to the throne room.
“You still have them don’t you?” a voice whispered from behind me. I spun around like a startled cat.
“Bennett, you scared me!” My nerves relaxed, dying down from their abrupt alarm.
He took a long stride, closing in on me. His expression was almost menacing, but it was hard to tell because he always looked like he was ready to punch something. “You shouldn’t be wearing them, Claire. They’re evil.”
Without thinking my hands flung to the place just above my breasts where the stones rested underneath my blue sweater. “No. They saved my life and your life too!” Wary eyes scanned our huddled conversation, so I pulled Bennett to the side of the hallway, concealing us behind a statue. “There are souls inside them, Bennett. They deserve to be set free; they want to be set free.”
“How do you know that?” He reached for the chain around my neck, but I stepped away from him.
“I can feel it.”
“No.” He stepped closer to me again, clasping my hands in his with a crushing grip. “They want to control you.” I understood his worry for me, but he didn’t know what he was talking about. No one could comprehend it. The stones weren’t evil; it was the intent of the vampire wearing them that determined what they did. They hadn’t affected anyone since I started wearing them.
“Please trust me, Bennett. I know what I’m doing.” I searched his face for some sliver of understanding and trust.
He released his grip on me with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll trust you, but you have to make me a promise.” I gulped; I was never very good at keeping promises. “The first sign of trouble, you take them off and give them to me.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Get rid of them,” he answered flatly.
“Fine.”
“So, you promise then?”
“Sure.” I didn’t believe the stones would ever cause me trouble, not as long as I had them, so it was an easy promise to make.
“Okay then.” Bennett released a pent up breath, and smiled as if he’d accomplished a great feat. Either he was really worried about these stones, or he truly did believe they were controlling me.
“May I have a word with my daughter?” my father interrupted from the middle of the hallway. How long had he been standing there, and how much of our conversation had he heard? He already knew about the stones, but he probably wouldn’t like it much if he knew I wore them all the time.
“Of course.” Bennett gave me one last long look before retreating back into the dining room.
“What’s up?” I tried sounding casual.
“Come.” He raised his arm, inviting me into it and I obliged. The heady scent of lavender and pine filled my senses. I loved how he smelled like the earth, like nature and everything wild and free. Forget Mother Nature; he was father nature.
“Where are we going?” I matched my father’s pace as we strolled down the hallway.
“To my study. I want to talk to you.”
“Uh oh.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he chuckled.
Chapter 8
We took the stairs at the end of the hallway and went up two floors. I’d never been to this floor before, mainly because all it housed was my parent’s bedroom and, so it would seem, my father’s study. A colossal wooden door, unlike the ivory doors throughout the château, stood at the end of the corridor. He pushed it inward, and the doors obeyed with a loud whine.
What lay before had just become my most favorite room in the entire Château. “Wow!” I exclaimed as I entered the space. The high ceiling was beamed with massive wooden logs, ornate metal chandeliers hanging from them like earrings. The white marbled floor was covered in a cream rug, flecked with the exquisite golden hues of Zakarian sand. It captured every flicker of light and looked like it was glowing.
Bookshelves lined every wall, their old pages filing my nose with the incredible scent of aged parchment. I breathed deeply, wishing I could bathe in the aroma of it. Large, leafy plants towered by every window and acted like umbrellas for the antique arm chairs that sat beneath them. My father’s desk was buried under columns of dusty books that wobbled precariously. I ran my fingers against the spines; most of them were in languages I couldn’t read. Some had gold lettering, other’s black, and several had no title at all. Perhaps they had faded away with age.
“I’m worried about you, Claire,”