Page 27 of Ambition

A snotty smirk curves his lips, but I don’t feel like snapping at him about it. And when he’s just about to pass me and I kinda want to run toward that shadow which doesn’t seem half-bad now, he says, his voice raspy and rough, “Mads is in there waiting for you. Good luck, Isadora.” Then he keeps walking and when I turn to track his movements, unable to stop myself, I see him pull up the hood of his hoodie over his curly black hair before he disappears into the dark.

Well then.

That makes me walk faster into the shadow space, and I don’t even think about what I might encounter until I’m already there.

I stop fucking short, right in the doorway.

There’s a long, rectangular wooden table. Dozens of black and blue candles scattered about it, flames flickering sensually and illuminating the room.

And there’s nothing else on the table, hardly anything more inside the space, except…

To my left, lined up against the wall, are half a dozen people in black robes, hoods pulled up and covering their faces completely. Hands clasped in front of them, but their sleeves are so long, they obscure any sign of their skin.

They are dead quiet, facing the table.

Therefore, facingme.

I’ve never seen any of Writhe in their robes. And I don’t know which one is Mads and I’m suddenly too scared to speak and—

Someone touches me on the shoulder.

I nearly jump out of my skin, spinning around, my back to the silent ones in the room.

A tall, towering figure is in front of me, dressed the same as the others, except his hood is pushed back around his neck and he’s wearing a red mask. It’s smooth, eerily so, with a thin cutout for the mouth and large holes for the eyes. Nothing along the nose, which kind of freaks me out more.

The blank expression of the mouth is unnerving, and so is the silence as the person drops their hand to their side. Red gloves, too.

“Mads?” I whisper, forcing the word out. Knowing I am outnumbered here but I am in a familiar house and no one will hurt me.Right? Right.

The man in front of me cocks his head. Then he nods once, without speaking.

Okay then.

Mads, I guess.

My heart feels as if it has jumped to my throat but I wet my lips then get on with it. “What did you come by to tell me?” I narrow my eyes, forcing myself to feel the irritation that drove me here in the first place. “What did you tell Von instead?”

Mads studies me and I make myself remember he loves me, and he will protect me, but I also think about the fact thatheis my handler, sending me into the lion’s den to sleep with a notoriously violent dealer.

But I wanted to do it.

I want to earn my place here.

“Does he know you are here?” Mads asks quietly, and his voice sounds even more detached than usual. Robotic, as if it doesn’t belong to him.

I glance over my shoulder to the people in robes, but I feel Mads’s cold touch along my chin, and he slowly turns me to face him again, grazing his fingertips over my skin before he drops his hand by his side.

I shiver as I look at him.

“Answer me, not them,” he says in that same strange voice.

“No. He is not my keeper.”

Mads lifts his chin, the mask glaring down at me, obscuring his eyes. “Isn’t he?”

I shake my head, clenching my fists at my side. “No. I am my own.”

More beats of silence.

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