Page 4 of Crimson Devotion (The Sacred Seven #1)

FOUR

Faith

This castle is mind-blowing.

Not even two hours in, and I’m already finding it hard to stop going in circles.

The walls are old, and the most interesting thing I’ve noticed is that there’s no electricity.

None whatsoever. There are torches and candles all around.

They really kept up the old aspect of it, and it makes me wonder about their shower habits.

If there’s no electricity, it’s only safe to assume there’s no water, either. Do they shower? Do they need to shower? One of the things I’ve never paid attention to in my training is what vampires were like, so now that I’m facing some of the scariest ones, I regret the decision immensely.

I should’ve paid attention instead of dozing off.

Every single wall is made out of ashlar.

Usually, old castles are made out of two masonry — rubble and ashlar.

Rubble is cheaper, easier to find, and it’s often put in the parts of the castle that aren’t accessible to anyone, or very visible.

Not this one, though, as it’s been made entirely out of ashlar.

But the location of the castle is odd. Why is it in Romania? I encountered Valerio in New Orleans, and if the stories are correct, the rest of them are also scattered throughout the United States. Why would their family home be in Romania?

Too many questions threaten to overwhelm me, and I take a deep breath, then take a right turn.

My footsteps come to a halt, eyebrows pinching.

The corridor is narrow, with small torches flickering on the walls on each side.

I’ve not seen this one yet, and I don’t know why, but it’s inviting me, and I find it difficult to ignore my curiosity.

With the stake and one small vial in my hand, I start walking into the poorly lit corridor, eyes skimming my surroundings. It’s silent, and I don’t know where Ophelia’s gone to.

I’m surprised she hasn’t killed me on the spot, and that she offered me this deal. More than that, I’m surprised at my reaction. I was composed, collected, and calm. On the inside, though? I was a fucking mess.

Ophelia has to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

Her hair is pitch black, falling down her waist. It’s pin straight, and it illuminates under the moonlight so beautifully that I had to force myself to look away.

Her eyes, albeit red in color, are the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Which is ironic, considering who and what she is.

Her eyebrows are on the thinner side, perfectly suiting her high cheekbones, and her plump lips.

She was wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown with a matching robe, and it was difficult not to fucking ogle her. For a moment, I felt like a maniac — but her tits were right there. Staring at me.

Ophelia’s not too tall, but still a bit taller than me.

It makes her intimidating, and despite the kind shape of her eyes, I know she’s not the one I want to cross — ever.

Something about the way she was composed doesn’t sit right with me.

And the fact that she decided to play a game with me is not something I expected.

My train of thought breaks when I find myself in front of a double wooden door. It’s old, with a lot of cobwebs all over the top part of the door, and some dust on the knob. When my hand reaches for the knob, to my surprise, it’s not locked.

I push the door open, the squeaky noise filling my ears. A round of coughing comes from me when I step in, a clear tell that no one’s been inside for a very long time. I take my backpack off, then pull out the flashlight, turning it on.

A frown etches on my face, and the more I walk into the room, the more confused I get.

It’s a library.

Unlike the narrow hallway, the library is massive. Easily one of the biggest I’ve seen, and back at the agency, we do have a rather huge one. It doesn’t come close to the one I’m currently in, though.

I skim through the titles, and I’m amazed at the selection. From wars all over the world, dating back hundreds of years, to the some of first erotic novels known to humans. There’s a lot of books on the supernatural, and many spellbooks, too. My fingers pause at a specific book, and I pull it out.

It’s a fantasy novel from the early 1800s.

My eyebrows lift to my hairline as I read over the description on the back, then shove it in my backpack, saving it for later.

The library hasn’t been updated in ages, but it’s alright.

Given the number of books on witches, vampires, and all the supernatural creatures that are now roaming freely in our world, I don’t need much more.

“The existence of vampires.’’ I read the title out loud, before pulling the book off the shelf. I take a seat on the dusty couch, with another coughing fit. My flashlight points directly at the book, my fingers grazing over the cover.

It’s thick and in a dark shade of brown. The title’s written in a font I’ve never seen before, and it’s likely a really old one that’s no longer being used as frequently. It’s written in gold, with a couple of gold details scattered all around the cover.

There’s no author name, nor a description on the back. My brow furrows further, a look of confusion on my face. I flip through the first couple of pages, and they’re empty. Some parts have gotten yellow, indicating it’s way older than I originally thought it would be.

But the more I flip the pages, the more confused I get. There’s not a single word written in this book. Not a single sentence, not even a dot. The pages are completely blank, from beginning to end.

It’s rather strange.

Quickly, I get off the couch and start opening random books, just to see if the rest are actual books.

And they are. The novels I take a peek at, the spellbooks that I quite honestly don’t comprehend, or the historical textbooks — but the fact remains.

Unless there’re another few like the book I chose, it’s the only one that’s completely void of any words.

“Snooping around, are we?”

