Page 21 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

20

CHASED

Two hours later, when her body temperature had finally returned to normal, Genevieve was shut in Grave’s bathroom, taking out all the carefully placed hairpins in her curls to give her aching scalp a break. She had uncovered the mirror, and she stared at her reflection as if she might get a glimpse of all the unseen gazes that were undoubtedly watching her.

She and Rowin had played their game of truths for two rounds before it clearly got a little too personal for him and he decided he preferred silence. What she had learned was that he and his brothers—Remi and Covin—once got so drunk they thought it’d be a good idea to steal the prized mascot of some sort of esteemed Demon institution in Hell. And that he had read every single book in the family library. And that the tattoos covering most of his body had been his way of differentiating himself from Remi. The most surprising fact, however, was that Grave was their mother’s favorite.

It was when she had asked more about his mother that Rowin decided he didn’t want to talk anymore.

Unlike her, he wasn’t bothered by long stretches of silence, apparent by how relaxed he looked sitting in the armchair while Umbra slept curled up on his chest. Genevieve, however, had been on the verge of going absolutely mad by the second hour. So, she made up ways to entertain herself. It was something she’d often done as a child when Ophie was in Necromancy lessons. She’d rearranged Grave’s closet by color—pitch-black, jet-black, and ebony—before folding all the writing paper in his desk into swans. Eventually, she’d moved on to her hair, which had come to resemble a bird’s nest throughout the night, and as she gave her appearance one last look now, she frowned at the purplish circles forming beneath her eyes.

She had turned to leave the bathroom, to figure out what her next task would be, when the door suddenly flew open, making her jump.

Rowin strode in with purpose, Umbra darting in behind.

“What do you think you’re?—”

He raised a finger to her lips. Umbra was on high alert, ears twitching to listen for something Genevieve couldn’t hear.

“Distraction,” Rowin ordered down at his Familiar, his voice barely more than a whisper, but Umbra heard the direction perfectly and trotted back to the room to belly-crawl beneath the bed and out of sight. Leaning down until his mouth was right next to her ear, Rowin murmured, “When he opens the door, Umbra will run out of the room and create a diversion in the hallway to lead him back out. I’ll follow and draw him further away. When his attention is completely on me, you run .”

“Grave? He’s here?” she whispered as he lowered his hand. “ Where should I run to? ”

“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t back yourself into any corners. The first switch is about to happen, and we’d have to change rooms then, anyway.”

He closed the bathroom door until there was only a small sliver of space for them to peek through. When Genevieve moved forward to look, however, the crinoline dragging along the floor beneath her gown made a rustling sound that in the careful silence might as well have been an explosion.

Rowin cursed under his breath. He searched through Grave’s bathroom cabinet and produced a steel razor. Crouched down, he started to slice away the long layers of silk and crinoline. Genevieve’s heart ached watching such a beautiful dress get destroyed. But it was hard to protest when she was finally able to move .

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open made them both stiffen, and the ring on her finger began to burn. The rattle of the chains attached to Grave’s trap made her hold her breath, but it did not seem to trigger.

Rowin gestured for her to stand against the wall behind the bathroom door. Footsteps approached on the other side. But when a loud thump sounded from somewhere further away, however, the footsteps changed direction in an instant.

She slid her eyes over to Rowin, and he gave her a reassuring nod before dashing out into the bedroom and heading for the hall. She peeked out from the bathroom as Rowin stood in the bedroom doorway, shouting to his brother before taking off to the left and out of sight. Grave’s hulking figure sprinted past the open bedroom doorway, and she knew that was her cue.

Genevieve cautiously stepped out of the en suite. She crept over to the open threshold and poked her head out just enough to see Rowin and Grave at the end of the corridor. Grave was slashing the Hunting Blade at Rowin, his movements sharp and fluid. Rowin was dodging every blow.

Tiny, sharp teeth suddenly nipped at her ankles. Not enough to hurt, but enough to urge her forward.

She glared down at Umbra. “I’m going, you little menace.”

