Page 17 of Lost Girl

Somewhere along the way, a champagne flute finds its way into my hand. I’m sipping the bubbly, taking in the ornate decor of whites, golds, and lavish flower arrangements while Tigerlily converses with a few of the townspeople, when I hear it...

Fuzzy.

Distant.

But the sound meets my ears no less, my head snapping in the direction of Hook’s castle.

Pulling my sister abruptly from the conversation, I ask her, “Do you hear that?”

Tigerlily arches a brow and quickly apologizes on my behalf. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t hear it?”

“Hear what, Tavi?”

Of course she can’t hear it. My sister isn’t like me. What gets me is that no one else—even those who probably can pick up on it—seem to hear it, either.

That or they’re choosing to ignore it. I can’t, though. The more I focus, the clearer it becomes...

Chains.

Chains clanking.

Chains clanking desperately.

And a woman’s nearly hoarse voice screeching, “SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!”

Thatwas over twenty minutes ago. Now, I’m being dragged, yet again, towards the owner of this place. And the screams haven’t let up, either. They come every couple minutes or so, and each time, it seems as though I’m the only one who can hear them.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon.” The deep baritone of his voice raises my hackles more than they already are.

I turn in time to see him engulfing my sister in a hug, an action that curls my lip in a snarl.

Don’t fucking touch her, leech.

“I told you I’d be back,” she chuckles. “I’ll admit, I miss the food.”

Hook laughs quietly at her reply as they pull away from one another. “You’re welcome to come indulge whenever.”

And then he looks at me, one corner of his mouth tilting in this cocky ass smirk.

Nasty bloodsucking motherfucker.

“Tavi.” He extends a hand in offering, chin lifting assertively.

My gaze cuts down to it, but I don’t take that shit, snapping my focus back on his face, a grim line hardening my lips.

His brow quips, almost as if he’s slightly impressed, palm retracting smoothly into his pocket. “Oookay.Anyway”—he turns back to my sister—“How have you been?”

“Honestly? Bored out of my mind. You have millions of books in comparison to my little bookshelf. Not to mention, the Woodlands are pretty—”

“HELP!PLEASE!SOMEBODY, HELP!”

Another round of those terrorized screams sucks my attention away from their conversation. I don’t move an inch, appearing as though I’m listening to every word they’re exchanging, when really I’m honing in on that sound.

Whoever it is, she reallyisterrorized, leading me to wonder whathe’sdone to her.

Who is she?Whereis she to be exact?

---