I’m in Malakar’s arms with his mouth crashing over mine before I can finish. His kiss is a violent, possessive attack that steals every drop of air from my lungs.
“We would die before letting anyone touch you,” he vows with serrated force against my lips.
With a last brutal kiss, he pulls back and recaptures my fingers.
With Ciaran at my back and Aamon on my other side, I’m led through the doorway and into the foyer.
The clock is gone.
The painting ofDante’s Infernois back.
The door leading into the dining room glows an eerie white like someone has left a TV on somewhere inside. It flickers and shifts, casting long, twisting tendrils across the walls.
Malakar tugs me in the direction of the hall. My gaze flicks up the stairs to the dark tunnel broken only by the faint, yellow glow I know is coming from Aunt Laura’s room.
Above our heads, the ceiling groans. The walls creak. Somewhere in the house, something shatters. Claws scuttle behind us, but Ciaran won’t let me turn.
My fingers tighten around Malakar’s.
In the kitchen, I jump at the sight of a tiny figure standing in the middle of the room. A toddler, no higher than my hips. dressed in a diaper and a blue t-shirt. His little cherub face pulls into a gummy smile that contains only a single tooth.
“Hi,” I blurt.
The child squeals like I’ve declared a game and toddles on pudgy legs straight for the open basement door.
“No!” I start after him, panic cold in my chest at the thought of him tumbling down those stairs.
Malakar hooks an arm around my waist and hoists me back.
“What did I tell you?” he snaps.
“He’s a baby,” I pant.
“Nothing in here is what you think,” he mutters, setting me down.
I try to steal a peek into the black void of the stairs as I’m hurried along, but Malakar’s hold is unwavering.
Aamon grabs the knob leading out the backdoor and twists it open to the calm, dark night.
“The storm is over,” I muse, watching the faint shimmer of dainty snowflakes drift against the black backdrop of the sky.
It’s beautiful in its stillness. Even the wind has calmed so the naked branches don’t sway.
In the horizon, endless darkness yawns through a tumbling ocean of forest that seems to stretch forever into the night.
“We’re not dressed,” I whisper when Ciaran pushes open the screen door and leads the way down the first step barefoot.
At least they have clothes. I’m wearing a blanket.
“You don’t need clothes where we’re going,” he assures, reaching for my other hand and helping me down.
Snow envelops my feet to the ankles. Soft, delicate powder that holds no bite. No moisture. I could be moving across a beach, toes sinking into sand. Only more compact.
“It’s so beautiful.”
I shut my eyes and inhale. I feast on the sweet scent of pine and cloves. Of winter in a bottle without the cold. I smell the earth beneath the snow and water so crisp and clean, my mouth waters.
In the distance, a white hare with small antlers scampers through the foliage. A single blade of shiny black snaps off an ivory branch and crashes to the ground. It shatters into a million shards of glass across the snow.
