The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

“He will lock you back in your room,” Yulia warned.

I gave her a look of resentment, then got to my feet and followed her to the dining room, asking, “Yulia, did you know my mother?”

“Everyone knew your mother. She was famous.” She scrunched her nose. “I do not understand why God would allow that woman to be so talented. Though He does work in mysterious ways . . .”

“What was she like?”

“Immoral.”

Sleeping past seven a.m. was immoral to Yulia.

“Can you be more specific?”

“She fornicated with everything that moved.”

“So she was sexually liberated.” I was trying to see the best at all costs here.

Yulia stopped in the dining room doorway and gave me a harsh look. “Fornication is a sin. And so is adultery.” She must have said that because my mother slept with my papa while he was married. “She was also prideful, greedy, and cruel.”

“Yulia,” I sighed. “You’re just naming all the deadly sins.”

She arched a brow. “You do not believe me?”

“I’m trying to believe you, but you’re not givi

ng me anything to work with besides she was a real bad sinner.”

Her eyes narrowed. “She helped your papa with his work.” She tilted her head and gave me an almost sympathetic look. “Though I do not think you are ready to hear how.”

An uneasy energy slid through me. Curiosity begged me to ask, but my heart told me maybe I really wasn’t ready. So I took a seat at the table, where, alone, I was served golubtsy by the same silent maid. I cut into a cabbage roll, noticing the cook had left out the animal products. Surprisingly, all the meals I was served were vegan.

After finishing the meal, I headed to the entryway. My faux fur coat hung from a hook, and a pair of my ankle boots sat on the floor like I was just an overnight guest. I donned the coat and shoes and stepped outside.

Both guards on each side of the double doors went silent. In fact, everyone in the yard quieted, watching my steps as I walked off the circular drive and trudged through the thick snow. If I ran, they’d probably shoot me in the leg. Couldn’t kill Ronan’s collateral after all.

I made my way to the outbuilding that served as a kennel. The dogs ran the length of the chain-link enclosure as they watched me coming. I stopped in front of it, kneeled in my luxurious coat in the snow, and told them what nice puppies they were. With very sharp teeth.

When I was somewhat confident they wouldn’t bite me, I offered my hand through the fence, palm up. Only one of them came up to sniff me, while the others stayed put as if they didn’t want to stoop so low to be petted by me. I scratched the friendly one’s furry neck and smiled when he licked my hand. I’d never had a dog. Papa didn’t like them. But I’d always wanted one.

A sable-furred German shepherd with a surly expression stood alone near the doggy door, hackles raised at my presence. I spoke to him softly, but he kept his distance, tail flicking and fur on end. Feeling like I’d distressed him enough, I got up to take a short walk around the house. The guards’ eyes prickled on my back like I was caught in a sight’s crosshairs.

Clouds parted, the sun sparkling against the snow. Trees lined the edges of the property, and I wondered how far I would have to walk to find civilization or even just a road with the occasional passerby. Although, even if a highway sat three feet outside of Ronan’s yard, I wasn’t sure how I’d reach it. Not with his constant night watch and dogs who were undoubtedly faster than me.

Having free rein of the house, I took advantage of it. It took hours to peek into every nook and cranny on the first floor, but, unfortunately, I didn’t find a secret passageway that led out of here.

I hated the truth of the matter, but it was a gorgeous house.

Original paintings covered the walls, every piece of furniture held a timeless charm, and each room set a different mood. It felt like a home, not four walls of stationary stone.

And then I found the library.

Shelves stretched to the high ceiling, crammed full of books with a variety of colored spines. A large mahogany desk sat at the front of the room, and the smell of cloves saturated the air. I didn’t know what I found more offensive: the fact Ronan smoked next to a shelf of first editions, or that I would have to share this space with him for however long he kept me here.

The first book I pulled off the shelf was Paradise Lost by John Milton. How ironic. The novel was a set of poems depicting Satan as arrogant and instrumental to his own downfall, and, eventually, he lost the fight against God.

I dropped the book on Ronan’s desk on the way out.

The one glaring thing the house lacked was electronics. I didn’t find a single telephone, radio, or computer. Either the frequencies disrupted Ronan’s communications with the underworld, or he got rid of any way I could reach out for help.