Accidentally Aphrodite - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,78

Carl, fighting against the wind to get back down the stairwell to Quinn’s door and to a modicum of shelter.

A gust of icy air launched him against the brick, oddly scorching his back with agonizing, prickly heat. He fought to keep Nina’s hand as he tried to inch his way to the handle in the tiny space, ignoring the searing pain of his back.

“We have to get in there!” Nina screamed, dragging Carl partially up the steps and pulling out some duct tape from her hoodie. She wrapped his hands to the railing in a blur of freakish motion. “Don’t move, Carl! Stay here no matter what. If Wanda and Marty come, send them in. Okay?” she yelled above the roar of the wind.

Carl bobbed his head, but his sweet face held anguish.

“Whatever you do, Carl—hang on! Don’t let go!” Nina ordered, fighting the howl of air to get to the door.

Her hand on the doorknob, she pushed Khristos out of the way. “Stay here!”

“The hell I’m letting you go in there alone!”

“Whatever the fuck’s going on in there, you got shit to fight it with, dude. Let me assess this first. Stay the fuck here, and text Marty and Wanda again!” she ordered, twisting the doorknob he’d replaced and literally yanking the door off its hinges.

“Duck, Carl!” he bellowed as the door lifted and flew high in the air, the screech of metal scoring the wind.

Nina plowed in, her fangs bared, her hands in tight fists, and Khristos plowed in right behind her, ignoring every word of warning she’d spoken. Quinn was in danger, and the hell he was staying outside to await her fate.

Then everything went silent—so eerily silent, Nina stopped in her tracks.

“Quinn!” His heart crashed in his chest. Please, let her answer. His eyes scanned the small room, the floor littered in broken pieces of glass, laminate flooring torn and peeling upward. The table they’d spent so much time at this week upended and shredded.

He looked to Nina, who sniffed the air, her eyes blazing. She pressed a finger to her mouth as she took a long step over the flipped couch and peered around the corner to the kitchen.

Khristos went the other way to the bedroom, pressing himself against the wall in the short hall leading to it, fighting the urge to rush in rather than remain cautious.

“Kiddo?” Nina yelled into the silence.

“Get out! Run!” He heard the urgent whisper, experienced the utter anguish those words stirred in his gut. The words were an effort, a croak of a warning as the bedroom door creaked open.

Her room was no longer the size of a broom closet.

It was a coliseum—like back in the day, when his mother used to take him to the Panathenaic Games. Sprawling and wide, the walls made of concrete, the sheer size of it daunting.

And then he saw her—the woman he really was falling in love with—tacked to the wall of her former bedroom like a poster with a spike in each palm. Blood dripping from her hands, her neck purple with bruises, her feet just touching the ground, her eyes wide with fear.

Chapter 16

Quinn’s eyes met Khristos’s as the position of her arms, stretched to an abnormal width, tore her tendons and the nerve endings in her hands burned as though she were on fire, begging for relief.

“Go!” She mouthed the word, unable to explain, incapable of making her vocal chords cooperate.

But Khristos, this amazing, incredible, wonderful man, rushed at her rather than listen. Climbing over the bed blocking the entrance to this monstrosity, he knocked the pillows to the floor, spanning the short distance between them in seconds, his handsome face a mask of fury and concern, his eyes locked on hers.

He reached for her instantly, obviously afraid to touch the spikes nailing her to the wall. “Who?” he seethed, his rage clear as his hands fluttered over her, not knowing where to help first. “Who did this, Quinn?”

“Please, go. Please, Khristos,” she murmured, knowing the woman was lurking somewhere in the massive space she’d created with a snap of her fingers.

She would never forget how the woman had turned her tiny bedroom into this vast venue Quinn had only seen in pictures. The room had transformed—walls lengthening, the ceiling rising to stratospheric heights, pillars erupting from the ground like seeds sprouting in fast-forward.

Chunks of rock had spewed and kicked up pebbles until everything clicked into place. All that remained of her bedroom were the furnishings, minute as dollhouse furniture