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“Hurry,” the elderly male panted, his wrinkled face smudged with soot.

Lucky for them, Gilbert was spry for an old fart. He led them past the kitchen and into a rarely used hallway. Even without power, the sconces flickered to life as they passed, as though some unidentified force guided the way.

Finally, Gilbert stopped at the end of the hallway. He drew back a tapestry on the wall, revealing a hidden doorway.

Vivian gasped. “How long has that been there?”

“Since the mansion was built.” Gilbert opened the door and ambled down the steps into what appeared to be an ancient cellar.

Liam made to follow him when Vivian hit the brakes, nearly wrenching his arm from the socket.

“No, no, no. I can’t.” She stared at the darkened stairwell, a look of abject terror on her face.

Liam took in her shivering frame. What the hell? Was she afraid of the dark?

Smoke billowed into the hallway. Flames crackled in the distance. They didn’t have time for this. “You can and you will,” he insisted, firming his tone.

“No. I won’t. I won’t return to that hell.” She wrenched her arm in his grip, pulling so hard he feared breaking her wrist. The glassy look in her eyes was far from rational.

He’d never seen her so terrified, not even when the hellhounds attacked them. His gut twisted. He’d felt a similar panic when she’d first bound his wrist. No doubt, this irrational fear had something to do with that prick Alistair.

“Mistress Vivian,” Gilbert called from below. “Please, hurry. This is the only way out.”

Before she could bolt, Liam spun and swept her into his arms. She hammered her fists into his chest. “No, Liam. Don’t take me down there. I can’t.”

He held her tight, subduing her struggles. “Honey, I swear I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m asking you to trust me.” Same as he’d trusted her.

Rather than answer, she smashed her face into his neck and nodded. That little bit of faith she showed him made something tighten in his chest. “Good. Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.”

Vivian’s head swam,and spots sparkled behind her eyelids. She tucked her face into Liam’s neck, too afraid to breathe. Walls closed in, the air damp and moldy. She was underground, trapped, with no sunlight. Images of Alistair’s lab flicked through her mind. The altar, the blood, the screams.

Liam jolted. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” she cried, squeezing him tighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Hit my fricking head on a floor joist,” he snarled. “Who built this damn thing, hobbits?”

He hunched over, shuffling his feet.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she chanted against his neck. Every minute in the enclosed space was a minute too long.

“Quiet. Someone’s coming,” Liam whispered, taking a knee and seating her on his thigh. No longer willing to face the threat blind, she cracked her eyes open. Rough stone surrounded them. Shelves swathed in cobwebs lined the walls. The lack of bubbling chemicals and cages should have eased her mind.

It didn’t.

Her heart thundered in her chest. If someone found them down here. They’d be cornered. Trapped.

Footsteps pounded overhead. Dust rained down on them.

Liam grunted a pained sound. He ran his hand up her arm and gently extracted her nails from the back of his neck.

She winced, rubbing his abused flesh in apology.

Muted voices rumbled through the ceiling. “Where the hell is she? Find the bitch, or Zion will have our heads.” Those muffled footsteps grew fainter, Zion’s lackeys moving away.

“Over here,” Gilbert urged in a hushed whisper.

While keeping Vivian in his arms, Liam regained his feet and hobbled to the butler’s side.