I jolt, spinning around to look at the door. There she is again, leaning against the doorframe, still wearing the same nightgown and the robe. Her expression is stoic, though something akin to amusement flashes behind those red eyes.

“Just doing research.’’

“On what, exactly?” she asks, pushing herself off the doorframe and stepping farther into the room. “How to kill me?”

“Maybe,’’ I mumble.

“It’s rather funny, isn’t it?” She chuckles, the sound void of any humor.

“You came here, with determination of a thousand men, yet with no real plan on how to kill me. What did you think would happen? I’d suddenly grow a guilty conscience about murdering your parents and offer my life as retribution? ”

A scoff slips past my lips, and I close the book shut with more force than necessary. “I’d never expect you to have an ounce of empathy, or humanity, for that matter.’’

“Correct, because I’m not a human.’’

I don’t know why those words pull a chord inside my chest, but in a second, my calm demeanor falters, and the rage I’ve been suppressing for years starts bubbling, threatening to spill over the edge, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold it back.

“You have no remorse. How many people have you killed in cold blood, Ophelia?” I step closer, and although I’m without a weapon, as it’s in my backpack on the couch, I don’t feel any fear.

Yvonne’s necklace burned Ophelia once, and that was enough of proof that it works.

“How many people have you drained of blood, without looking back at their corpses?”

“A lot,’’ she responds, unbothered, without blinking. “I really didn’t keep count, though.’’

“You cunt,’’ I grit out. “No shame whatsoever.’’

“None,’’ she agrees. “Absolutely none.’’

“But why would you leave your bracelet, though?”

“Pardon?” She blinks. “What bracelet?”

I chuckle. “Playing naive, are we? Alright then, let me clarify.’’

“Go on. I’m sure this will be rather interesting.’’

“The bracelet all Sacred Seven have. The gold one.’’

“Yes, I’ve lost mine around two hundred years ago.’’

I blink, stepping back. “What?”

“What?” she repeats.

“When was the last time you were in New Orleans?” I ask, pressing for details.

“Never,’’ she responds quickly. “I haven’t set foot outside this country in a very long time, little hunter.’’

My mind starts going into overdrive. Ophelia isn’t to be trusted, but the sheer confusion on her face makes me halt. If it’s true, and she truly hasn’t left Romania in ages, that means she couldn’t have been the one who killed my parents. But why would her bracelet be there?

“How did you lose the bracelet?”

She shrugs. “It was two hundred years ago, little hunter. I genuinely have no idea when or where it happened.’’

“And you haven’t tried looking for it?”

She deadpans. “I’m confined to the moon, Faith. How exactly was I supposed to go to America?”

“The exact way you returned after losing it.’’

She winces. “I’d rather not discuss the way I returned home, but it’s impossible to use the same method to go over there again.’’

More questions start pooling in my head, but I keep my focus on the current topic. All of this is getting bizarre, and even if it somehow ends up being that she didn’t kill my parents, I won’t leave without killing her. She’s an abomination of nature, and she doesn’t deserve to live.

“You have super speed.’’

“Yes, but you forget that the continents are divided by water. Vampires cannot go in open water.’’

“Why not?”

“A part of the stupid curse Yvonne put on us,’’ she hisses.

“You cannot enter the sea,’’ I state, and Ophelia nods.

“Correct. So, I’m confined to these walls, little hunter. I most likely didn’t kill your parents, unless it was about two hundred years ago. Which, given that you’re a human, is impossible.’’

“Then who was it?”

She shrugs. “I lost mine in a fierce battle against werewolves,’’ she says, then a glint of something dark flashes behind her eyes. “I killed that pack, by the way. But that’s the last time I saw the bracelet. I only noticed it was gone when the sun came, and I nearly burned to a crisp.’’

My mouth opens to ask more questions, but before I can voice them, Ophelia stands right in front of me. Beating rapidly against my ribcage, my heartrate picks up. Her speed is something I’ve yet to become accustomed to — it’s still catching me off guard.

I’m momentarily frozen on the spot. Her eyes flick down to my pulse point, and she licks her bottom lip. It glistens under the dim light, and I’m unable to move. I pray internally that Yvonne’s spell works, just in case Ophelia decides to touch me.

And she does.

Her hand lifts, and before I can react, she clutches the necklace that Yvonne had gifted me. Ophelia screams, a gut-wrenching, all-consuming scream that shakes me to my bones. Her entire hand starts bleeding with a dark, almost pitch-black substance, but she doesn’t let go.

Instead, she holds it tighter, and when her eyes meet mine, all color drains from my face.

Her red eyes have blackened, with inky tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s a thick liquid, matching the color of her blood. Fear consumes me for a moment, and I finally realize that I’m way in over my head.

A sadistic look is in her eyes as she pulls the necklace toward her, breaking the chain. She tosses it to the side, and I can only watch as it shatters against the wall, falling down into a hundred small pieces.

“Now, now, little hunter.’’ Her voice drops an octave. “What do I do with you? You’re defenseless now. How fun.’’