Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,64

castle, rolling instead of cracking and booming. Lightning pierced the windows, shedding yet more, if brief, illumination over the walls and interior. Fascinated by the spartan design, she followed the foyer to the set of stairs Sander mentioned. Setting the flashlight down, she angled it so that she could snap off a picture or two with interesting shadows cast across the steps. Picking the flashlight up, she ascended, mesmerized by the immense proportions and maze-like hallways.

By comparison, this castle showed its age much more than the other one. The stone looked worn, as did the stairs, though that was not to say it felt unsteady. Far from it. She knew she was as secure on these stairs as those at the main castle. Taking more photos along the way, she found the second door at the end of the hall and went up. These stairs spiraled around and around, winding upward through each level. The walls curved as well, the stone smoother here, less rough on her palm. Chey wondered how many times Andra had walked this route. It sent chills up her spine to know this was the exact same path the woman had taken probably thousands of times. Andra had actually stood right in this very spot. So had her murderer, if Sander was to be believed.

A rustle behind her caused Chey to spin, gasping, the flashlight beam spearing the darkness. She could only see perhaps ten feet forward or back thanks to the curving design. “Sander, is that you?”

No response.

“That's not funny. You can't cheat and scare me,” she accused.

Nothing.

Thinning her lips, she listened another minute. The vague rustle didn't come again. A spate of fresh thunder encouraged her to finish her ascent. She knew when she'd come to the landing of the right room because there were no more steps to take. This was it, the end of the line in the south tower.

The door she stood in front of had been Andra's. Seizing the moment, Chey snapped off a few pictures. Caught up in the ancient history and the story Sander told her, she finally put her fingers on the iron handle and pushed the door in. The hinges whined and screeched.

Circular, the south tower room was bigger than Chey thought it would be. She could have fit ten queen sized beds in that space with room for dressers, a few armoires and a sofa or two. Several cathedral shaped windows were cut into the walls, the sills more than a foot thick. Only darkness and the storm raged beyond, obliterating whatever view Andra had from the tower. Nothing remained from that time, not even a splinter of wood from a chair or scraps of old cloth.

What did survive, were the beams high up along the ceiling. Chey pinpointed the center one and stared at it for an indefinite amount of time. To know that this was the beam Andra hung from was more than a little eerie. And she understood now why Sander had said Andra couldn't have been the one to hang herself. If there hadn't been a very tall ladder, there was no way she could have gotten the rope over the beam.

The hinge on the door whined. Startled, Chey swung her light that direction.

It's just the wind. Ghosts don't exist. True enough, there was a stiff breeze blowing in the three arched windows that could have moved the door forward or back several inches. So far, rain hadn't penetrated the pass-through.

To prove a point, she took a few pictures of the doorway, and then the beams above. The entire time, goosebumps decorated her skin under the material of her sweater. Anyone would be creeped out, she assured herself. Someone—two people—had been murdered in this room.

A flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye near the door caused her to whip the flashlight beam that direction again. Was she seeing things? Could the mind play such convincing tricks? Of course it can. Sander planted a haunted story in your mind and now you're imagining a ghost around every corner.

What felt like a touch skimmed her left arm. Chey screamed, dropped the flashlight, and struck out with a hand. She encountered nothing but air. Turning a dizzying circle, her camera thumping against her chest, she shuddered. Nothing and no one was in the room.

“Stop it, Chey. It's just the wind. It's only the wind.” Talking to herself, she stooped and blindly reached for the flashlight. Thunder cracked so hard in the