Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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Tucking the spoon under my belt, I rushed from the room. The noise of my heels on marble clattered against the walls as I raced frantically down the hallway. My footing almost skidded out as my slippery soles lost purchase on the polished floor. I slid to a halt in front of the utility closet. Yanking the door open, I barged into the small, dark room. Grabbing hold of a dustpan and bucket from the shelf, I sprinted back to the living room, my chest on fire and nerves beginning to fray even further. I had to get rid of the evidence, fast, then later confess what had happened to Mr. Volkov. Right then there wasn't even the headspace to think about how that conversation was going to go. He'd already torn into me for not wearing my formal uniform. I'd quickly changed into my crisp black jacket, skirt, and low-heeled court shoes after greeting the Wychthorns. Shoes that were killing me. The balls of my feet ached after spending the rest of the afternoon and evening non-stop rushing to and fro, dealing with Mr. Volkov's endless demands. And it seemed if anyone had a problem I was the person they asked for. My name had been called from one end of the house to the other.
I burst into the living room and stumbled to a standstill beside a velvet chaise, breathing hard. I stared in confusion. I couldn't believe what I was looking at.
Anger bit hard with jagged teeth. Fury blustering beneath my skin, roaring through my blood. This man, this servant, was standing in the middle of the room rotating a shoulder, only to raise an arm over his head and stretch, before yawning and scrubbing a huge palm across his hairy cheeks.
He hadn't even attempted to pick up the broken pieces of glass!
He'd done nothing!
"What is wrong with you?!" I barked.
Startled, he twisted around to face me. Thick, inky black eyebrows drew upward.
I stormed up to him, craning my head back because he was so gigantically tall. "I don't know which House you belong to, or what you do." He opened his mouth, and I swept my hand holding the dustpan in a wide arc, shutting him down. "I don't care." I glared, my anger reaching Defcon levels. "You're on the Deniauds' estate, and I will not have this evening go awry for them. I need your help, so start moving. Pick up that chair and take the pedestal outside. Now!"
Stomping back to the debris, I bent over and started feverishly sweeping the glass into the pan, dumping it into the metal bucket. The chinking noise of it sounded like rain upon a rusty tin roof.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw, to my shock, that he still hadn't moved. A strangled noise escaped my lips. I was going to burst out of my skin with pure fury.
"Do I have to repeat myself?" I asked slowly, in a low, clear voice that all my staff knew meant they were going to bear the brunt of my wrath if they didn't comply with my order.
I couldn't really tell, with the whole wild beard thing going on, exactly what expression was playing on his features. But I could tell by the fire suddenly lighting up his dark-eyed gaze that he was considering taking me on. I straightened, dropped the bucket with a nasty clank that resounded within the room, and propped a hand on my hip as I swiveled to fully face him. Then I gave it to him—the look.
