SHE’S STILL SMILING WHEN I tilt my head, looking over to her. She doesn’t catch my surprise, or I hide it well because her smile doesn’t drop.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Shaking my head, I figured I must have misheard. “Sorry,” I answer shyly. “Hi, I’m Madison. Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?”
“Katsia!” she repeats, none the wiser. I shake her hand and mentally slap myself. I knew I shouldn’t have driven off, but if I leave now, will she know that I know? Whatever it is that I think I know. It would be too obvious if I did, though. And then she might kill me with her sharp-as-fuck stilettos, and I’ve had enough near-death experiences to last me a lifetime, so I play dumb.
“Nice to meet you, Katsia.”
“Come on.” She waves me over, and I follow as she heads toward the front reception desk where two more young men are working. All are wearing the same uniform as the valet, only when these boys look at me—I feel nothing. Nothing like I felt with the boy outside. One is of darker complexion, a stoic look on his face, and the other looks Hispanic. They both straighten their shoulders when they see us walking toward them.
“Miss K.” They both do a small bow, and I look toward Katsia again before looking back to the boys who haven’t glanced at her but rather kept their eyes straight ahead.
“Thank you. Please, give me Montgomery’s key.”
I watch as their eyes widen in shock but don’t move from their position, locked on the wall ahead.
“Now,” Katsia urges, and they jump, spinning around and disappearing behind a small door.
“Excuse me.” I clear my throat, figuring this might be a good time to ask. “But can I ask how you know who I am?”
Katsia turns to face me, her eyes staring into mine with an unreadable expression. It’s a mix between awe and something else I can’t quite peg. “Well, I guess we can chat about that once you’re all settled in. I’d like to show you the grounds, if you don’t mind. I know you haven’t been here since you were a little girl.” Deciding I don’t want to appear as if I’m onto her or know anything about The Book, I nod before going back to waiting for the boys to return with the key. Because, really, I shouldn’t be that surprised. My dad could have told me about this place. I can’t show an inkling of my knowledge of the Kings, because I don’t know this woman or what she’s capable of.
The boys return, the darker one handing Katsia the key. “Here you go, ma’am.”
She takes it and gestures toward the stairwell. “I’ll show you to your room, Madison.” We walk up the stairs and down the long, dimly lit hallway, passing red doors with gold numbers attached to them. The hallway is a lot longer than I remembered it to be.
Forget.
Reaching the end, Katsia pushes a button and elevator doors ping open. Stepping inside the small enclosure, the doors close, classical music dancing between the silence. I’m not a fan of this particular genre, but anything beats complete silence when in an enclosed space with someone you’re not sure is a good or a shitty person.
The doors slide open and we walk out then down another long hallway, only now the walls are glistening in gold paint, and the doors are all licked in white. It’s interesting how vivid the two colors are, but maybe that’s part of their deco and what they were aiming for. One would hope. If Tatum sees it, she’ll flip out, what with her deco-loving brain. Thinking of Tatum, I need to text her just in case I don’t make it through the weekend.
We reach a door, but where there were numbers marking the red doors, on these there seems to be some sort of foreign writing on them. I can’t make out the name because the cursive font is hard to read, let alone it being in a completely different language, so I brush it off for now.
Katsia pushes the key into the hole and opens the door. “I can meet you back downstairs when you’re all settled and ready.”
I nod, taking the key from her and stepping inside. Shutting the door behind me, I walk in, dropping my bag on the floor. The room, if it’s the same one I was in as a child, looks unrecognizable. Skimming my hands over the old oak wood that lines the deep gold walls, I check out the rest of the room. A large California king bed is tucked away to the left, on a platform that overlooks the woods from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s an en suite, walk-in closet, a fully functioning and stocked bar, but no TV.
Walking to the other side of the room, I open up a cabinet, thinking a TV might be hidden in there, only it opens up to a fully loaded cabinet full of guns. Semi-automatics, shotguns, the works. This is not surprising. There was a reason why dad liked bringing me here; it’s obviously a free-for-all ranch that supported the second amendment. Closing the cabinet, I pick my bag up and take it to the bed, pulling out all of my clothes. Deciding there’s no way I’m going to make an effort with my attire, I shove everything back inside and take out some skinny jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.
