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Finally, I reach the bottom—a little square foyer, barely big enough for the stairs to empty into.
The dirt is so thick on the floor here, my bare feet immediately become filthy.
But that’s not what concerns me.
No, the large, iron door, with three heavy bars locking it captures my attention. And the filthy, bloody bullwhip looped over and over on a hook right beside it.
My heart skips a beat as I freeze.
At least until the fire finally makes the leap to the hide and the flame dances even higher. I screech a little and finally fling it away from me to the corner of the landing.
For a second, I’m afraid the dirt will put it out.
But there’s still enough wood to fuel the flame. And now the fire has caught the outside of the fur, which burns with a foul odor.
Well, shit.
I’m here.
Am I going to look behind Door Number One, or not?
I study the three heavy iron bars that are obviously the only locks barring the door. Each has a crude handle.
I might as well try. I’ve come this far.
I put both hands on the long handle sticking out from the first crossbar and shove.
The track isn’t rusted, but it isn’t oiled either. And it’s so, so heavy.
At first, it doesn’t budge.
Did Beast build it? Can only someone like him, with his strength, move it?
Sweat breaks out on my brow. I’m so small in comparison. Even with my restored body and muscles, I have nothing in comparison to his brute strength.
Still, I push with all my strength, even putting a foot against the far wall.
It doesn’t move.
I’m about to give up.
And there’s relief in my heart that I won’t be able to solve this mystery after all… when suddenly the damn bar gives and starts to move along what feels like an ancient track.
Dammit.
I put my other foot against the wall and grunt as I keep shoving.
The bar moves all the way free, clearing the door.
I’m covered in sweat now, and there are still two bars to go.
I hop back to the floor once it’s clear and the flame from my firestick flickers, burning down.
There’s not much time if I want to see this through.
It’s probably that and not me thinking things through that has me grabbing the second bar and repeating the process.
The whole time I pray that this one will get stuck and keep me from being able to open the damn door.
But this one moves much more easily. I only have to put one foot against the wall for leverage to move it.
And the third moves even easier still.
Sweat is pouring into my eyes by the time all the bars are free.
All that remains is to open the door and see what’s inside.
Well, fuck. What have you gotten yourself into this time?
I swipe my forehead impatiently.
In for a penny, in for a pound? I need to know if there are other past consorts chained up down here. I need to find out if this is my fate.
I.
Need.
Answers.
So, I grab the handle of the door.
And I pull.
Chapter Twenty-Two
HANNAH
Oh God, the stench.
That’s the first thing that hits me as I pull open the door.
If I thought the castle upstairs was dirty, I had no damn clue.
It’s dim, dark because there’s no light except the light I brought with me, and that’s burning down.
I pinch my nose and stay on the threshold, too afraid to at first step inside.
“H-h-hello?” My voice is shaking. “Is there anyone here?”
A rattle of chains greets my question. Oh shit. There’s something down here. Maybe I’m totally wrong. Maybe this is just where Beast keeps his… pets or something.
But then eyes blink at me. A shocking white in the dark.
I stumble backward.
And I’m more shocked than I can say when a light turns on. An electric one, up high in the ceiling. I don’t look at it, though, because there’s too much else to take in.
Mainly the man who seems to have flicked on the lamp.
The eyes that blink at me in the darkness.
I’m so confused.
He looks—
He’s—
Just a man.
A handsome man, if a little filthy. Though he has taken pains to wipe his face and keep it clean. But the rest of him…
His arms are chained from elbow to wrist, and it’s the same with his legs. From knee to ankle, heavy, heavy chains are wrapped—double wrapped even. And at wrist and ankle, heavy iron shackles are secured, like the one the Beast first put around my neck.
He’s wearing tattered clothing that’s so filthy, I have no idea what its original color might have been.
“Oh my God,” I step forward despite the filthy stone floor beneath my bare feet.
He holds up one of his bound hands. The metal links rattle horribly, and I follow the length of chain to see where they are affixed to the wall.
