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Or at least freedom within the castle.
The rest of my ability to wander wherever I wanted remained to be seen.
Still in my yoga pants and tank that’d I’d had on when Damen had captured me, I sat for a long moment with my bare forearms balancing on my knees, deep breaths heaving into my lungs.
Move. I needed to move. Get out of this prison, for the longer I sat here, the more pathetic I became.
And I didn’t want Damen to see me even more pathetic. This was humiliating enough without my lack of courage on display.
I found way to my feet, my legs wobbling from the pain that had shredded my muscles during the last few days.
My hand trailing along the stone walls of the undercrofts for support, I started to move, my bare feet shuffling across the rough stones.
I made my way up the tight circular staircase at the far end of the undercrofts. Reaching the main level hallway, I looked around, half expecting a horde of rabid malefics ready to pounce on me.
No one.
What exactly did Damen expect me to do now?
To find him? To try and escape?
I stopped, leaning against the wall for a full minute, catching my breath after the exhausting walk up here. Damen had taken all of the pain, but had returned none of the energy to me.
Not that I wanted his hand anywhere near my crotch.
But by taking the painful energy and giving me nothing back, he’d left my body oddly drained, like every one of my veins had been sucked dry.
My eyes dipping, I looked down at my bare toes.
Shoes. I needed shoes.
Whatever was next, I needed shoes.
I glanced along the long hallway that led toward the main foyer. Damen hadn’t been lying. As far as I could see, he’d recreated the exact layout of Netherstone. My old room was probably my best bet for some shoes—hopefully not just the high heels with which I’d been greeted before.
My hand still dragging along the walls for support, I found my way through the foyer and up the main staircase to the floor my old room was on. Twisting through the corridors, I noticed my footsteps were the same as they had always been—Damen hadn’t bothered to un-maze the twisting, veering corridors.
The door to my old room was open, and I walked into it.
Almost the exact same as it had been.
The furniture slightly different. The armoire antique, but similar in size. The furniture plush and modern like it had been. A most luxurious pale yellow silk comforter on the neatly made bed.
On the bedside table sat my dragonfly dagger and sword I’d had on the island, and just behind them, my favorite sword. The one made just for me a hundred plus years ago with the well-worn silver and alabaster hilt that had been weighted perfectly for me. It had gone down with the rubble of the castle, and I’d had to leave it behind.
But there it sat. Polished. Gleaming. Wondering where my hand had been.
My heart thudded harder at the sight of it, my legs going woozy.
My look drifted above the head of the bed and I froze.
The painting.
The one Damen’s brother, Rodolfo, had painted.
The one with the family picnicking while demons rained from the sky toward them.
A long tear in the canvas was evident from the top left corner to the bottom middle, but it had been patched together on the back side.
