Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“What is that?” I yell over the constant roar of the wind rushing against us.
Instead of answering, he twists the throttle harder. I yelp and clench my fists in his shirt. Slowly the gates part as if welcoming us inside. I’m too scared to turn around but the low screech and clink of metal behind us suggests the gates closed.
The motorcycle’s growl deepens as Declan downshifts onto a narrow driveway choked with fallen leaves and scarred by potholes.
Small lights, almost smothered by overgrown trees and shrubs, dot the narrow black road. The scent of pine and damp earth envelops me. Blackness stretches ahead. Through the thick trees, something dark glistens. Are we headed toward the river?
Declan gently steers the bike to the left. From the skeletal embrace of the forest, a large house…or mansion emerges. At least three stories of dark stone, ornate gables jutting toward the sky, and what looks like a round tower with arched windows.
He stops in front of a set of stone steps leading to two massive wooden doors covered with an iron gate shaped like ivy. I stare, mouth open, at the house…mansion…castle? The dark stone is stained black in places from years of rain and probably neglect.
A wide, round patch of overgrown grass and weeds sits in the center of the circular driveway with an empty stone fountain in the center.
He kills the engine and an unnerving hush falls over us.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
He turns slightly and I glimpse his handsome profile against the night. A faint smile ghosts his lips. “Home.”
“Home? Whose home?”
“The Sterling home,” he says, his voice raspy and intimate in the sudden silence.
“Your home? But you live over the tattoo shop, don’t you?”
“Most of the time.” He lifts his chin. “Climb off first. Use my shoulder for balance.”
My legs wobble like jelly as I clutch his arm and swing my leg up and gracelessly hop off the bike. Declan steadies me with a hand at my waist. His touch does nothing to settle the riot of sensations still flooding my body from the ride.
No, not just the ride. From him. An insatiable urge to mount him seizes me.
As if he feels it too, his nostrils flare and his eyes widen.
His fingers grip the handlebars and for a second I’m scared he’ll ride off and leave me stranded at this castle in the middle of nowhere.
I back up, giving him room to dismount. He swings his leg off the bike and towers over me. “How was your first ride?”
“That wasn’t…” Heat blasts over my cheeks. “Oh, you mean the motorcycle? Terrifying.”
He frowns and reaches for the chin strap, neatly unfastening my helmet. “What’d you think I meant?”
I shift, rubbing my thighs together and avert my eyes. “Nothing.” Needing to quickly move away from my horny little blunder, I wave a hand at the house. “How come you never told me you own a home big enough to star in its own ghost story?”
“Didn’t know I needed to.” He sets the helmet on the seat of the bike and pivots toward the stairs. “I don’t ‘own’ it. It’s in a family trust.”
“Your family lives here?”
He winces, then shakes his head. “They rarely visit the Hollow.”
Obviously, this is a sore topic. “Oh.”
“Let’s get inside.” He jogs up the stairs and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. The iron ivy is actually a gate in front of the massive doors. They groan as he unlocks them and pulls one side open. Another key opens the wood door. He presses a hand to my lower back and nudges me inside ahead of him.
Inside is a cavern of shadows, dark gleaming wood, stone, heavy furniture, thick rugs. Musty air tickles my nose.
The iron gate clangs shut behind me and I jump. Declan secures the gate, then pushes the front door closed, throwing several locks. He steps to the side and flips a switch.
I gasp and blink at the sudden light shining from a giant crystal and iron chandelier above.
One corner of Declan’s mouth curls up. “What? Thought we’d have to use candles?”
Eager to explore, my gaze ping-pongs around the entryway. “Kind of.”
The chandelier’s glow doesn’t banish the shadows. If anything, it adds to them. Old maps in ornate frames line the walls, interspersed with portraits of people I assume are related to Declan.
Declan’s hand presses firm at the small of my back, steering me deeper inside. His touch shouldn’t feel this electrifying.
“He can’t cross the threshold.”
He. The Rider? My stomach lurches. I want to ask a hundred questions, but the weight of this house—of him—silences all but one. “How do you know that?”
He points to the door. “The iron barrier. Iron built into every corner of the house.”
Again with the iron. I glance at my wrist. Nothing about the glowing green ring is normal. Maybe Declan knows what he’s talking about and it’s time for me to set my skepticism aside.