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Chapter Five
Ihatedtheisland before we even got there, enduring days upon days of traveling, treated like cargo rather than a person. We arrived at a place that was cold. It had never occurred to me that the island they were taking me to wouldn’t be lovely and tropical. Instead, there were only trees and more trees—a lot of them evergreens. The deciduous trees were just starting to bud. The forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for warmer weather before trading the drab browns of dead foliage for shades of green.
The cold powered through the button-down shirt I was wearing. I had no shoes and no coat. I trudged from the SUV to the house, my feet freezing on the bare ground, with Ilya in front of me and Bron behind, as though I might make a run for it. There was nowhere to go, but with the bag off my head, at least I could see and breathe clean air.
I’d been expecting nothing more than a cabin in the woods with a bucket to piss in, but a ramshackle house sprang up out of the ground before us. It was an odd place and made me think of a fairy-tale castle belonging to an unhinged evil sorcerer. It appeared to have been built over several decades, mostly using rock and concrete. The dull gray of the structure blended into the landscape, despite the strange tower at the back of it.
There was no question these men belonged here. The place looked as rough as they were.
At least the walls would keep the wind out.
“I guess I never asked if this place was warm,” I said wryly.
“It’s nice to be home. That island was too hot,” Bron grumbled.
Ilya watched me the way he always did, like he wasn’t sure what to make of me.
It was easy to tell the two of them were close, but I still hadn’t had the guts to ask who they were to each other. From their dynamic, Ilya was Bron’s servant, or possibly his little brother.
“Does anyone else live here?”
“Who were you hoping for?”
“A housekeeper?” From the looks of the place, I doubted there was enough to keep a housekeeper busy other than cooking. It wasn’t like these men had possessions to tidy up. They took the term minimalist to a whole new, sad level.
There was no way I could fool myself into believing I was on vacation in this place.
I sighed. “Let me guess—I’m going to have to sleep at the foot of your bed or something, aren’t I?”
“Of course not, Queen of Whores. We would never treat you with less than the utmost respect,” he mocked. “Ilya, I have arrangements to make. Take her to the tower.”
The tower? As fairy tales went, this one sucked.
Ilya nodded, his eyes wary, as though he would need to keep his wits about him when he was alone with me.
He led me through the massive house. The stone corridor opened onto Spartan, often furniture-less rooms. There was very little in the way of comfort, and the flagstones were cold under my feet. Almost every stick of furniture I saw looked homemade and serviceable rather than pretty. The few pieces of art were of trees or melancholy landscapes that lacked color. There were no photos, family or otherwise.
I plodded along after him, grumbling inwardly. It had never occurred to me I might miss all the times I’d had to run barefoot during hunts, but at least then my feet had been warm. Now they ached with cold. I was tired, sore, and angry.
We entered a wide open space that held nothing except a gigantic spiral staircase with no handrail.
Yikes.
This must be the tower. The staircase followed along the inside of the tower’s stone walls. Narrow windows brought in just enough light to see the worn steps.
Was he really going to make me climb up the spiral staircase of doom?
Apparently yes.
I had to stick to the wall to avoid feeling like one misstep might topple into the void, and to my death. The place was definitely not up to code. I was so tired I snorted at the idea of calling my OSHA rep to complain.
I looked back at Ilya, who didn’t seem worried about falling. Then again, it might feel like a good option compared to living on this godforsaken island.
When I tried to meet his gaze, I realized he was staring at my legs. Now that we were alone, was he going to make a move? He caught me looking at him, and he shifted away his gaze, as though I wasn’t already bought and paid for.
Interesting.
At the top of the stairs was a large wooden door with steel reinforcements. He opened the wrought iron latch and gestured me in.
Compared to the parts of the house I’d seen, the room was unexpected. It had two walls of windows, and was bright and cheery, and was furnished with a double bed, a dresser, and a desk. A bookcase jammed with paperbacks and movies took up a whole wall. The carpeting was soft underfoot and there were enough textiles to cut the cold of the building. There was a lot of dust, but that was easily fixed.
”Is the heat on?”
