“That… doesn’t sound like a solid wall,” Charlotte said, slinging the satchel over her shoulder.
“It most certainly does not.” He shoved the coats aside and ran his hands along the wall until he found what he was looking for—a recessed handle hidden in the shadows. He gave it a tug, and a small, chest-high door the same shade as the wall creaked open, revealing a rickety stairwell that led down into utter darkness.
The scent of rot and piss was overpowering, making his eyes water. Charlotte nearly gagged.
“Ireallyshould’ve kept my hands to myself,” he grumbled.
Charlotte grabbed her flashlight and shone it on the stairs, illuminating a narrow passageway just wide enough for one person. The walls were made of cement, the stairs black with mold.
The moment the beam of light hit the landing at the bottom, a faint moaning sound emanated up from the chamber, followed by a metallic scraping that sounded like the rattling of a cage.
“Dorian?” Charlotte gasped and glanced up into his eyes. All the color drained from her face.
He knew immediately where her mind had gone.
“I’ll go investigate,” he said. “You stay here and—”
“No. We’re in this together, remember?”
He slid his hand around the back of her neck and held her gaze, a thousand questions poised on his tongue.
What if it’s Sasha?
What if it isn’t?
What if it breaks you?
What if I can’t put you back together again?
But in the end, he said the only words she’d listen to. The only ones that mattered.
“All right, love.” He reached for her hand, squeezing tight. “Together it is.”
And then he took a deep breath, crouched through the low doorway, and led her down into the abyss.
Chapter Eight
Blood and death, brother. Blood and death…
Cole’s words echoed again through Dorian’s memory as he and Charlotte descended into the darkness, the pungent air damn near choking them both.
Charlotte’s heart rate was completely erratic, fear and adrenaline flooding her bloodstream until he hardly recognized her scent.
Please,he thought, recalling Sasha’s bright blue eyes, her smile.Please let this beanythingbut that beautiful, vibrant girl…
“Dorian.” Charlotte gripped his arm, her body trembling as they reached the lower floor and the situation came into view.
A long work table covered in papers and books and supplies. A high-backed wooden chair. A cabinet of jars and bundled herbs. Two squat, grimy windows near the ceiling, hidden from the outside with brush and debris.
And there, in the back corner of the room, a cage.
Behind the metal bars, he saw the pale shapes in the beam of Charlotte’s flashlight, stark in their utter nakedness. Two bodies huddled closed together, their backs to him, flesh blackened with bruises and burns. Broken ribs protruded from the skin. On the floor beneath the cage, a pool of blood and piss shone wet in the darkness.
“Grays,” he said softly. “Just grays.”
A stifled sob escaped Charlotte’s mouth. Dorian couldn’t tell whether it was one of horror or relief. Maybe both.
The grays could’ve just as easily been her sister—starved and beaten. Tortured.
