Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
This wasn’t a request from her—it was a command.
I let her lead the way, following her through the throng of gyrating people who were packed in so tightly, I didn’t have to dance so much as move to avoid bumping into them. The pulsating music was loudest in the center of the dance floor, and the bass reverberated in my chest.
Once we’d reached a spot she was happy with, she turned to face me, stretched out her arms, and draped them over my shoulders. I had to put my hands on her waist to stop her from falling into me, and she grinned like she was fucking thrilled.
I was less excited about it. She was pretty and young, but I was so out of my element here. This wasn’t real, but if it were, would I have welcomed her attention? It’d been three months since I’d been on a date, and the only time I’d touched my date was when I’d accepted her handshake at the end of the night.
Fuck, it had been awkward as hell.
When the girl pulled me closer, bringing us chest to chest, it forced me to move my body in time with hers to the music. There was nowhere else to look but at her dark eyes, and I stared at her dilated pupils. Was she high?
I glanced around in concern. What if this girl wasn’t part of Void?
Her hands got friendly fast, and my discomfort grew. I didn’t know this woman or whether she was playing a part. Her interest in me was manufactured or a result of her lowered inhibitions. Either way—not great.
“I’ve been watching you since you came in,” she shouted in my ear over the music. “Soon you’re going to be just like me.”
I slowed to a stop. Did she mean because of the drug I’d just taken?
The girl didn’t care that I wasn’t dancing anymore. Her hands clenched fistfuls of the front of my shirt.
“You’re going to be,” she cooed, “one of us.”
“Us?”
She grinned like she’d just told me I’d won the lottery and then used her hold on my shirt to jerk me forward, pulling me along as she charged toward the other side of the room. I had to shuffle my feet to stay with her, fighting the urge to toss an apology at the people we banged into as we went.
There was a large wooden door sandwiched between two of the stained glass windows, and she released me to push it open. Cool air hit us as she wrapped a hand around my wrist and tugged me out into the courtyard.
The moon was nearly full tonight, and the light from it bounced off the uneven cobblestones paving the open space, which was surrounded by the interior castle walls on all sides. My gaze traveled to the center of the courtyard, and anxiety slid down my spine like a cold knife.
Was it just an American thing to distrust people who wore ceremonial robes . . . or was it universal?
A small group of people had gathered in the space, all shrouded in black cloaks with their faces obscured by oversized hoods. One of them held an honest-to-God torch in his raised hand, and it cast an eerie flickering glow on him, allowing me to see the iron mask he wore. It had large holes for his eyes and mouth, but the nose and the eyebrows decorating it were exaggerated, creating a grotesque scowl.
I’d seen this before in museums. An executioner’s mask.
The girl’s grip on my wrist tightened as she dragged me toward him.
“This one is empty,” she announced to the group. “I heard him say he’s looking for something to fill the void.”
The man in the mask nodded, and the rest of the group parted, revealing the wooden platform that had been hiding behind their robes. There was a large wooden block on it with a strange notch in the front and metal rings on either side—
Oh, shit.
During my research earlier this evening, I’d learned the story the innkeeper had told me was true. This platform was staged for an execution—and it looked to be in the exact spot where Stuart and the earl had been beheaded centuries ago.
My legs weren’t as strong as I wanted them to be when the girl had me climb the five steps onto the platform, the planks creaking under our weight. The man with the mask followed us, and two of his minions walked behind him. Once we all stood onstage, facing the rest of the group below, the masked man gestured to the block.
“Kneel,” he ordered.
It's not real, I told myself. It’s just a fun scare.
I forced my wobbling legs to comply, dropping onto my knees. I stared at the chopping block before me, which made cold sweat burst across my skin. Then the men’s rough hands grabbed my wrists and bound them with coarse rope to the metal rings on the sides of the block.