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Max looks at his twin intently. “I’ll tear a Blood Mage apart without hesitation, make no mistake. It’s just safer if none of us have to.” He pops open his door. “Let’s move.”
Braxton pets Trouble’s head. “Think you can handle being car sentry?”
Trouble licks his lips.
“Good boy.”
Max runs point as we hurry through the woods, following alongside the dirt driveway. Even hundreds of yards out, I start to experience the effects of dark magic. Like eddies of black smoke, it dances in the air, twirling in and out of existence, its color darker than the darkest night.
My men feel it too, even if it doesn’t entirely reveal itself to them. They can’t hear it whispering in their thoughts, beckoning. Come, Asha, give into the sweetness of midnight.
I push the voice aside, train my thoughts on my singular goal. I need to find Simon.
But still, the darkness calls to me. An ever-present force in this strange forest, which doesn’t bode well for what we’re about to face. Something in my gut is warning me that this won’t be like it was at the party. The Blood Mage here isn’t about fun and games, he’s about pain and suffering.
Or I’m wrong, and it’s just my imagination trying to frighten me.
I don’t know anything here. Just a rumor about someone seeing my brother here and the presence of dark magic. There’s no way to be sure what we’ll face inside, or even if there will be a trace of my brother.
We cross the tree line onto the property, rushing to the southern wall of the mansion. We throw our back against it and regroup. Max and Braxton communicate through a series of hand gestures that neither Orson nor I understand, but can surmise the gist of. We’re going through the window above our heads. It’s darkened, and I can’t tell what room it looks in on, but it’s the only entry point not bathed in moonlight. If there is a Blood Mage hiding in the dark, at least they won’t know we’re coming in until we’re already inside.
Max retrieves a tool from his pack that looks like just the needle from a record player. He adheres a suction cup to the glass and affixes the slender tool. It swings around the cup, cutting a perfect circle out of the window. Max reaches his arm through it and undoes the latch.
“I feel like I’m in a spy movie,” Orson whispers.
I wish.
“Ready?” asks Max.
We nod.
He lifts the window and we pour through it, crouching as we land in the dark. My shifter side allows me to move with the same grace the other guys possess. It also makes it easier to see in the dark. Things I’m really grateful for right now.
We move through one room at a time, but nothing stands out. Each room is exactly what you’d expect to find in a creepy, gothic mansion. Dark red leather and white lace seem to decorate every room, along with long curtains that conceal huge windows.
No one walks the rooms or the halls. There’s not even the sense that people live here, but there is… something else. Something I’ve never experienced before. It’s like there’s a force in the building, calling to the dark magic inside of me. Whispering to it. I’ve felt a similar calling before, but not exactly.
I don’t like it. I don’t understand it.
The urge to turn around and leave flows through me. I’m playing with fire here, and I’m afraid I’m going to get burned. Braxton’s gaze meets mine, and he runs a comforting hand down my arm, as if to remind me that I’m not here alone.
It helps. I still have a deep, instinctually desire to run, but I fight against it. And I fight not to answer the call of whatever the hell is whispering to my magic.
As we creep along the hallway, the hum of something noisy emanates from behind one of the doors. I’m drawn to it, unable to stop myself from falling out of formation and going to the door. Something in that room is important. Something in that room needs me.
My hand lifts to the knob. Max’s hand closes around mine.
Our gazes meet. He shakes his head. I narrow my eyes.
He tries to pull me away. I stand firm, my jaw tightening. Whatever’s behind this door, I need to go to it. It’s calling to me. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s a mistake, but I have to do it.
Jerking my hand away from him, I reach for the knob again.
“Asha,” he whispers.
“There’s something here. It’s important,” I whisper back.
They all exchange a look. I want to tell them they can follow me or not, but I’m going. Yet I hold the words back. The door is there. The pulling. The feeling. This is important. I know it.