Speaking was the wrong thing to do. As was often the case for her.

“For fuck’s sake, trouble,” Rowin growled. “ Run! ”

The moment she spoke, Grave’s attention had snapped to her. A wide, toothy grin spread over his face.

If Grave is smiling, you should be running.

She flew down the corridor and through the foyer, looking for a route that wouldn’t back her into a corner. Easier said than done. Especially when Grave was gaining on her.

The only thing working in her favor was that her pursuer was not really built for speed . Grave must have been two hundred pounds of pure muscle.

When the open archway of the dining room came into view, the only thing she could think to do was dive through it, rounding the large table so she could face Grave with a barricade between them. He laughed as he slowed to a halt, and she noticed that he was hardly out of breath.

Genevieve, on the other hand, was worried she might pass out. Little spots of light clouded up her vision as a cramp reverberated through her side. She wasn’t sure she had ever run this much in her life .

Grave slowly approached the table, which was completely bare other than a ceramic bowl of fruit sitting atop its polished surface. Genevieve stayed on the balls of her feet, waiting for him to pick a direction of attack. Where was Rowin?

“Sorry, pal, but I have unfortunately chased, and been chased, around this table for enough hours of my lifetime to know”—in a single jump, he landed right atop the table with a heavy thud—“it’s much easier to just go over it.”

The action knocked the bowl of fruit to the floor, making the ceramic shatter noisily as its contents bounced over the ground by her feet. When Grave jumped to the ground only two feet in front of her, shards of the bowl crunching beneath his feet, it occurred to Genevieve that she should start to panic. For whatever reason, Rowin still had not appeared. Not that she was the sort who would usually pray for a man to save her, but in the current circumstances she thought it might be nice if he could do something .

She backed up a step. Grave followed.

“If it’s any consolation, you lasting less than four hours means Covin and Sevin both lost a good bit of money. That’s something we can all be satisfied with. And I’ll make it quick. Consider it my wedding gift.”

The blade came down.

Genevieve didn’t know what possessed her as she dove down to grab one of the apples by her feet, ducking beneath his arm toward the table and out of the way of his blade’s arc. They both spun to face each other once again. When the dagger came down this time, however, she slammed the apple against its sharp tip. The knife wedging itself into the fruit slowed down Grave’s momentum just enough that she was able to stumble back out of his reach—right into the edge of the table, trapping her between it and him. He swung the dagger down on the table next to her like a hammer, splitting the apple speared on the end in half and leaving a thick scar in the mahogany.

“Grandmother would not be happy that you just ruined her table.”

Genevieve whipped her head to see Rowin leaning against the archway’s frame, casually watching the altercation.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Grave said as Genevieve began to inch to the side while his focus was on Rowin. “That woman has never liked me.”

“She’s never liked anyone,” Rowin corrected. “At least you have the advantage of looking so much like Mother.”

“ Help? ” Genevieve prompted Rowin as Grave lunged for her again, making her dash to the side and nearly stumble to the ground.

“Hey, trouble?” Rowin murmured.

“ What? ” she hissed as she righted herself and continued to back away from Grave.

“Could you step a little to the left for me?”

She did as he asked and, in two blinks, Rowin cleared the table. He landed in front of Grave and rammed a fist into his brother’s jaw, making Grave’s head snap to the side with a grunt. Genevieve watched, impressed, as Rowin slipped around his brother to wrap an arm so tight around the man’s neck that Grave’s face was blue in seconds. She swore she heard the snap of a bone.

Grave tried to buck Rowin off his back, and when that didn’t work, he drove the dagger right through Rowin’s bicep. Genevieve cringed.

Rowin, however, didn’t even flinch.

“Thank you for that,” Rowin grunted as he used his free hand to yank the Hunting Blade out of his arm.

With a pained hiss—as if the blade burned him—Rowin whipped it clean across the room, through the arched opening and out of the window across the corridor. Shattered glass rained down onto the floor as a cool draft kicked up around them.

Rowin released Grave just as four tolling bells rolled through the house, and Genevieve grinned.