Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
As the tick-tock-tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed loud as a soldier’s march, Qhuinn glanced around again. The other brothers were standing as still as he was, and he had a stupid thought that with all of them in here, it was like the room had been shrunk down to bread-box size.
Square footage, like time and beauty, was relative…
Meanwhile, Wrath just stood there, doing nothing but breathing in and out of those nostrils—
Someone coughed. Probably because they were choking on the urge to scream.
“We’ve been through the whole house,” Tohr said. “Stem to stern.”
No response from the male in charge. Just more of that tick-tock-tick-tock in the background…
Wonder how many of the others were dubbing in the Jeopardy! theme as the King stayed right where he was.
As Qhuinn felt a headache coming on, he did some quick game-out. They were at thirty minutes and change, and had gone through everything but the kitchen, the powder rooms, and the solarium. If Wrath insisted on a second floor walk-through, that was going to take another thirty. Attic? Please no.
And then there were the basement and the garage.
So, what, like an hour and a half more? Christ, he was going to lose his fucking—
Wrath’s head cranked in the direction of the hearth. Then he turned his whole body that way, and took five full strides across a rug that no doubt had never had even one shitkicker on its pile, much less almost two dozen.
Shaking off Tohr’s grip, the King dropped down to his haunches. The popping of the male’s knees was a reminder that he had done hard graft for centuries in the field against the enemy, and as he leaned forward and rapped his knuckles on the fireplace’s marble footer, his tremendous back muscles fanned out along his spine.
Rhage looked over with a shrug. So did Zsadist and Phury. John Matthew likewise joined in the collective WTF. Vishous just stood in the doorway, glancing back out into the hall like he expected Lash to show up at any moment.
Even Tohr joined in the eye hockey.
But he was right. The brothers had been through this house with a fine-tooth comb—
Down at floor level, Wrath tilted into the hearth itself and extended his heavy arm over the birch logs that had been stacked with a watchmaker’s precision. The bulk of the King’s shoulders blocked a view as to what he was doing, but the metallic rapping sound as he continued to knock along the hearth’s back panel was enough of a descriptor.
“My Lord?” Tohr asked as Wrath sat back on his heels.
The King just shook his head sharply and got to his feet with a lithe surge. More with the knocking, this time on the panels where a painting had been centered, right under the mounting hooks.
Then he glanced to the left—and with a sweep of his arm, cleared the entire shelf at eye level with one shove, all those leather-bound volumes cast off like paperbacks.
As there was a bunch of clapping from the tomes, the King put his whole damn face into the vacancy he’d created. The long, deep inhales made Qhuinn shift his weight back and forth and tighten his hold on his guns. This was absolute madness—
Wrath went to the other side, rising up onto the steel toes of his shitkickers and slowly lowering back to the floor—
He performed another de-booking. Then started feeling around the seam where the shelf met the side of the hearth’s build-out.
Shit got really quiet again—and Qhuinn felt stupid about fifteen seconds before there was a subtle click.
After which, the entire fireplace unit including the logs and the mantelpiece moved forward about three feet and then hinged out, revealing—
There was a collective metal chorus as everyone aimed into the darkness and Tohr all but tackled Wrath into the far wall to cover the King with his body.
As the stench of old blood and infected flesh wafted out like it was a crypt, Rhage nodded at Qhuinn and the pair of them went forward in one/two formation. With the light streaming in behind them, they entered a shallow hall that was painted all black and made a turn behind the chimney—
The body of a dark-haired male dressed in fine clothes was chained to a chair, blood, bodily fluids, and excrement pooling underneath, his chin down on his sternum and his shoulders slumped. It was like a Halloween mannequin at a haunt, except this shit was real—
A weak moan rippled up, the tips of the fingers moving ever so slightly.
“He’s alive,” Qhuinn barked as he shot forward while Rhage made a circle of the otherwise empty room. “We need a medic, STAT!”
“Calling Jane,” V called out from the study proper.
“There’s a seam over here,” Rhage said. “Another entry—or exit.”
Qhuinn kept his weapons up as he bent over and tried to get a look at the male’s face. The skin was gray, the mouth lax, but there was a whistle of breath going in and out. With the muzzle of his left gun, he lifted the hair that had fallen forward.