Page 3 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)
MONSTROUS THINGS
My Dearest Katherine,
I must tell you, in the most tragic and dramatic terms possible, that I am positively wasting away from boredom.
I am eight and ten, yet Mama insists I must behave with grace.
I am beginning to think she truly believes that one more embroidery lesson will transform me into the perfect young lady.
But we both know the truth. I am incorrigible, hopeless, and utterly beyond salvation.
I must have true love or I will surely wither.
I need you, dearest, to save me from this fate.
Tell me something scandalous. Have you caused mischief lately?
Bewitched some poor unsuspecting gentleman with those sharp eyes of yours?
Or have you, by some miracle, finally learned to dance without stepping on your partner’s toes?
(Do say yes. I cannot bear the thought of you attending another ball and massacring some poor man’s boots.)
Oh, and speaking of men, I must tell you, a certain very eligible bachelor attempted to recite poetry to me in the garden yesterday.
It was a valiant effort, I will admit, but after enduring five whole verses of lamenting my celestial beauty (his words, not mine), I could do nothing but laugh.
I fear I have shattered his romantic heart.
He looked as if he might faint dead away from the humiliation of it.
Do you think I am cruel? I prefer to think of it as a mercy.
Better he discover my wicked nature now than after a lifetime of marital disappointment.
Write to me soon, my dear. If I do not hear from you, I shall be forced to take up knitting to pass the time, and we both know how that will end.
Yours in eternal suffering,
Lady Genevieve Hawthorne
KATHERINE
A candle sconce flickers, stretching the shadows against the cold stone walls until they stand high above me.
I keep a reasonable distance as I pursue the Duke through the winding halls of the manor.
I shouldn’t be here. But something about the Duke’s behaviour at the ball doesn’t fit.
Why is he here? Surely he wouldn’t just attend this event for no good reason.
It cannot be to find a wife, that is certain. That leaves just one option.
Business .
Just as I am about to turn the next corner, a hand shoots out and grabs me by my wrist. I nearly gasp out loud as I swivel on my heel, but bite my lip in time. Genevieve stands there, her blue eyes sharp. I release the strained breath I’ve been holding.
“Genevieve!” I chastise with a light smack on her arm, “what are you doing here?”
Genevieve exhales sharply and yanks her wrist free.
“Shhh! I mustn’t let you wander off all alone.
If they catch you without a chaperone, there will be hell to pay.
Mama will box my ears.” Genevieve smirks.
“Honestly, sneaking after the Duke? You always did have a terrible habit of walking straight into danger. You will get yourself killed if I am not there to protect you.”
I don’t deny it. “If you insist...”
Instead, I turn my back on the hallway, only to see the Duke stepping through a tall, arched doorway at the end of the corridor.
I must hurry. The heavy wooden doors closes behind him.
A few seconds pass. There is a loud sound.
A bang, followed by a loud indiscernible cry.
I do not hesitate. I dart forward, and Genevieve follows without needing to be asked.
With a firm grip, I rip the doors open, just in time.
The room is vast and circular, and burgeoning with towering bookshelves that reach a vaulted ceiling.
A grand fireplace crackles with a low fire with an orange glow that shines over the large mahogany desk at the centre.
There is a shadow inside, and upon seeing it, Genevieve quickly ducks underneath the study desk.
But it is not the books or the luxurious décor that catches my attention—it is the Duke.
He is the figure that stands inside the shadows near the hearth, shoulders stiff, with a head slightly bowed.
Then, Ashwood speaks. His calm voice is filled with an eerie hollow awareness.
“You shouldn’t have followed me, Princess. ”
My blood runs cold.
He knows.
Then comes the sound. An inhuman growl echoes inside the room.
It’s right behind us. My breath hitches sharply as I turn and see it.
A figure emerges from the darkness. It cannot be called a man.
Sure, it walks on two legs, but its hunched form stands at ten feet tall, its skin an unnatural red pallor, its limbs thick and muscled, black eyes fixated on the Duke.
Demon.
Monster.
With my back pressed against the bookshelf, I open my mouth to scream, but no sound arrives. From underneath the study desk, below me, Genevieve reiterates the same question with a low whisper only I can hear. “What is that ?”
I don’t answer.
I cannot speak.
Monster.
