Page 13 of Wolf Fated
I took a gulping breath and stood, walking back into the kitchen. I opened up all the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, hunting for either a key to unlock the doors or windows.
In the utility room, I found a hammer. I went to a big bay window complete with a window seat and banged the glass as hard as I could. The hammer ricocheted back with the same amount of force or more than I'd used, and I nearly dropped the thing on my foot.
Okay, so getting out through the doors or windows was out.
I stood still, my heart banging in my chest, reminding myself I had agreed to this. Thirty days. But in case they had other plans of what they were going to do to me, I’d be ready and not roll over easily.
* * *
An hour later and after finding nothing, I sat on the floor with my knife facing the front door. I willed it to open. Willed them to come sauntering in with their smirks and smoldering looks. I was their prisoner. There was no way whatever mind games they were playing were going to get me to submit to them. They would never tempt me. I imagined they thought this would calm me down or I'd be so grateful when they showed up that I'd fall at their feet.
I would show them I could handle myself. That their psychological games weren't going to work on me. Even though I didn’t feel like eating, I went into the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I was going to have a glass of water, except the glowing liquor cabinet has me curious as to what these guys’ stash was. There were several expensive-looking whiskies, rum, and things I couldn’t pronounce. I decided on a dark bottle of Cognac that looked like it had a gold lid.Bet this one costs a fortune like everything else.
Quickly, I poured myself a glass of Cognac and drank it down before pouring another. I needed something to calm my nerves. The brandy was super-rich, and a tingle of a buzz hit me all over. Finishing off the bottle so I could mercilessly get drunk and pass out until dawn sounded very appealing.
A wolf howled right outside the back door. I jumped, nearly spilling the liquor, my heart pounding into my throat. I clasped the knife tighter, swallowing. The wolf howled again, but this time it came from the front of the house. I spun. Was the wolf stalking around the place? Or was a pack of wolves here? We were in the middle of nowhere after all.
The idea of wolves hunting me had me backing away from the windows. Which was ridiculous because if I couldn't break them to get out, then that meant nothing could get in. Chills raced down my spine at that revelation. Was this why the mansion was locked up tight because of wild wolves who would try to get inside?
6
For three days and three nights, I stayed alone in this mansion with nightly wolf howls and a prickling sensation like I was being watched tickled down my neck every time. Or should I say imprisoned since I couldn’t go anywhere, and the men never showed back up. After the first rough night, I spent days memorizing the place.
There was an indoor, heated pool which I abused. Several locked rooms that no matter how many times I tried to pick the lock, I never could breech. Yet, none of the guy’s bedrooms were locked. My mind played all kinds of tricks as to what was on the other side of the door from BDSM rooms to torture chambers to macabre sculptures of bones of countless women they’d locked up here over the years.
There was also a workout room complete with a sparing area and looked like a cross between a gym, a dojo, and a boxing place. Within the gym was also an inside sauna. The mansion had eight bathrooms and nine bedrooms unless some of the locked doors were bedrooms.
Without even asking, I could tell which room was which guy’s. Nathan’s had the least amount of furniture in the huge space. A king-size bed with a dark blue bedspread and a pale wood chest in the corner. His closet revealed nothing, but jeans, shirts, and cowboy boots.
One bedroom had a California King bed on steroids with a black and white cover. Two ebony nightstands with white lamps, a dark wood dresser, chest, and a black velvet lounge next to the widow. There was even a soft, black rug in front of the window despite the pristine white carpet underneath. The clothes in the closet were a mixture of suits, tuxedos, and business-style clothes that made me think of Axel.
Another bedroom on the opposite side of the mansion was practical with a touch of flare. He had a king-size bed with a dark crimson bedspread. One white-painted nightstand with piles of cooking books, a dresser next to the window, and a recliner in the corner. The men’s clothes in there were more casual with a mix of preppy and casual. This had to be Drake’s room. Even the lingering scent of his cologne smelled like him: pine and soap with a hint of spice.
Drake’s was also the only bedroom with anything on the walls. He had paintings that looked handmade. One was a forest with a blood-red moon high in the sky overhead and was simply breathtaking. I wondered if he’d painted these himself.
In my exploration, I found a yellow bedroom with bright lilies painted on the walls tastefully. Inside the football field-size closet, it was filled with enough shoes and clothes that I could open a store on my own. Everything was in my exact size though, which gave me the super creeps. How had they known? Wasn’t like there had been a huge timeline between taking this bet and getting here. Unless…unless these were from a previous victim and not necessarily for only me.
Out of principle, I didn’t try anything on. Until after three days of not having anything else to wear except the clothes I came here in. Even though I took showers, I still stank. Finally, I gave in and chose a dressy pin-striped skirt with a black silk blouse. I styled my white hair into a French twist and felt like I was heading into a posh interview rather than padding around an empty mansion.
I sneezed and grabbed a tissue from the bathroom before blowing my nose and then throwing it in the toilet. Then a thought jumped into my mind. I’d watched enough crime and mystery shows to know that lots of clues were in a person’s trash. On a new mission, I combed through the mansion, hunting for trashcans. All of them were empty like the whole place had been cleaned recently. Which made sense since I hadn’t seen a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. I was about to give up when I checked the kitchen.
Nothing.
Shit.
I kicked the empty, metal trashcan. With a glare at the thing, I pulled it back out where it was so it wouldn’t rub against the wall and leave a mark. There had to be something a housekeeper would have missed, 'cause I was willing to bet my life that none of these guys cleaned.
Desperate, I went into the laundry room. No clothes in the washer. But what about behind? I yanked the dryer back first, but only found a few dust bunnies and a quarter.
Then I checked the washer.
A piece of cloth was stuck to the end. Bingo!
I climbed up, half hanging over the side of the washer and yanked the cloth loose.
What was this? I turned the item over and then dropped it. Dark blood stains covered the shirt, and it was ripped to pieces. My earlier thought of them bringing other women up here to do whatever with flashed in my mind. Had they sent whoever this belonged to out to the wolves? Like some kind of weird survival game?
My hand shook and I balled up the shirt, swallowing back bile, and shoved it into the bottom of the kitchen’s trash bag. Then I ran to the sink, dry heaving. When my stomach calmed down, I scrubbed my hands twice, as tears streamed down my face. What had I gotten myself into?
