Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
The air crackles with mounting fear as we descend into the bowels of this hellish tower. At the bottom of the stairs, the iron gate is unlocked, its metal bars gaping like the jaws of a beast, salivating over its next sacrifice.
Oliver urges me forward, each step ushering in dread. The space is stale from aged leather and rusting iron, the echoes of past suffering gnashing their teeth in the shadows.
Memories soak me, vivid and ice-cold, and I’m back in time, my fingers curling around the bars of a cage while Pax chains Sebastian to the ceiling. His brutal whip cracks through the utter quiet, relentless, too many times to count. Then…
A grunt of pain.
Blood dripping down his welted back.
Horrified stares from half the men surrounding him.
I squeeze my eyes shut until the images fade, but reality doesn’t shift. I’m still in the dungeon, trapped in a new month, forced into another terrorizing visit to the place where I had no choice but to watch the love of my life hang in those shackles, his spirit breaking in front of me.
Now, it looks like I’m the one who’s going to break.
Too many men crowd the space, but all I see is Pax, arms folded over his broad chest as he lounges beside the St. Andrew’s cross. That relaxed stance is a lie, because his soulless eyes promise nothing but pain.
Before I can draw a full breath, he moves.
A nightmare stalking closer.
Heavy boots thudding with purpose.
Then a hand clamps around my wrist.
12
Pax drags me through the fray, straight for the towering X on the wall, with its medieval shackles poised to claim its next victim. The dungeon churns with movement, voices clashing for dominance, and that’s when I notice the fracture.
The men are split into two distinct groups.
Allies to the left.
Villains to the right.
Before Pax reaches the wooden planks, Liam steps in front of him, nostrils flaring, hatred boiling under the surface.
“Let her go.” His voice is low, simmering with the kind of fury that wants to combust. Hands curling into fists, he grinds his teeth so hard I half expect them to crack. Vance, Landon, Ford, and Hugo flank him, sensing the ticking bomb that is the chancellor.
“Everyone, calm down.” Liam’s father joins the group as two more legacy members crowd in, blocking the space between Oliver and me.
And that’s when it happens.
A pair of emerald eyes lock onto mine, familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense. My stomach lurches as if I’ve stepped off a ledge, caught in a weightless free fall before recognition slams me to the ground.
It’s him.
Landon’s father.
My father.
I look nothing like him, but I can’t help searching for a trace of resemblance. The cheekbones are wrong, and so is his mouth, but still…
Something’s there.
A pull deep in my marrow.
Familiarity without logic.
He returns my scrutiny, his dark brows dipping, and I know what he’s seeing.
My mother.
Because I’m a replica of her. Same flaxen hair and brown eyes, though I used to believe that part of my genes came from Edwin Van Buren, whose lineage was chock full of brown-eyed ancestors. But my mother’s secret journal made it clear—Franklin Astor is responsible for my existence.
The connection shatters when Mr. Stone shoves through the crowd. “What’s the holdup?” He pins me with an indigo glare before turning to Pax. “This girl has been a problem since the day she arrived.”
I’m the lone female here, but I’m the problem? Every instinct in my bones tells me to fight, to hurl my own anger back at him, chin held high.
It’s what he deserves.
Before I’m able to launch a verbal attack, my father’s voice cuts through the standoff. “This should be handled in the council chamber.”
It’s not a suggestion.
The words land like a challenge, and Mr. Stone’s nostrils flare, his glare snapping to the other man. “Are you afraid she won’t survive a little discipline?”
“You don’t get to make this decision on your own.”
Silence.
I wait for Mr. Stone to argue, but he smashes his lips together. Five seconds ago, he was ready to rip into me, laying out every grievance in front of the Brotherhood, but now he’s swallowing his anger?
I’m not the only one who notices.
Landon studies our father too long, expression unreadable except for the slant of one brow, betraying a trace of doubt.
Why did Mr. Stone back down? It’s not his style.
“Astor’s right,” Mr. Castle interrupts. “We need to move this summons to the proper place.” He levels Pax with a disapproving look. “I’ll let you lead the way, since you’re so eager.”
The dungeon’s keeper strides ahead of the group as Oliver moves in beside me, one hand at the small of my back. He guides me down the narrow passageway, and the others fall in line behind us, their footsteps thudding against the rustic plank flooring.
A massive door looms ahead, carved from wood, its sheer size a testament to the power behind it. Pax swings it open on heavy hinges, and a hush descends on the group.