Page 95 of Lost in the Dark

She shivered at the promise in his voice, and at the wash of feeling that followed.

Oh, yes.

She would enjoy every moment. She settled against him and studied the deep glow of her necklace. The fiery red echoed the fierce power thrumming through her, a symbol of her pleasure and her new strength.

Then she would return upstairs and meet her fate.

Anna didn’t bother leaping from one balcony to another when she returned to her room, she simply opened her room and entered, leaving the key in the handle as she closed it behind her. She doubted Rathbytten would notice it was unlocked, and if he did, she doubted he would care.

She dressed with care and held her new power close.

Hands fisted in her skirts, she sat on the edge of the bed. The sun had risen, though shadows lingered, and the clock had chimed eight. Any moment, he would come for her, and she would pit her strength against his. One, tiny woman against a troll who’d hunted these lands for years—possibly generations.

Her chest shuddered, and she swallowed back a cry.

No. She would not cry.

She fixed her gaze on the ring of hair lying before the hearth. The spirits were counting on her, if she faltered now, they would never be free. So she wouldn’t falter. She would be strong, and she would win.

A fist slammed into her bedroom door.

“Woman!” Rathbytten bellowed, hitting the door again and making her candlesticks rattle on the mantle. The knock was as heavy and final as the cry of a Chastry’s bell—though this call offered no safe journey. “Ready yourself.”

Oh, I am.

The ruby pulsed, warm and ready at her neck.

Rising from her seat, Anna took a moment to appreciate the weight of the lush fabric upon her body. She slid the broken tip of Enulf’s tusk into her pocket, and slowly crossed to the door. She waited a moment—just long enough to hear his huff of frustration through the oak—then she undid the latch and offered him a bland smile.

“Good morn, my lord.” She dipped her head in the slightest of nods. “I have prepared myself, as requested.”

“Foolish, woman.” He grabbed her arm, yanked her into the hallway. “You don’t know who’s game you play.”

No. It is you who don’t know.

“If you say so, my lord,” she demurred, setting a slow pace.

Her head might have been bowed, but the strength of her love beat behind her breast. She refused to be cowed by the massive figure stalking behind her, his tusks gleaming in the edges of her vision and his spittle dotting her neck. She waited, measuring her breathing and counting her steps. As they approached the stairs, she gave her skirts a subtle tug, flipping the fabric beneath his boots.

He stepped on the train, and the fabric slipped along the freshly polished stone, sending him stumbling. “Fuck.”

She sent him a wide-eyed look. “Oh dear, how clumsy of me.”

“Contain your dress, woman,” he snarled.

“Many apologies,” she murmured, scuffing her own slippers along the stone for good measure.Hmm. She truly had done an excellent job on the floors. “It is just so much fabric. I wanted to look nice for your feast—it is what you asked. Don’t you know I still want to please—”

With a disgusted grunt, he pushed past her. “Keep up.”

“As you wish.” She smiled at the small of his back and followed him into the curving stairwell.

The space was too narrow for two to walk apace, especially when one of those people was a hulking troll. Over the past seven days, she’d learned every curve and dip of the worn stone. She knew that halfway between the floors was a step twice as high as the others, where time had hewn the front to a polished slope. And that the steps on either side were shorter than most, an awkward height for creatures bigger than her.

She brushed the piece of tusk in her pocket for courage.

Enulf’s nectar pumped strength through her veins.

One more circle.