The Duke’s elegant features garishly crack, and his limbs extend. Then the demon — he speaks. “Run.”
His once-pristine clothes stretch and tear as he changes, and I?
I cannot move.
My body locks in place, rooting me to the spot.
Fingers elongate into clawed talons, and eyes burn an unnatural black.
A monstrous growl rumbles from Ashwood’s chest. The other creature lets out a high-pitched screech before lunging toward me.
Genevieve is still trapped under the desk, further from the exit.
It will take her longer to escape. For now, she remains hidden.
Me? I’m out in the open like a sitting duck.
I don’t have time to wait. Panic seizes me, and instinct takes over. I do the only thing I can.
“Stay here Genevieve!” I scream and fling myself sideways. My crown slips off my head and lands at the edge of a gold-threaded rug. The monster crashes into the adjacent bookshelf. “I’ll lead them away. Get help!”
“Katherine!”
The Duke's transformation is complete. Those black eyes. They see me. His demonic voice replays in my head. “Run.”
My feet move, leaping for the door as my heart hammers.
I pray the beasts will follow. My plan works.
Claws scraping over stone follow me down the corridor, growing closer with each step.
More than one set. Genevieve is okay. But I can’t stop.
I leave her behind, still huddled underneath the safety of the study desk.
Silk glides around my ankles and feet pounding the ground hard as I race through the hallways.
I run until my vision wavers and a stitch forms on my side. Up ahead, it appears.
A staircase.
Sanctuary.
I ascend, jumping two at a time, climbing higher and higher, until I reach the uppermost level of the estate. I burst into the empty spire tower, my chest heaving, regretting the way I’ve come.
A dead end.
My stomach tightens painfully.
No.
A breeze from a large, arched window meanders inside, and a garden lake sparkles in the moonlight far below.
The only way out.
I move closer, and turn just as the creature the Duke’s become, slinks into the room. His gargantuan frame fills the doorway. He is nothing but pure muscle and death that shines inside his pitch black eyes. They lock onto mine as the second demon slinks in beside him.
My heart beats faster.
If I stay, I am dead.
I have no choice.
I suck in a sharp breath, and then I am rapidly sprinting.
I run straight for the window. I am so close.
It is within reach. One foot moves, and then another, and then, with everything I have, I jump.
For a moment, I am weightless. My dress whips upwards as wind rushes past my ears and the cold night air embraces me.
The inertia is coming, I can feel it inside my throat. The lake is mere seconds away—
I’m going to make it.
Then something snaps around my wrist.
A long, sinewy tail snakes around my arms, neck, and torso. The force yanks me backward so violently that air is ripped from my lungs.
No.
With my fall interrupted, I am hauled back into the darkness of the tower, further, up until salvation dies. The full moon, glowing serenely against the night sky is all I see. Up, up and up, I am dragged until the cold darkness of the spire devours me whole.
No. No, no, no.
Then, the window slams closed.
My chest heaves, skirts twisting around my legs as I dangle midair. A corded and sinuous tail slithers around my wrist, tightening as it drags me inside. The pressure bites into my skin. It squeezes, reinforcing its hold. I groan out loud. “No….”
It has me. I’m done for.
The Duke stands in the firelight, except he is not the Duke anymore.
Broad and monstrous, his body carved from raw power.
His crimson skin gleams with sweat and blood, his frame heaving with breath.
He is not like the other creature. That demon who crouches across the room, hunched and snarling, dark eyes unblinking as it watches me.
Missing a hand, it bleeds too. A snarl escapes its lips and the moment snaps.
A growl rumbles through the chamber.
It’s coming from him — the duke.
The demon lunges.
The Duke moves faster.
They collide with a force that shakes the walls.
Claws tear. Flesh rends. Bones crack. They are tangled limbs and a bloodied frenzy, smashing into bookshelves, and sending tomes crashing to the floor.
The firelight distorts wildly about us, splaying its monstrous shadows across the walls, and yet I remain, incapacitated and unable to run.
The demon snarls, trying to claw at the Ashwood’s throat, but he is stronger.
Faster.
The Duke catches it by the skull.
There is a sickening crack.
The body stiffens, then goes limp. Inside that precious second, neither of them moves. Then, without a thought, the Duke rips the head clean from its shoulders.
Heaven help me.