Page 11 of Gilded Locks

There was nothing Stone could do to help this golden-haired thief with her desperate eyes now that they saw her. She was as good as theirs. But thinking back to her determination with the fire and how battered she’d been from the cold, he knew she wasn’t built for captivity. “What if she just needed shelter and a warm place to rest? We could just give her a place to catch her breath and let her?—”

“She violated our rules,” Hunter pointed out in his unbending militant tone. “You break it, you buy it. That’s always been our policy.”

“She owes us,” Ash agreed with mastered casualness. “At least until the storm passes. We ensure she’s... appropriately grateful for our hospitality, then we decide when and how we let her go.”

“If we let her go.” Hunter’s grin contrasted with the storm of violence swirling in his dark eyes.

Stone switched camera feeds to display the storm still savaging the landscape outside. Wind howled around the lodge like hungry ghosts, snow and sleet turning the world into a frozen hellscape.

“She has nowhere else to go.” Even if she could reach her shitty little boat, she’d never survive the crossing in these conditions.

“Trapped,” Hunter murmured with satisfaction. “Little thief trapped herself in a predator’s den.”

Ash chuckled and rolled up his sleeves.

Stone checked his watch. Three-seventeen in the morning. “We wait until she wakes naturally.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” His protective instincts kicked in. “Let her believe she’s safe a little longer. It’ll make her shock that much sweeter.”

“Fine. But we approach her together,” Hunter ordered. “Then we introduce ourselves properly and explain the house rules.”

“Sounds good.” Ash left the room, and Hunter silently followed.

Stone remained in the surveillance room’s electronic glow. He told himself it was for security purposes, to maintain vigilance against any additional surprises the storm might deliver. But his attention kept drifting to the bedroom camera, to the woman sleeping so peacefully in his bed.

He gave them his word they’d approach her together, which meant he was shit out of a bed tonight. With a sigh, he swept his vodka off the desk and lounged back in the office chair, crossing his hands over his broad chest. As he sipped, his finger clicked the mouse, zooming in.

She’d burrowed deeper under the covers, and something about her protective position made him wonder what had driven someone like her to risk her life. Whatever her reasons, she’d soon learn everything came with a cost.

Chapter 4

The Awakening

A cool breeze swept over Marigold, and she surfaced from sleep, stingily curling into herself, chasing the dream she’d just lost. A draft crossed her shoulders, and she frowned, reaching for the heavy coverlet.

“Get up.” The sheet ripped from her body in one violent motion, exposing her to biting cold.

With a gasp, she bolted upright, heart hammering against her ribs with the frantic rhythm of a caged bird, as three massive figures loomed at the foot of the bed. Ancient gods carved from shadow and menace.

“W-who are you?” she sputtered.

“Who are we?” The blond one laughed.

A scream crystallized in her throat, emerging as a strangled gasp when the dark one leaned forward, planting a massive fist into the mattress with enough weight that her body shifted.

“You’re in our house, little girl.”

Her eyes widened as she took in their suffocating presence. They stood like motionless monuments, blocking every escape route with their imposing presence.

“Let’s start with your name,” the one with long, shaggy hair twisted into a knot on his head commanded.

“Mm—” She’d almost said Marigold, but caught herself. “Mary.”

The side of the blond’s mouth curled into a half-grin. “As in had a little lamb?”

“Y-yes.”