Page 6 of Gilded Locks
The second room held a bed that was even larger, almost throne-like in its proportions. But when she lay down, she sank so deep into the mattress she felt like she might disappear entirely. Too soft, like sleeping in quicksand.
The third room was different. Smaller than the others, though still larger than any bedroom she’d called home. The bed was proportioned for someone tall but not gigantic, and when she pulled back covers that felt like liquid silk and slipped between sheets that caressed her skin, everything felt just right.
The mattress supported her without rigidity, cradling her body perfectly. The pillows were soft but not suffocating, and the covers provided warmth without weight. Even the scent of the room was perfect—clean linen with hints of the same cedar and amber she’d noticed in the fur coat.
She should be ashamed of this massive trespass. Breaking into someone’s home, consuming their food, wearing their clothes, and sleeping in their bed. But guilt was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Tomorrow, she’d figure out where she was and decide where to go next. Tonight, she needed to sleep.
Despite her unshakable theory that the homeowner was someone powerful and threatening, as sleep pulled her under, her last coherent thought was that she felt safer than she had in months. Hidden away in this strange palace, wrapped in luxury and warmth, she could almost pretend that the stone walls could protect her from the monsters she’d escaped. But then again, she had no idea of the monsters within.
Chapter 3
Eyes in the Dark
Stone Volkov never slept through storms, a survival instinct carved into his bones by years of reading danger in shifting winds and atmospheric pressure drops that whispered of violence to come.
He stood sentinel in the surveillance room’s ethereal blue-white glow, fingers wrapped around a warmed tumbler of clear Stolichnaya that had surrendered its chill an hour ago, but he sipped it anyway.
Turning back to the wall of monitors that transformed the space into a technological altar, his eyes narrowed. Each screen offered a glimpse into every corner of their fortress. Storms played games on the senses, waking ancient trees as the wind breathed life into ice-covered limbs. Illusions that could easily frighten little ones, but he’d grown up around far worse.
Outside, the storm raged with the fury of primordial gods denied their sacrifice. Inside, empty corridors stretched like arteries through the lodge’s heart. Vacant rooms waited in patient silence. The great hall displayed its cold fireplace like an unlit funeral pyre, awaiting their next?—
“What do we have here?” The motion sensor chimed softly, and his sharp, arctic glare cut to the upper screens with deadly promise.
Stone’s brow furrowed, cold eyes flicking from one harbor camera to the next, his predatory instincts honed by years of eliminating threats before they could breach his sanctuary.
“What in fresh hell was this?” He zoomed in the lens, but the storm made it difficult to see small details.
The dock’s weathered planks hosted an unexpected guest, small and shivering. A child? From where—here—at this time of night? Then he spotted the wreckage of what looked like a dilapidated boat that hadn’t existed thirty minutes ago, bobbing against the waves like an abandoned toy in the distance.
“A castaway?” Whoever it was, they looked to be hauling themselves onto death’s door. He glanced at the gauges. The temperature was below zero.
He was gathering his emergency rescue gear as the trespasser flailed onto the dock, flopping to her back and then falling completely still. He paused at the slight curves and long hair. A woman?
Interesting.
She looked half dead and would likely be fully there by the time he reached her.
No one approached this island uninvited. No one possessed the technology or connections necessary to sneak past their security. And no one could cross the choppy seas on a night like this without proper nautical gear and equipment. Or so he thought.
His fingers danced across the console, switching to thermal imaging trained on the trespasser. She was a determined little thing.
A single heat signature climbed the hillside, stumbling through wind and sleet with the desperation of prey fleeing hunters. The figure moved too unsteadily, too frantically for the professional killers who occasionally tested their defenses.
How was she managing it? Her clothing was stiff and frozen, her balance off, and her feet were wrapped in cloth. Such determination had to spur from desperation. She was either running from something or aggressing toward something.
Stone reached for his phone to wake Hunter and Ash, but paused when the door camera captured the intruder’s face, and the thermal readings hadn’t prepared him for the reality of such desperate beauty.
She was vulnerability incarnate. Golden hair whipped around features that belonged in a museum. Those classical lines and ethereal beauty made his chest constrict with something he refused to acknowledge. Amber eyes looked up at the hidden camera, wide with desperation and flickering like precious stones held too close to a flame.
A woman. Young. Beautiful in a way that made dangerous men stupid and smart men reckless.
Stone set his vodka down with deliberate precision and leaned closer to the monitor, pale eyes tracking every nuance of her movements. She reached for the door handle, hands shaking so violently the tremor transmitted through the camera grain.
Taking pity on her the way one does a sacrificial lamb, he punched in the code. The other monitors showed the usual views—empty docks, silent forests, and in the distance, the glittering lights of the other isles. Even through the storm, he could make out the surroundings and saw no other incoming threats.
When the massive door opened, she stumbled across the threshold and practically collapsed on the polished floor. The foyer camera claimed her immediately. She stood, dripping, on marble that had witnessed centuries of Volkov power, her torn, stockinged feet wrapped in wet rags contrasting with her wet cashmere coat, marking her as either privileged or a thief.
“What the hell are you doing here, little one?” He zoomed in, noting the tremor of her eyes as her teeth noticeably chattered.
