Page 32

Chapter 31

Rolf

T he castle shifted and warped beneath his feet, changing its layout every time Rolf felt like he had figured out where he was going. It seemed like he had been walking for hours, trying to find his way out. Sweat beaded on his brow. Finally, fed up and frustrated, he stood still. An unsettled calm filled the air, as if the castle wrapped its cold fingers around him, taking his pulse, anticipating his next moves.

So he stopped playing. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, listening for his shifter. His wolf, though, was eerily quiet—no pacing, no huffing, no agitation.

The castle must have severed my connection to him somehow. And if that were the case, Rolf would need to keep his wits about him. He opened his eyes. On the landing before him was his old library—at least a poor imitation of the one he remembered from his childhood. Though the shelves all looked familiar and the layout was the same, the edges of the image still blurred when he focused on it too hard. His eyes strained to get a glimpse of what lay beyond this illusion, without luck.

A sound echoed from somewhere behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. It was a singsong trill, like the one his mother used to make when she returned from her travels with his father. Her voice would fill the halls of the estate, and as a little boy, he would gleefully run all over trying to find her. When he finally did, he would fling himself at her skirts, burying his head against her legs as her laughter shook his whole body and her scent of sun-kissed lilacs filled his nose. But now, he could not recall what she looked like. Only disembodied pieces of her came to him now, like when she would kiss him good night, and her braid would fall over her shoulder, tickling his face. Or the sound of her kisses as she smothered him in hellos and goodbyes. Or the intense calm he felt when she wrapped him in her arms.

“Mother,” he croaked, and he wiped away a tear.

Had she just returned from one of her trips with Father? Would she come peeking out from between the shelves to surprise him? He stared at the shelves once more, wondering if she was hiding from him. Was it his imagination, or did the books not have titles? He squinted his eyes once more, trying to make out the words on the spines, but his vision blurred.

The sound echoed once more, this time from behind him. He turned, seeking out the source. But no one was there. He cleared his throat, realization dawning on him slowly.

Not your mother, stay focused.

He shook his head, trying to clear the images from his head. How did the castle know these intimate moments from his life?

Slowly, Rolf slid his feet along the ground. It was cold beneath his shoes and didn’t creak. This led him to think perhaps he was in the dungeons, where the floor would be stone instead of wooden. After sliding forward another few feet, he stilled.

The candles flickered toward his right shoulder, indicating a breeze coming from his left. And though the air around him felt suppressive, when he moved the candelabra to his right, the flames went still.

Curious.

He shuffled his feet to his left as subtly as he could so as not to alert the magicked castle to his movements. Inch by agonizing inch, he followed the breeze against the flames until, finally, his toes touched a wall, going through the bookshelves. They shook with transience each time he wiggled his feet.

To his left, the staircase kept climbing, leading to who knows where—the top didn’t seem like it had an end. He figured he would have kept walking in place for hours, his brain tricked into thinking that he was headed somewhere until he collapsed from exhaustion.

Maybe this is how they get their prey, he thought. It was a clever entrapment: magick the castle with an illusion to entice you to follow until you are so worn out and weary that you are easy to capture.

It had almost been enough to trick Rolf. But his determination to get to Adeline before something terrible happened cut through any sort of trickery the castle tried to play.

I will get her back. He rubbed at the spot in the center of his chest that felt like a tiny flame lived inside. He reached forward with his free hand until he met the rough wood of a door. His fingers sought out a handle moving beneath the illusion of the books in front of him. Slowly, as if moving through thick mud, his hand slid over the surface until it connected with a rounded knob. Relief soared in his chest, and he grasped it tightly, afraid that if he let go, he would never find it again.

The edges of his vision warped once more, rippling as the staircase and bookshelves dissolved. The edges of a new scene unfolded around him. He didn’t wait to see what the rest of the room looked like. Instead, he dropped the candelabra, letting it clatter to the ground. The fire snuffed out as he turned the handle.

It wouldn’t give. He used both hands, grunting and twisting until it finally gave way.

The air pulled at his clothes, tugging on his lower legs as if to hold him back. Using all the strength he could muster, he yanked on the doorknob and threw the door open. The air tightened around him, tugging him backward, refusing to let go. His not-mother’s voice echoing behind him, calling out to him.

He didn’t hesitate, instead bracing himself against the threshold to then propel himself forward into a darkened hallway.

What’s next?

He jumped when the door slammed shut behind him. Silence enveloped him. Silence and pitch-black darkness. He could barely hear himself breathe.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, sending shivers down his spine as anticipation coiled tight in his stomach. He was waiting. The whole space around him was waiting.

But for what?

He’d been in tense situations before on the battlefield. Now that his memories were returning after Adeline had removed the glamour, he felt thrust right back into the moments before combat.

The suspense in the moment before worlds collided. The sense of doom that filled your bones and weighed you down. The heightened awareness that pulled your head into the clouds as your soul separated from your body. The feeling of shame at liking how it felt to be so imminently close to your death that you would do anything to make it out alive. Seeking that high again and again, just to feel the intensity repeat.

Perhaps that was why he had been drawn to Adeline at first, as Colin. He was like a magnet drawn to the sense of danger she carried around her like a cloak. But when she told him what she was, he didn’t believe her.

A vampire? He had laughed it off as if she were playing games. Until she showed him her fangs. And it felt like his heart had, once again, leaped from his chest. And he knew that there would never be anyone quite like her, for him, ever again.

Adeline , he reminded himself, as a cannon suddenly went off in the distance. He dropped to the floor, straight into mud.

Shouts of men filled his ears and echoed into the night. He was covered in mud and wearing his military clothing again—his shoulders adorned with medals. But where were his weapons?

Panicking, he patted himself down, realizing that he was unarmed and about to face the enemy on the battlefield once more. He closed his eyes tightly, knowing that this was just another illusion. All he needed was to find the end of this room, and he’d be even closer to freeing Adeline.