Page 19 of Twisted By Darkness

“She’s just keeping her family safe,” Apollo says. “Can’t judge her on that.”

And I can’t either. I know well enough I’d sacrifice anything to keep these men safe, even my own life, my own soul. I wouldn’t even have to think twice.

Morbid thoughts are wiped away by Tristan’s soft kiss on my temple. He sits me down on his lap and I race my fingers through his damp blond hair. We feast, the sunlight banishing all the fear and all the dread. For a long moment, we’re locked in a dream. A dream I never want to wake up from.

CHAPTER9

CASSANDRA

Waking from the best night of sleep I’ve had in years, I make my way to the bathroom and shower by myself. Donatello must have come and gone sometime in the evening. I can smell him in the room, as weird as that sounds. Where is he, anyway? He went off to greet Giulia, and poof. Disappeared. I understand they’re old friends and everything, but I can’t deny the pang of jealousy in my stomach.

Which is the weirdest thing, because I’ve always been the least jealous person in the world. Guess it was because I had never met anyone I liked this much.

I slept on the robe and it takes me a while to accept my clothes are not in the room anymore. Over a chair, I find a pair of new leggings and a sleeveless black shirt that are a tiny bit small for me. They may be Alicia’s. I’m surprised she borrowed them, but so glad. I squirm into the pants, and the shirt doesn’t cover my belly once more, but it all fits. My girls almost pop out over the cleavage, but I don’t think the boys will mind. At least it offers great support.

The shackles dangle when I relax my arms. I avoid looking at them. There’s still no plan in place to handle this, and I don’t want the constant fear of losing my hands to nag me. There’s already too much going on.

Ren gets up, all naked glory and golden skin, just as I leave the bathroom. He smiles and bends to kiss me. I hum into the caress, digging my fingers into his long hair.

“You smell good,” he says, nose pressed to my neck. “You always smell so good.” I hum in response, then he pulls back. “Give me five. I’ll shower and we can explore the place.”

His idea makes my heart beat faster. I enter my boots and wait by the window, watching the grounds and the forest out there. The lively green of leaves move with the wind, though no sound reaches me through the thick glass. I wonder what the place conceals. That living room we saw yesterday was curious enough — with skulls and skeletons and weird weapons I don’t recognize.

Ren leaves the bathroom in his usual jeans and plaid shirt. I wonder if his magic allows him to change clothes when he shifts. Without a sound, he takes my hand and we make for the door. I shoot a look at Tristan, with Oreo sleeping on his chest, and Apollo, breathing deeply, then we leave.

“I bet this corridor is made of guest rooms,” I tell Ren, tugging him along. “Let’s find somewhere else to explore. Guest rooms are boring.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t want to walk into anyone’s morning sex as well.”

“True.”

We chat, walking hand in hand down corridors to open doors and peeking inside. We pass some three different labs, or what looks like a lab, full of glassware and bubbling things and colorful liquids.

“I don’t think we should try these,” I tell Ren. “She’s a witch, after all.”

“Must have all sorts of potions in here.” Ren waggles his brows. “Do you think there’s something we could use on the Collector?”

I can’t help the smile on my face. “That would be amazing, but I doubt there’s a tag saying ‘this potion will kill any fucker you want to’. We better ask Giulia.” And I turn my attention back to the corridor. Ren keeps up with me.

“That might be a plan, right? We could ask her to brew something deadly and, I don’t know, put in some darts. Or make bullets with it.”

I snicker. “Someone watched too many action movies.”

Ren sticks her tongue out at me, but drapes an arm over my shoulders. “When I was a kid, yeah. Sunday mornings were all about barbecue and putting the kids in front of the TV so the adults could have some time off.” A wistful smile on his face squeezes my heart. Gods, how careless of me.

I hold Ren closer, unsure of what to say. He told me his family was killed by witches, but he never seemed to hold a grudge against them. Instead, Ren’s good. His heart is good, and he’s open and gentle. I had a fucked up childhood, but I didn’t have to see my dead parents. That must break something inside of you that never fixes up again.

He grips me against his body even tighter, like he can read my mind, and then changes the subject. I don’t like it. I don’t like how it feels he’s avoiding his story because of me. Because he doesn’t want to hurt me.

I open my mouth to tell him that when we reach a new open door and Ren peeks inside. “A library!” he utters, pulling me inside without a warning. I almost trip on our feet, but then I see the place and my jaw drops.

It is a library. Shelves reaching all the way to the ceiling take every available wall space and more, creating corridors upon corridors. There’s a mezzanine and huge windows, letting the light pour inside. Soft yellow lights keep a soft ambiance, and tall ladders reach up to the tallest shelves. I gawk and gawk as Ren and I walk hand in hand between shelves.

A couple of shelves are glass-protected, filled with all sorts of parchment paper. I wonder how old they are, but there’s no sort of tag or label. Many books have no titles and the majority of the ones that do, I can’t read. Languages I don’t know, in alphabets I’ve never seen. I brush my fingers down spines, made of leather or fabric or paper, the sound changing with each material. The soft rasping of my fingers and our steps on the hardwood floors create a sort of hypnotizing symphony as we explore the room.

We take a turn, and Trevor’s standing there, shoulder pressed against a shelf, a thick book open in his hands. He looks up at us, then closes the book, putting it back in the shelf. His dark brown hair creates a curtain on his face for a moment, then he tucks it behind his ears to stare at us, tilting his chin up.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, because this guy is our host, or close to our host, and we don’t need to bother them anymore than we already do. Whatever peaceful time we have here, I’ll fight for every second of it.

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