much that I’m wondering if he has a special chamber to recreate these...activities.
“No, that’d be crazy,” I mutter to myself, scoffing at the ridiculous direction of my thoughts.
Until those same noises I stumbled upon my first night here distantly filter through my ears.
My head snaps toward the sound.
There’s no way. I’m in a completely different area of the castle, it’s still fairly early. There’s. No. Way. I must be going crazy, probably the beginning of what Callan referred to as the blood lust. Wouldn’t surprise me since he spiked my food with the apparent lust-worthy lifesource this morning. Had I not happened to mention it, I never would’ve known. Not a single thing on my plate tasted any different than it should.
But it did almost taste too good.
The mere thought of it ignites that flame in the back of my throat as another moan resounds at the very end of the hall.
I swallow past the nagging sensation—well, try to anyway—and find myself, once again, moving toward the sound without intention.
Don’t do it, Tinksley. Turn around, says the angel on my shoulder, a voice I’d forgotten existed amidst the demands of depravity.
Do I listen? Of course not.
I have to know what’s happening. I’m too intrigued not to.
An intrigue that continues amounting as I pass this hand-carved archway with thick spiraled pillars. The pillars themselves aren’t what draws me—it’s the marionette puppets hanging off each one. They’re both female; one blonde, one brunette, both surprisingly quite scantily clad unlike a typical puppet.
I’ve never seen one like this before.
Reaching out to graze the tips of my fingers over one of their wooden bodies, I—
“Boo!” a husky voice ghosts in my ear.
My heart shoots up to my throat as a terrified scream breaks free. Next thing I know, I’m spun around, staring into amused blue eyes.
I literally feel myself deflate in his grip before I can react accordingly.
Bastard.
“What the fuck!” I shout, wiggling myself free.
Callan chuckles darkly and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look at you. So crass these days.”
I mimic his stance. “What can I say? I learned from the best. You’ve got one helluva sailor’s mouth yourself.”
“I’m not a sailor, love.” He smirks. “A pirate? Yes. The Captain? Obviously. Not a sailor, though.”
“You know what I mean,” I mutter.
“That I’m the best? Why yes, I do know that as well.” His smirk widens into a full-on grin, sending my eyes in a full spin.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“And yet those are the words that came out of your mouth, verbatim.”
“No, they didn’t,” I grumble. Or did they?
I’m mulling it over, retracing my verbal steps when I find him in my space, clasping my chin between two fingers to entangle our stares. “Yeah, they did, but it’s okay, I won’t make you admit it. How about you tell me what you’re doing in this wing instead?”
The question takes me aback. Not once has he mentioned restricted areas or anything of that nature. “Am I not allowed to be here?”
Hook nods, but there’s a hint of what I think is concern in his eyes. “You are…It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” I press curiously.
“It’s just not a place you should be after the decision you’ve made.”
Is he serious right now?
“What would any of what’s happening here have to do with that?”
“Temptation,” he purrs.
My stomach flips, not just at his decadent tone, but at the way he’s looking at me—like I’m tempting him right now by just standing in this very hall with him.
In all honesty, the man himself is tempting, and I hate myself for even admitting it.
“Oh, please,” I scoff, mostly to distract myself from such rousing thoughts. “It can’t be worse than what I witnessed the other night…”
“Oh, but it is.”
“How so?”
“Think that, multiplied and manipulated in so many different ways,” he explains.
Does he think that’s going to deter me? If anything, it’s spiked my interests all the more. “Show me,” I insist, holding his gaze. “I want to see.”
Callan chortles as he rakes a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?
“This labyrinth, this dark, secluded corner of the castle is the brood’s playground, filled with mortals of all varieties willing and waiting.”
“For?”
“To be fucked and fed on.” He’s serious, too, delightfully so, filling me with an abrupt understanding of the significance of those little wooden dolls.
“Puppets,” I muse aloud.
Callan hums, the sound close enough to my ear to ricochet a shiver down my spine. “Exactly. That said—the sounds, the smells, the visuals...all of it could