressed my ear to the door.

Something inside the room was humming steadily. Maybe I’d seen too many true crime documentaries, but the first thought in my head was freezers. Or just a giant walk-in like at an slaughterhouse, with hooks in the ceiling and dead bodies just hanging around the place…chilling.

I snorted nervous amusement and listened again. The hum was constant. Definitely a fan or something similar, and unlikely to be a computer. But had I really made the leap from art thief to serial killer between the last room and this one?

I leaned my forehead against the door, almost tempted to return to my room. I couldn’t do anything from there, though. Get right back into bed? Pack and leave? Neither of those seemed like viable alternatives. I couldn’t leave before getting the contract cancelled, and I couldn’t stay in the home of a potential mass murderer.

My mind whirled with too many questions I couldn’t answer from the hallway, so I took a deep breath then pushed the door open.

Wall-to-wall refrigerators. What the fuck? I stood in the doorway like I’d walked into a freezer after all—completely frozen.

I swallowed, but it was painful and noisy as I forced it around the lump in my throat. The refrigerators were stainless steel and industrial looking, but definitely more busy restaurant than local morgue. There was a lab table in the middle of the room and a… I looked closer. Weird—a baby bottle warmer sat on the table, although I was pretty sure these fridges didn’t contain formula.

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