It’s barely past twelve.
I should go back to sleep and I tug one of my pillows to me, ready to drift off when there’s a scraping sound in the hallway. Perking my ears, I realize it’s the scraping of boots. Must be Dacre...but it sounds like it isn’t just him.
Sounds like there are more people in our home.
Gulping, I roll around and look at my closed door.
Is Dacre having company over?
And in which case, what company would that be?
A lump forms in my throat, my body tensing up and I have a feeling that the sensible thing to do is to wrap the cover over my head and pretend I didn’t hear anything. But the intense curiosity takes over my worry and I get up, throw a pastel kaftan over my shoulders and silently creep into the hallway.
The lights are out, our place bathing in darkness and the only thing making it possible for me to see where I’m going are the sparkling city lights from outside.
Pulling my kaftan tighter around my waist, I sneak down the hall and stop when I notice Dacre leading two men away from the foyer and into his office. I’ve seen men like them before. This isn’t the first time we’ve had people who look like hell spat them back out at our place.
The men move like bats, their coats fluttering behind them when they walk and this reminds me of something out of the Matrix or Underworld, so essentially...its way out of my comfort zone.
Dacre’s office door closes and maybe touching Baldur has made me a little braver than usual because I decide to eavesdrop. Putting my ear against the wood, I ignore the flutters in my stomach. I know I shouldn’t be doing this and if Dacre catches me red-handed he’ll be so angry the earth will probably shake.
Nobody messes with Dacre. Not even me. Nobody gets a pass because he’s ruthless like that.
Still, I can’t help myself. I mean...what if those men in his office were the ones who took the journal? Maybe this will help me get some more clues.
“And?” Dacre asks and there’s the sound of liquor being poured into crystal glasses. “What’s the new plan?”
“Boss wants us to stay away from the Grecian’s,” another voice rasps and I raise my brows. I don’t get it. Who the heck are the Grecian’s? Not to draw any hasty conclusions but it sounds like either a theater company or a...gang.
“Why the fuck for?” Dacre snaps, obviously not happy about the decision. “That bastard needs to go down. Remember what that asshole did to one of our brothers?”
“We know, but boss claims it’s all under control. He’ll get exactly what he deserves. We just need to trust boss on this.”
Dacre lets out a curse but then he mutters something as if he’s coming around. Whoever the boss is, it seems like Dacre has a lot of respect for him. There’s that clinking sound of glass again and Dacre exclaims, “To shadows.”
“To ice,” another one adds and a third echoes,
“To death.”
I freeze. Wait...what? Death? As in the kind that puts you underground, the kind that means you’re done, toast, finito...? Is my stepbrother a killer?
Biting my lip, I shiver.
Or maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe it’s completely normal to raise a glass to death.
They say something again but this time they speak in a different language and my eyes nearly roll back in my head. I didn’t know Dacre knew a second language. He doesn’t even have an accent and that language sounds so ancient and mystical and...stony.
I’m so enthralled by it I fail to hear the nearing footsteps, I flinch when the door flares open and I stand there face to face with Dacre. His brows curve over his eyes and he’s so freaking scary like this that I clutch my kaftan and let out a mewl.
I catch a glimpse of the men’s faces as they turn to look at me but Dacre sneers at them over his shoulders and they stop paying attention.
“What are you doing here?” Dacre snaps and I twitch, my eyes widening and I struggle to come up with an excuse.
“Sleepwalking,” I blurt. “Then I suddenly woke up and found myself outside your o...office.”
Dacre’s lip curls over his teeth. “Any chance you heard anything of our little conversation?” His eyes bore into mine, searching for the truth and I swallow.
“No,” I whisper but he knows I’m lying. You can’t get away with lying to someone like Dacre. He reads people like normal people read the news. It comes naturally to him and lying doesn’t come naturally to me so no wonder I’ve been caught.