Slipping into the shower, I scrub up in double-time—even though I want to sit there forever. I seriously need to talk to Dad about getting a showerhead that fills the entire shower stall, because that shit’s amazing. Shuffling into my clothes, I let my hair down and fluff it up to fall in my natural curls, skip the makeup, and shove on my Chucks. I came here to shoot, not to play Clue with Mrs. Robinson, but color me intrigued. Although not much surprises me anymore since meeting the Kings and discovering the history, this has me enthralled enough to sit down and chat.
When I walk into the main lobby, the young valet from earlier is talking to Katsia. From where I’m standing, I can’t make out what they’re saying, but judging by the movements of his hands and the expressions on his face, they’re not talking about anything light.
The boy—who I should probably stop calling “boy”—stops his talking, his mouth slamming shut before he inches his head toward me slightly, like he felt me enter the room. Well, the connection is mutual, and I have no idea what to make of it at all. His eyes lock onto mine and something pangs in my chest. Recognition, guilt, confusion. They all swim inside me, and I have no idea what to do with it. He storms away from Katsia and into the back of the reception area. Katsia continues watching him with careful eyes. She looks back to me, plastering on a, what seems like, a fake smile before waving me over.
I walk toward her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She brushes my words off casually. “Don’t you worry about Damon. You hungry?” she asks, leading me into the large restaurant on the other side of the stairwell. I remember this place a little, but walking into it, it’s like I’ve never been here before. Everything has changed and been upgraded. Chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and all-glass walls line the entire room so you have a vast view of the woods anywhere you sit. We take a table on the other side of the room, tucked away enough for privacy.
She picks up the menu and smiles. “The fish is good. If you still like fish, that is.”
Smiling, but not sure of the angle she’s aiming for, I nod. “Love fish.”
The waiter comes and takes our menus, and as she suspected, I ordered the salmon and steamed veggies. Pouring us both a glass of water, she looks at me. “So, how’d I know who you were?” she asks my unspoken question with a smile.
Nodding, I take a sip of water.
“Well, I’ve known your father for a while now.”
“I sort of figured that. I remember this place a little,” I answer, placing my glass down.
“How much do you remember?” She aims for casual, but I pick up the hitch in her tone, and though the question could be interpreted as one that has a double meaning, she says it with such etiquette that it doesn’t have me second-guessing her intention. In fact, if I hadn’t read some of The Book, and if I didn’t know what I knew about my father and the Kings, her question and the way she said it would’ve slipped right past me.
“Not that much. I just remember him bringing me here as a kid. He would say it was his freedom. I just needed to get grounded a bit more.”
“Oh?” That perks her attention. I once again caught her tone. As if she realizes she may have seemed a little too interested, she drops her smile a notch. “Well, I hope we can give that to you.” The waiter comes, placing breadsticks and garlic bread on the center of the table, and I reach for one immediately, wanting something to occupy myself with that doesn’t include being interrogated.
“Yeah.” I shrug like any other teenager would. “I mean, just school and my friends. It’s all a little much. My love for shooting only intensified as I got older, and I don’t know,” I mutter. “I guess I wanted a change of scenery and to get away for a bit.”
She nods as if in understanding, but I can see a thousand questions hidden behind that calm and collected posture she’s holding so well. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Just the night. I have school on Monday, so I should get back tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
She smiles in acknowledgment. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.” The waiter comes back, placing both our dishes on the table and leaving. Picking up a fork, I slice into the salmon and place some in my mouth, it melting in an instant. Fighting the urge to moan in approval, I chew slowly while picking up my water.
“So you and my dad are good friends still?”
She pauses her chewing and swallows. “Well of course. I assume he told you to come here?”
“Actually, he doesn’t know where I am right now. I just packed my car and left. I remembered this place and drove.” She places her knife and fork down, dabbing the napkin over her mouth.
