Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Fall? Fall? Seriously?
I whine and move my zip-tied hands until my fingers find his soft leather jacket. I don’t plan to cry, but a sob tears from my throat, because I’m so damn scared it’s making my body feel like it’s about to shut down. But my captor is merciless and nudges me forward, until I’m on my hands and knees.
The uneven surface under my palms is made of smooth rock, and once again I have to question where we actually are. Is this… a cave? Why would he bring me someplace like this if he has anything but bad intentions?
This time, my mind reimagines him not as the Mafia-indebted dad but a straight-up ghoul. He is taking me to his vampire master, and no one can convince me otherwise. Because who else lives in a fucking cave and needs human sacrifice?
I try to keep track of which way we’re turning, in case I get the chance to retrace these steps, but it’s a lost cause. I’m confused by the smells, I’m jumpy at each of his nudges, and Adam’s gruesome death replays in my head all too often for me to focus.
For all I know, we’ve been traversing this underground dungeon for hours when I hear locks again. My whimpers are for nothing, so I await my fate. My jailor leads me farther on, and this time there’s more of an… echo? And even the air feels fresher, as if the space we’ve reached is more cavernous.
Another push makes me lose balance and I fall… onto a bed.
Of course. This will be my life now until I wither away or he gets bored.
Water drips somewhere in the distance, but the scent here is more pleasant, even if I can’t put my finger on it. Like moss? The man moves near-soundlessly, but I eventually hear him scratch against a surface, perhaps writing something down?
I shiver when he touches me again, wrapping my wrists with soft rope despite already using the zip-tie. I try pleading the only way I can, with a pathetic whine, but it’s fucking pointless, since he will do as he pleases anyway.
Something slips under the plastic cuff, ripping it open. I freeze when my captor moves away hurriedly, as if he’s desperate to put some distance between us. I hear the faintest click of a lock, and it becomes obvious that I’m on my own.
That’s it? He’s left me here?
My fingers tremble, breath coming faster as I listen to the dwindling footsteps, but even when I can no longer hear him, the fear of breaking some unnamed rule keeps me still. At least until something in me snaps, and I push up the blindfold.
It is a cave, all right—windowless, with rock for the ceiling—but also, somehow… a bedroom. The light comes from under two silk lampshades which seem like something an old lady would buy, not the demonic creature who’s abducted me.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I stare at the thick Turkish-style rug covering the floor. It overlaps with another one farther on, red and golden, but I’m puzzled to see more of those traditional carpets hung on the walls like tapestries in a Soviet apartment. I once read the wool makes for good insulation from the cold, but I still fail to understand why go through all the effort of making a cavern liveable when one could move into a house?
Unless this man is wanted. On the run from the police, or one of those people who disappeared and wants to never be found again. But if that’s the case then why… why would he take me?
The answer is obvious, and it makes me shake all over as I wiggle my hands, trying to loosen the rope tying them together. It doesn’t take me long to realize that my captor didn’t make the knots difficult to unravel. He wanted me to free myself. Soon enough, I’m as free as I can be, with the soggy gag out of my mouth at last.
The cave is the size of four rooms, the ceiling is high, and it smells of the stone walls, old books, but also of… chocolate? Cocoa? Even the bed I’m sitting on is an absurd choice for a place like this. The frame is sturdy, the intricately carved headboard worn smoother by age. Above it hangs an unsettling (in these circumstances) whimsical Victorian painting of four child angels shepherding a black wolf.
The wardrobe nearby is an antique, but it must have been brought in here in pieces going by how crudely it's been put together. A comfy armchair with worn upholstery sits next to three bookshelves filled to the brim, and several stacks of books crowd the floor, as if awaiting additional storage. A cup stands on the coffee table next to them. So… he’s a reader? Okay. Maybe we can bond over that while I plot my escape.