Page 73 of Shattered Jewel
“If we’re doing it your way,” Kaspian emphasizes, “then we should head to Farrow Manor. Big Brother conveniently encoded this drive so it only works on his computer. Mrs. Wraithwood is institutionalized, leaving the house—and its family history—wide open. Elara will be safe at the dorms a while longer.”
I stare at Kaspian sidelong in an attempt to figure out whether he thinks Farrow Manor is indeed the best course of action, or if he just wants more time before facing Elara and the consequences of whatever the hell he did to her.
Wilder comes to the same conclusion, cocking his head at Kaspian’s tone, too.
Kaspian’s face, so easy to read when it comes to our competitiveness, is always blank in terms of his intentions toward Elara.
“Fine,” I say. “But we keep the search specific to Maverick’s computer and whatever may be in his bedroom.”
Before they can question my command, I turn on my heel and stalk down the hallway.
Cavernous thoughts swirl in my mind as I contemplate our next moves and leaving the Sovereigns’ domain, but the largest, most commanding worry isn’t fear of the consequences. It’s how to plot the most effective way to protect Elara from our powerful enemies...
… and us.
Chapter 19
Elara
Adeafening crash jolts me awake as shattering glass and a string of curses echo through the manor. My heart tries to flee out of my mouth as I throw the covers off, legs tangled in sheets as I stumble out of bed and trip on a corner of the throw rug.
“Wh-what’s happening?” I whisper through the mist of sleep.
The room spins, and I brace myself against the wall, fighting off the weight of slumber.
The floor beneath my feet feels cold and unforgiving on my bed-warmed bare feet. A sick feeling washes over me, realization dawning that something is terribly wrong.
This isn’t a dream.
My breaths come in short gasps, fear scraping along my insides.
I order myself to get a grip and use every ounce of confidence and poise I usually possess when putting on a convincing facade, but it’s crumbled under the weight of this sudden intrusion.
A distant sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate—moves somewhere within the house.
Is the man in the black mask back?
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The familiar scent of my teenage perfume invades my nostrils as I brace myself on my old vanity, bringing with it a fleeting sense of stability.
Heart pounding in my ears, I start to think logically. I need to figure out what’s happening and how to handle it.
The crash, the voices ... they sounded like they came from somewhere in the house. And if there are intruders, then Sasha could be in danger too.
“Dammit,” I hiss under my breath.
My protective instincts kick into overdrive as I think about my best friend possibly in harm’s way. Sasha has always been my rock, her warmth and laughter filling the muted corners of my life with light. I can’t, won’t let anything happen to her.
Her sleeping lump under the covers of our shared bed brings a small comfort, but not enough. I have to protect her.
I make my way toward the door, my hand grasping the cold metal of the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I inch it open and slip into the dimly lit hallway. Shadows hover against the walls, cast by the faint daylight and wind sifting through tree branches filtering through the windows.
The ancient floorboards creak beneath my feet, each step making me cringe. Every sound, every wave of movement on the wall, is a potential threat.
As are the countless homemade traps scattered throughout the manor. One wrong step from my intruders could trigger an alarm or something even more deadly.
“God-fucking-dammit!” A muffled voice echoes through the halls, followed by another crash.
It’s paired with a loud bark of laughter. “It’s been a while since a tripwire got you, bro.”