Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Questions plagued her numbing mind. What if someone answered? What if they demanded explanations she couldn’t provide without revealing the truth? What if they turned her away? What if they recognized the name she’d stolen, the identity she wore like armor, and turned her in?
The wind shifted, making the decision for her, shoving her against the wood with bruising force. Her ravaged hands found the massive iron handle, and when it turned beneath her desperate grip, she nearly sobbed with relief.
Unlocked.
Chapter 2
Into the Tempest
The heavy door surrendered, swinging inward with surprising grace, and warm air rushed out to embrace her like a lover’s caress. The temperature difference burned her frosted skin, striking with disorienting force, making her vision swim as she stumbled across the threshold and sealed herself inside, cutting off the storm’s howling rage.
Silence descended like a benediction as her flesh prickled, the comfort of heat quickly turning into a traumatic assault on her frozen limbs that made her shake uncontrollably.
Her ears rang in the sudden absence of wind and sleet, the quiet so profound it felt sacred.
“Hello?”
Only her voice echoed back.
She stood, dripping on black, gleaming marble veined with gold that seemed to pulse with its own inner fire. Above, a chandelier hung suspended like a frozen moment of violence, wrought iron twisted into thorny vines that cradled dozens of flickering candles.
Candles? Who owned fixtures like that in this day and age? She searched the floors and walls for outlets, finding none. The blend of primitive and luxury was unlike anything she’d seen before.
Someone was clearly home, as they took the time to light the candles above and on the candelabras scattered throughout the massive entrance. There must have been a hundred pillars blazing. But when she tried to lift a candelabra, she realized it was bolted to the ground.
“Is it gas?” Frowning, she examined the antique brass, warming her hands over the flickering flames. The modern touch was such a nuanced tribute to the dwelling’s original style.
She looked around the gaping foyer. Whoever lives here must pay a fortune to do so.
Everything existed on a scale designed for giants. The ceiling soared two stories overhead, supported by wooden beams that gleamed like silk in the candlelight. Rich tapestries depicted hunting scenes that walked the knife’s edge between beauty and savagery, while a staircase curved upward like a lover’s spine. Even the banisters were carved with meticulous attention to detail, displaying wood chiseled acorns and leaves.
It was more than a castle. It was a modern-day medieval palace.
Heat seeped into her frozen flesh like honey into starved cells as her core temperature danced with death. She needed heat. Real heat. The kind that could resurrect the dead.
Aimlessly staggering, she searched for life. If there were candles, there might be a fireplace.
Her exploration led her into what could only be called a great hall, where stone walls rose around her like the ribs of some massive cathedral. Floor-to-ceiling windows stood as black mirrors, reflecting her bedraggled appearance with merciless clarity.
The lingering scent of burned wood and smoke lured her in as she rushed toward the smell, toward the most enormous fireplace she’d ever seen. It commanded every other detail into submission. Carved from obsidian stone and large enough to accommodate an entire elk, the hearth yawned before her like the mouth of some benevolent cave.
Iron fixtures held logs the circumference of small trees, but the massive space remained cold and dark. Her heart dropped like a stone through ice water. Of course, it remained unlit. This was someone’s private kingdom, someone wealthy enough to build castles in the Arctic. They were probably lounging on some Caribbean beach while their monument to excess stood empty and frigid.
But someone lit that chandelier. There had to be matches somewhere. Kindling. A switch to the gas. Something to resurrect this slumbering giant of a fireplace and warm her frigid soul.
She ransacked the heavy wooden cabinets built into the stone surround, her fingers still numb and clumsy from the cold, making every simple task feel herculean. Finally, in the third cabinet…salvation. Matches and a pile of birch bark that some thoughtful soul had prepared.
She gathered the materials against her chest and rushed back to the hearth. Stripping off her sodden coat, she shivered and focused, her trembling hands making it impossible to strike the match on the first or even the third try.
“Come on, you fucker.” Another match snapped, and she growled through her chattering teeth as her body jolted. The tremors were getting worse.
“Light, goddamn it!”
The epic struggle to coax a flame infuriated her to tears. Her hands shook so violently she dropped several broken matches, and when she finally got a spark, it quickly faded like a dying star.
“Please, please, please,” she desperately begged, cupping her quaking hand around the tip as a small flame came to life.