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C'est la vie.

I uncap the pen and begin writing.

Merci, mais non merci.

The room has become a furnace by the time I put my pen down. My vision blurs, salty drops of sweat making my eyes start to sting. My skin feels sticky, like it's about to melt any second. I'm this close to tearing my dress off.

But since I don't want to die naked...

3:09remaining.

A possibility taunts my thoughts. Something that's always lurked at the back of my mind, but one so fearful that I never had the courage to let it come into being...until now.

1:02remaining.

What if it's true? What if I mean nothing at all to Sylvain, and my death actually frees him from whatever transaction, whatever promise he has made to Viktor Biancardi? What if all of this sacrifice is for nothing?

0:45remaining.

Peu importe. Doesn't matter.

Sylvain once said he wanted a woman of strength and courage.

And so that's what he's going to get, even if it kills me.



















Chapter Ten

CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNEDin fragmented pieces. The cold hard floor beneath his back. The taste of ash in his mouth. And the tightness around his wrists, rope biting into his skin, and slowly cutting off circulation.

Cold floor beneath his back. The taste of ash in his mouth. Rope cutting into his wrists.

Sylvain kept his breathing steady, his eyes closed as he assessed his situation. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. Silence...except for wood crackling in a fireplace nearby.

He risked opening his eyes a fraction. A log cabin, rustic but well-maintained, and through the window, a glimpse of dense forest...and stone gargoyles.

Marchettis.