Page 177 of A Warrior's Fate

The foyer trickled into a living room. It had been a decade since this family had been here, and yet the furnishings didn’t seem too obscure compared to the hotel or the Pack Hall.

Another step before she turned to glance outside.

Not a soul to be found. She was alone. Entirely alone. Rhydian and Ameera had to be miles away now. But she had Kai, the bond, no matter how unnervingly faint it felt out here.

Isla kicked the door closed with a shockingly loud thud that had her flinching.

“Hello,” she chanced a greeting, her voice so soft that she could barely hear it through the blood rushing her veins.

No answer, but that buzz beneath her skin persisted. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she moved in further.

Squeaks echoed her footsteps as she encroached deeper into the living room, throwing out an arm to run a finger along the welcoming credenza, the worn wood, the surface riddled with dust that tickled her nose. She stuttered as she tested it between her touch and spun to look back. It had been a decade but the grime wasn’t much but a fine layer. Not caked and immovable as she expected.

Her gaze traveled to the couches and chairs in the room’s heart, a small table in their center, and a stone hearth brimming with charred firewood on the wall before them. Four teacups rested by the seats. One free of its saucer, one tipped over it, and all had been drained of their liquid or had evaporated into nothing but residue on the glass.

Disgusting and old—but again, not ten years old.

Isla circled in her spot to survey her surroundings again. There were several ways she could go from what she could see. A kitchen, a dining room, a set of stairs in one far corner, and a lonely door at another.

Expecting the door to be nothing but a closet, she went there first to get it out of the way. But as she reached for the handle, she hesitated and cocked her head. There were small symbols etched in the wood, circling the knob. Ones that were vaguely familiar. She reached out to touch them, but she had little time to contemplate anything.

Voices.

Voices were coming from outside.

Isla whirled around to face the front door just as their keepers’ heavy feet clambered up the rickety steps. Their tones cleared in her head. They were men, and they were foreign to her.

Of course.

Isla swallowed, hastily running through a plan. The act of surprise was her best option if this were to go awry.

In mere seconds, she found herself on the other side of the door, closing it just as the creaking of the front one came.

And she hoped to the Goddess that they hadn’t heard her gasp as she nearly tumbled down a set of steps.

What the hell?

This wasn’t a closet.

Hand over her mouth, heart pounding in her chest, Isla rested against the wall and gazed down the flight of stairs that dissipated into nothingness.

What was this? A basement?

She couldn’t worry about it. Not with whoever was on the other side.

Who would come out here at this time? Who would come out here at all—besides them?

Guards?

Isla pressed her ear to the door.

“Are you sure that it’s here?” one asked the other, their voice as grating as sandpaper.

“That’s what I heard,” a warmer, more assured, almost alluring tone replied.

They were drifting further away from the door, the sounds of their feet at what she guessed was the beginning of the staircase to the second floor.

“And how do we know they aren’t coming out tonight? If we’re caught, then we’ll be slaughtered like the rest.”

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