Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Well, that was true for Mayhem—and goddamn, he wished he had the guy’s techie skills. If he himself knew that much about computers, he could have avoided this claptrap altogether.
Mayhem glanced out of the archway he’d come through. “She was scared. The scent of fear was so strong, I smelled it out in the fucking hallway.” The male looked back. “And no, I don’t believe the housekeeper bullshit. You were surprised to see her. You’d have known she was up here, if you were coming to do this job and she was the staff. Also, there’s no food in the house. The beds weren’t made—and they would have been if she’d been in charge. I know you know the truth, and if I’m going to protect her, I want to be prepared.”
“No one’s asking you to do that, Mayhem.”
“Well, I’m volunteering because no one else is doing it.” Those eyes narrowed with a calculation that was a surprise. “You’re only in charge of taking care of her father.”
In the silence that followed, Apex got to his feet with a curse. He hadn’t expected things to get brass-tacks real, not with Mayhem. And that laissez-faire attitude, even more than the male’s IT abilities, was the real reason he’d picked the former prisoner.
Mayhem never cared about anything.
“Do you trust me,” Apex said softly.
There was a long pause, the other male’s stare not wavering. And then the guy shook his head. “You know, Apex, at another time, in another place, I would have said yes. If only because you wouldn’t waste time lying or screwing me over. But here, in this house? With whoever she is? I don’t think I do.”
Apex nodded once. “I respect that. And I’ll tell you something—not because we’re friends, but because it’s going to make what I’m doing here easier.”
“What.”
“Do not get involved with this family.” Apex put his palm out, and deepened his voice. “They are not who you think they are, and you do not want their problems.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
What was that human saying? Through the woods and across the streams, to Grandmother’s house we drove . . .
Or was it across the woods and through the fields? No streams? And was it a bicycle? Or on foot.
Oh, who the fuck cared.
Knee-deep in snow, Callum stopped to catch his breath, locking his hands on his hips and scenting the air. The acreage all around him was a tangled mess draped in drifts and accumulation: The undergrowth was matted up after decades of neglect, and the trees were packed in tight, alternating between pines that showed some green and oaks and maples that were gray and skeletal. Clearly, even bare minimum landscaping had been given up, and the chain-link fence had also been abandoned, the lot of it nothing but collapsed sections and posts now.
He was finally in range, though.
Through the interlocking bushes, branches, and boughs, the looming, glooming front facade of the Willow Hills Sanatorium was straight out of an eighties horror movie. And as his gut sank, he would have taken a step back if his boots hadn’t been locked into the snow.
Ah, yes. This was why he hadn’t dematerialized.
He’d wanted to reserve the right to turn back.
Looking away, he caught a glimpse of a deer struggling to get out of his sight. Off to the left, a hawk soared over a little clearing, obviously in search of breakfast. Otherwise, nothing moved, and he felt as though the entire layout was a snare trap, luring him in just to snap on a limb and keep him in place for the hunter who was going to claim him.
“Why the fuck did you come here,” he muttered.
In lieu of a verbal answer, his body kept going on its own, his feet lifting high and sinking back down through the snowdrifts once again, his hands reaching up and pushing branches out of his way. When he hit the edge of the forest, he paused once more . . . and then he stepped out onto what once must have been a rolling lawn that ran all the way up to the brick sprawl.
This part of the property had been maintained. Of course it had, because it increased the defensive position of the structure.
Maybe the Brotherhood still owned the place after all these years.
God . . . damn. The degraded building was exactly as he remembered, its central core the anchor for two flanks that had been the real purpose of the place. Back before antibiotics, the treatment for tuberculosis patients had been fresh air, so each of the wings’ five levels was a long, open porch, onto which the afflicted, in their beds, could be rolled.
He didn’t know the full details of the sanatorium’s history. But he was dead clear on the fact that, some thirty years ago, it had been used, for a short time, as a hidden prison for a bunch of vampires. And after the liberation? It had been a clinic for the treatment of said prisoners, who had been, for the most part, falsely caged and used as drug processors. There had been a lot of disease and malnourishment among the males and females, and the Black Dagger Brotherhood had given the survivors everything they’d needed to recover.