Page 28 of Hellbound

Her breath caught in her throat.

A shirtless man with a tall, angular frame cut into view. His muscular, broad-shouldered physique tapered to a lean waist, his pajama linens slung low on his hips. Firelight warmed his tawny skin, peppered with pale scars. His defined muscles rippled as he wrung droplets of water out of his tresses with a towel. His back was turned to her as he busied himself at the weapons rack, selecting a handsome sword.

There was something gracefully predatory about his movements, and she pegged him as someone who carried their strength lightly. His long, lean legs strode across the room to an oaken desk where a pot of oil sat over a warming lantern, along with felted cloths.

Ksenia smelled mineral oil simmering—a wise choice for polishing a weapon during the cold season to reduce any splitting of the hilt.

The towel sank against his neck and shoulders as he settled into the leather armchair before the table and began anointing the sword’s hilt with a rag, dabbing warm oil now and then.

Ksenia pressed ever closer. He was familiar, but she couldn’t place from where.

Even through the canvas, she could make out his sharp jawline and high-planed cheekbones.

The man went still before turning to look in the direction of her hiding place. She stumbled back, shame heating her face, and she inwardly cursed herself before padding as quickly as she could to the safety of her own room.

Her clammy hand found a low-profile door handle beneath the peephole.

She tripped but caught herself as the portrait swung open on the wall of her quarters.

She grabbed a spare blanket and draped it hurriedly over the painting.

Her face told the traitorous story, however, as she peered into the bathroom mirror. Her cheeks tingled with the prickle of blood, and she didn’t need to look further to know her ears were tinged pink as well.

Whoever that was knew their way around weaponry. Ksenia was mildly impressed, but she had more basic issues to deal with as her stomach protested loudly.

For now, she studied her catch of the day: the wrought-iron skeleton key.

Her eyes were heavy, but she had to sate her hunger. The full moon was overhead as she snuck through the front courtyard to the forge, the apron door still half open.

It smelled like home: steel, burnt leather, and woodsmoke. She leaned over the door and peered inside before unlatching it and letting herself in.

With a gentle hum, she selected a few logs from the kindling pile and expertly stoked a flame within the forge, patiently coaxing the spark into a steady blaze with the bellows.

“Old Hollow, light my forge.” Her voice low, reverent.

An assortment of metal bars and blanks was in a scrap bucket, and she found a suitable one before settling down in front of the furnace.

With tongs, she heated the crude iron until it glowed orange, then beat it into a flattened shape on an anvil. She continually checked the shape and size against the key, achieving a near-perfect match. She hadn’t even broken a sweat by the time she dunked her copied key into the oil vat with a sizzle.

Ksssssssssssss.

Ksenia glanced up. The darkness of the forge crept into its corners where the furnace’s light couldn’t reach. There had been nights when she was delirious from lack of sleep that she heard the fire hissing her name, the way it would spit and sizzle at any presence of water, instantly turning to steam.

She spotted the culprit. A light rain was drifting through the cracked window above the furnace. She put down her tools and went to it.

Her gaze snagged on a dark shape in the courtyard.

A figure moved amongst the bare, leafless trees. It was broad-shouldered, tall, and imposing. Her pulse quickened with recognition.

Then, a pure, sharp chime rang through her head, the note humming and lengthening from the direction of the figure.

It was a piercing ring, like a heavy bell resonating upon marble: precise and powerful.

She ducked as the figure turned in her direction. The rain intensified, pelting the flames.

Kssssssssssenia, kssssssssssssenia. The hiss sounded behind her ear and she whipped around, flattening against the leg of the worktable.

There was no one.