“So he doesn’t know you’re here?” she clarifies, though I already said that.
“He doesn’t, no. Is that a problem?” Tilting my head, I watch her reaction.
Her face relaxes before she smiles. “No. No problem.”
The bitch is good. Whatever she’s playing at, she’s good at it. Getting to her feet, she smiles, but not enough for it to reach her eyes. “Make yourself at home, Madison,” she murmurs in a way that has chills breaking out down my spine. “I’m sure there’s enough here to keep you occupied with your time.” Then she leaves in a hurry.
Turning back to my food, I toss the salmon around on my plate, thinking over what the fuck just happened. Who is this woman and why is her name Katsia? Deciding the salmon is way too good to go to waste, I finish it all before washing it down with my water. Leaning into my chair, I think over my options—which, admittedly, isn’t much. I could text Nate, or Bishop, and ask them about this new finding. But that would defeat my purpose of getting away, because I know they’ll both be here in a flash to get me. Then again, they might be able to give me answers, ones I so desperately need because of this new discovery.
Exhaling, I pick up my glass and take a sip. No, I can’t do that. For one, I have too much pride, and two… I have too much pride. I’ll just have to figure this shit out on my own and hope I don’t get killed in the process. Swallowing the cool water, movement catches my eye from the outside patio, and I look toward it. Noticing the outline of the valet’s hat, I get to my feet, drop a couple of bills, and head toward the doors, which are open, displaying the cool woodsy night. There are tea lights outlining the wooden rails that frame the porch and a couple of rocking chairs that sit looking out toward the forest. Looking from left to right, I catch the boy’s back as he turns and disappears around a corner. Gaining a bit of speed in my walk, I follow him. Just as I turn the corner, a hand comes to my mouth.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers into my ear before I have a chance to scream bloody murder. “I—I not hurt you. Nod if I let go and you no scream.”
I nod, feeling like I’ve dodged being killed enough times to be able to write a book about not getting killed. He releases and I spin around, my breath catching as I attempt to slow my erratic heartbeat.
“What the fuck?” I whisper-yell toward him. “Was that necessary?”
His response is instant. “Yes.”
My mouth snaps closed as I study him closer. Close up, he looks a little older than me, now that I can see some imperfections on his face, but still young. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, circled with long eyelashes.
“Who are you?” I ask, not fully comprehending what I should be asking, but I figured asking who he is was a good start, and it gives me a few seconds to gain my wits after his surprise.
“Damon. You’re Madison Montgomery?”
“Damon?” I whisper, searching his face for clues.
“Yes,” he responds through his broken English, “It’s Latin. You are Madison?”
“No, I just like to pretend to be her, you know, because the perks are awesome.” I can’t help the sarcasm. His face remains poised, still, and unimpressed with my sense of humor. He’s a little serious and a lot dry. “It’s a joke,” I deadpan after the silence gets awkward.
“A joke?” He tests out the word on his tongue. “What is joke mean?”
Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?” Something seems off about this kid, and it has fear creeping into my throat.
“Non fueris locutus sum valde bonum…,” he begins, and I suck in a breath in confusion. He notices my puzzlement and then corrects himself. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t fluent English.” Well, that makes a whole lot of sense, and makes this thing a lot more complicated.
“Okay,” I answer slowly. “What is your language?” Maybe it’s Spanish. My God, I hope it’s Spanish, because I know a lot of that.
“Latin.”
Fuck.
Rubbing my forehead, I shake my head. “I know jack shit about Latin. Okay.” I look up to him, his face still the same, like a lost puppy bursting at the seams to speak but only knowing how to bark. I can almost feel the frustration radiating off of him.
“You,” I point to him, “meet me in my room in fifteen minutes. It’s not safe here.”
He nods. “Number?”
“No, I’m on the Gold Level. I don’t know what the name says on my door, but I’ll put this…” I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket. “…on my door. Okay? Understand?”
He seems to think over my words and then nods. “Yes, I understand.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Of course my only way of finding something out here only speaks fucking Latin.
