Page 91 of Lost in the Dark

She’d considered trying to make her way along the rooftops, but between the ice and her lack of coordination, she’d better resemble a splat on the ground than a woman demanding her due.Go. Stopping outside her room, she found the key in the lock and shook her head. Of course, Rathbytten thought so little of her that he’d not bother to take the key with him—and he was so secure in his power that he couldn’t imagine anyone defying him.

Yet she already had.

And so had his brother.

It was laughably simple to creep down the hallway and silently descend the twisting stone steps. At this early hour, no one else was awake—nor would they rise for some hours yet. The clock whose chimes had tormented her those first days at Rathbytten would now be her guide.

Reaching Enulf’s door, she stared at the weathered slab of wood.

She hadn’t seen him since early yesterday, when he’d lain, beaten and bleeding, on the kitchen floor. Nearly a day ago, and she’d seen no sign of him since—no voices from downstairs, no soft knock against her door. Nothing. She let out a breath. How badly had he been hurt? She’d assumed trolls were hardy enough to withstand a great deal more than any mortal, but what if she’d been wrong?

Her hand froze on the latch, the iron cold beneath her touch.

While the ruby necklace burned against her chest.

She should be horrified—trembling. But instead blood pumped fast through her veins, her skin flushed.

The mora had wanted her to eat the dove and take its strength—but Anna had insisted on a different course of action. Partly because she didn’t have the heart to take such an innocent life, but mostly because she’d longed for Enulf’s touch since the portrait gallery. Only this time, she wouldn’t be at his mercy.

He’d be at hers.

Head held high, she pushed into the room.

Like all of Rathbytten, the room was shrouded in shadows. The manor seemed to seep in shadows, to resist the sun, as if the stone denied the dawn and welcomed the night. Yet enough predawn light crept through the cracks in the roof for her to see Enulf—bruised and battered, and most definitely alive.

He lay sprawled across the bed, massive body sideways across the mattress and still his feet hung off the end.

“Thank goodness,” she breathed.

“Anna!” His head lifted, eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing—Ah.” He gripped his ribs.

She winced.

Alive, butveryinjured.

Her gaze landed on his broken tusk, the end jagged. The curl of his lip and tight set of his jaw told her it hurt, though likely not as much as his other injuries. Lying as he was on the bed, shirtless and partly covered by a worn sheet, with his trousers tied loosely around his waist, she could see everything.

His chest, neck and arms were covered with abrasions. Swathes of his dusty purple skin were marked by a darker, more vicious purple—each the size of Rathbytten’s fist. A step inside the room and she could see four indentations inside each patch, one for each of his massive knuckles.

“Anna…” Enulf tried to push himself onto his elbows. “You shouldn’t—”

“I’ll hear no lectures on what’s proper.” She slowly closed the door. “There’s no proper in this home.”

A chill breeze whistled through the broken slats of Enulf’s room, and her rob fluttered around her. The thin fabric moved with every step, every change in the air. And oh, gods, was she aware of that fabric.

Or, more accurately, the lack of anything beneath.

She’d come only with that robe, slippers and the ruby at her neck. Every time the fabric shifted, it caressed her sensitive skin and heightened her anticipation.

Her nipples were hard, needy pebbles.

“I have come with a request.” She took another step toward the bed.

“Anna, stop.” His massive chest shuddered. “It’s not safe for you to be here. If my brother finds you…if he finds you, he’ll make death a luxury.” Desperate gray eyes met hers. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Enulf might be afraid of his brother, but Anna had nothing left to lose.

Her brows lifted. “Oh, but I should.”

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