Page 6 of Hupotasso
It’s as though the weather is picking up on my emotions as we drive through the black wrought iron gates down the long, forbidding, tree-lined driveway.
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands and try to stop tapping my feet as my nerves kick in. The whole flight I’ve rehearsed in my head what I’m going to say to Falcon when I see him. It’s not going to be pretty, but by fuck he’d better listen, and listen good, because there’s no way I’m staying married to a man who threatens me on my wedding day.
‘Threatens me AT ALL is what I should be thinking. How the hell would I ever in my real world have accepted any threat from a man, wedding day or otherwise? Christ, what have The Games done to me?’
I look up as the car slows.
Our arrival at the castle is heralded with rain so heavy it comes down in horizontal sheets. My stomach is in knots as we stop and I peer up at the castle before me, blurred through the tinted windows and the downpour. The lights from each window indicate its scale and size are just as imposing as I’d remembered.
Despite the late hour and the rain, every staff member, in full black and white livery, is lined up under black umbrellas in the driveway, awaiting our arrival.
I walk along the rows of men and women as they bow and curtsey, and nod in reply to their greeting of, “Lady Dragonspur.”
It feels like something from a movie, a fairy tale, only prince charming is not among those waiting to greet me. He’s nowhere to be seen and most likely plotting my death.
Jag grips my elbow tightly as he walks me through the staff and up the wide limestone steps to the front door, an umbrella held over my head, his own bearing the brunt of the weather.
The flight had been short and I hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to change, so I’m still wearing the huge, puffy wedding dress from the vampire ceremony.
It trails behind me and down the stairs, getting heavier with each step I take as the rain soaks it. By the time I reach the front door I’m leaning forward like a pack horse, trying desperately to pull the soaked fabric trailing behind me. It feels like all the ghostly hands of The Game’s dead competitors are gripping my train and pulling me backwards.
If only they would.
6
I offer Jag a whisky as he enters my study and, sighing, flops down into a leather chair fronting the fire.
“You can’t be serious,” he shakes his head. “The West Wing? You can’t keep her there, Falcon.”
“It is rather stark,” Wolf agrees.
“It is what it is,” I shrug, “don’t let her fool you, Jag, as she so obviously did me. She’s the consummate actress and completely under Spider’s control. I won’t have her roaming the castle potentially killing me or mine while we sleep, planting a bomb, poisoning the minds of the staff…whatever he plans to do with her under my roof, I won’t let it happen.”
“I can’t see her doing any of those things,” Jag shakes his head. “Something doesn’t sit right.”
“Something didn’t sit right with me from the moment I met her,” I snort. “If only I’d listened to my gut.”
He sips his drink and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“I’m going to leave here and undertake a thorough investigation. But in the meantime we both know the only way to free her from him, if she is indeed his minion,” he looks at me dubiously, “is to kill him.”
“Agreed.”
“The Families will step in if we openly take him out,” Wolf grunts. “Think it through, Falcon, for Christ’s sake.”
“Yes, they will,” I nod, ignoring Wolf. He’s been badgering me ever since I’d told Jag my plan, and if he doesn’t give it a rest I’ll fucking stakehim.
“So…” Jag raises his eyebrows, giving me a ‘please say you’ve changed your mind’ look.
“So,” I grumble, “although my immediate thought was to march over there and decapitate him, I’ve calmed down.”
“Thank God,” Jag sighs.
“I realise,” I go on as though he hasn’t interrupted, “that I have an ace up my sleeve. I’ve had it for a while. I just need to play it.”
“You meanher, don’t you? You plan to use Sophie.”
I smile at his immediate understanding. No one knows me like Jag, and there’s no man I trust more. He’s more like a brother to me, more like family than just a lifelong friend. Hiscomprehension of my plan before I even broach it is eery. Wolf’s a loyal friend and valued comrade, no doubt about it, but Jag and I have spent more time together over the centuries. Wolf comes and goes; Jag’s a fixture.