There’s that language again.
Nodding, I set off on my quest back to my room, slowly coming to the realization I may not be getting as much shooting done as I had initially hoped.
Pacing back and forth in my room, I wait as the time passes. It’s been forty minutes since I told him to meet me back here, and I’m starting to get impatient. My phone ringing has merely settled into background music until I finally give up.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Walking to the bedside table, I pick up my phone, sliding it open and bringing it to my ear. “What?”
“Don’t fucking what me, Madison. Where the fuck are you?” Bishop growls down the phone.
“I’m away. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“Well good thing I don’t have to answer to any of your questions!” There’s a knock on the door, a slight tap I could have missed had it been two seconds earlier with Bishop growling in my ear. Changing hands, I walk toward the door and pull it open, seeing Damon on the other side.
“I gotta go,” I mumble into the phone.
“Sorry I’m late,” Damon mutters, walking past me and into my room.
“Who the fuck is that?” Bishop shoots off in my ear.
“That is… I can’t explain right now, so just wait until I get home.”
“I swear to fucking—”
I hang up my phone and switch it off, having about enough of his bullshit. Turning around, I smile at Damon. “Sorry about that.”
He sits on the chair across from my bed, his back straight and his hands placed rigidly on his thighs. His face stays the same, his eyes remaining on me as I slowly make my way to sit on the end of my bed. “So,” I test out, not knowing what else to start with. “How are we going to do this if your language is Latin?” I ask myself the question more than him.
“You are in danger here. You must leave.”
Well, that’s a pretty good way to start. “I figured,” I whisper, bringing my eyes back to his. “But why? And why are you helping me?”
He shakes his head, his eyes glassing over. “Knowledge not power. Knowledge in this world can be a weapon, or a reason.” He stands from his chair and walks toward me, stopping just at the foot of the bed. A little close, but I don’t feel uncomfortable about it. He takes my hand and I freeze slightly, unfamiliar with his presence, but again, not uncomfortable with it.
Pressing my hand to his chest, I look up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What is this?” I ask, shaking my head.
“You feel too?” he replies, so softly it almost takes my breath away. Being with emotionless assholes for way too long has me appreciating a man who has no problem with displaying his feelings. If that’s what he’s doing.
“Yes.” Unable to lie, or deny it, and not wanting to, I stand to all my five foot three inches and crank my neck so I can see him more clearly. “Who are you?”
“I’m not good man.”
I laugh. I don’t mean to, but I do. “I know bad men, Damon. You are not one of them.”
“Only you see light where others see dark, Madison.”
Shaking my head, I pull my hand away. “Maybe. But I see dark too, Damon. And I don’t see it on you.”
“Because it’s caged in my soul,” he replies, taking a step back.
“Who are you?” I whisper again, searching his beautiful features. The angelic way he carries himself and the way he looks straight into me tells me he’s deluded. He’s not a bad man; there’s no way this person standing in front of me right now is bad.
He sits back down, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head. “You…” he begins. “The Silver Swan.”
I gulp, my blood turning slightly cold. “Yes.”
He whips his head up to me and narrows his eyes slightly. Probably the most display of emotion I’ve seen on him as far as features go. “You… know? About yourself?” he asks again, his English choppy but enough for me to understand what he’s trying to say or imply.
I nod. “Yes. I’ve known for some time now.”
His face changes. “You must leave, Madison.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m stubborn. I have to know what this all means. I came here for clarity, to get my feet back on the ground, but I have a feeling that isn’t happening now.” I look at him as he watches me. I realize he probably has no idea what I just said, but I appreciate him listening anyway.
He gets up from his chair and walks toward the door. As he pulls it open, I think he’s about to walk out when he widens it, checking down the hallway, but he looks back to me. “See?” He points to the cursive name on the door.
I look to it and nod. “Yeah? I don’t know what that says.”
He runs his index finger over the embossed lettering, every flick and curve that is inscribed into the door. He says one word. One word that sucks all the good out of my thoughts and replaces it with murky memories. “Venari.”