Chapter 519
Chapter 519:
“I’ll take the guest room in the east wing,” Skye said coldly. “As far away from you as possible p>
Lucian laughed. It was a low, throaty sound that turned into a cough. He stepped closer, invading her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him.
“You can run to the east wing, Skye. You can run to the moon p>
“But you are still in my orbit as long as I have Kensington p>
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
“And you’ll be begging to be closer to me soon enough. Because this house… it’s full of ghosts. And they don’t like strangers p>
Skye stood her ground, though her knees felt like water. “I’m not afraid of ghosts, Lucian. I’m afraid of the living p>
“Smart girl,” he whispered.
He walked away, barking orders at his men.
Skye stood alone in the center of the conquered hall, under the ruined face of Giovanni Moretti. She looked at the shattered vase on the floor.
She was in the belly of the beast. And she had nowhere to run.
She turned and walked toward the east wing. She found a room with heavy oak doors. She went inside, closed the door, and locked it.
She leaned her back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor. She pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the scream building in her throat.
She closed her eyes, and the map from the command center flashed in her mind.
36.1699, -115.1398.
She had to remember the coordinates. She had to find the drive. It was the only way to save Liam and finish this.
The Moretti estate did not sleep.
Even at three in the morning, the house seemed to groan. The pipes rattled like bones in a crypt. The wind howled against the windows, sounding like scratching fingernails.
Skye lay in the massive four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t close her eyes. Every time she did, she saw the knife in Vargo’s hand. She saw the hole in the painting.
CRASH.
The sound came from somewhere above her. Heavy porcelain hitting a wall.
𝖮𝗿igіո𝘢𝗅 𝘃𝖾𝗋𝘴𝗂𝗼𝗇 𝗈𝘯 𝗯e𝗹ոо𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘀.со𝗆
Then shouting. A woman’s voice. High, shrill, and hysterical.
Skye sat up. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm.
She slipped out of bed. She grabbed the silk robe Lucian had provided—black, of course—and wrapped it around herself. She opened her door a crack.
The hallway was empty, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the wall sconces.
The shouting continued. It was coming from the west wing.
Skye stepped out. She knew she should stay in her room. Curiosity in a house like this was a death sentence. But information was the only currency she had left.
She moved silently, her bare feet making no sound on the plush carpet.
She reached the landing of the grand staircase. Below, guards were patrolling. Above, on the second-floor balcony, the noise was loudest.
She crept up the stairs, hugging the shadows.
Lucian was there.
He stood in front of a double door that had been kicked open. The wood around the lock was splintered. He wore black slacks and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal bandaged forearms. His back was to Skye, but the tension in his shoulders was visible from twenty feet away.
“Get out,” Lucian said. His voice was ice.
“This is my house!” the woman screamed. “My room! You can’t just walk in here p>
Skye peered around the corner.