WALL MEN: A Haunted House (The Wall Men 1)

I frown, acutely aware that I’m having a conversation with a painting of a man who’s dressed like an ancient warrior from the days before the wheel. “Clearly, you want to tell me the answer. So do it. Don’t waste my damned time.”

“Free me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

I laugh. “How about no?”

“I had to try.” He offers a cruel smile. “Then I propose a trade. I tell you anything you wish to know. And in return—”

“I’m not going to free you.”

“Understood, my beauty. I merely request that when I am done answering your questions, you cross over and meet with the king. The Wall Men will protect you, of course, and ensure your safe return.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” I’m not about to end up like my parents.

Alwar laughs, his muscular neck exposed as he lifts his chin toward the sky.

Funny. His build reminds me of Bard’s in that every inch of him, down to his pronounced Adam’s apple, looks like it was cast from a steel mold of the perfect male specimen. Flawlessly proportioned facial features right down to his raised cheekbones and straight nose. Dark brows that arch just enough to accentuate his intense eyes. Lips that have the exact fullness needed to express the subtlest of emotions, like anger or displeasure, with a twitch. Each rope of muscle on his arms, shoulders, and neck is delineated to display his physical strength. In my mind, men like him are molded, not born, because it’s impossible to imagine them ever being a helpless baby or an awkward teen. They are simply too strong, too masculine. There’s no hint of a younger, weaker version of him.

“What’s so amusing?” I ask.

He lowers his head and stares with those penetrating eyes. “You truly do not know, do you?”

“Stop with the bullshit games, or I will walk out of here and never come back. There will be no food. No water. Only an empty house to keep you company.”

Alwar’s expression hardens—frown, flat lips, narrowed slits for eyes. “You do not wish to know what will happen if we are deprived of food and drink, Lake. We answer to the Norfolks only as long as they keep their word.”

There’s an agreement between the Wall Men and the Norfolk family?

“Sorry. I don’t know anything about this agreement because my grandma’s journals burned up along with my house. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” I ask.

“I would not; however, I assure you whatever was written in the journals was lies. Lies upon lies.”

Somehow, I doubt it. “Are you going to tell me why this king wants to talk to me or not?”

His smile melts away. “That is irrelevant. The Norfolks are obliged to come when summoned.”

Hilarious. “You’re telling me that my family promised some guy on the other side of that wall that I’d come running when he snaps his fingers?”

“Not some guy. He is a king.”

Still a no. “And where do you sit in all this? What’s in it for you if I meet with him?” I won’t ever do it, but I’m looking for information.

“There is another king, a very bad one, who would also like to meet you. Your presence would provide the opportunity for me to kill him.”

Alwar just proposed using me as bait? I don’t know if he’s serious, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to believe him or meet with some evil king he wants to kill.

“What did he do to you?” I ask anyway.

“I am particularly loyal to the king I speak for. He was overthrown with the help of the Fliers, Skins, and vampires who sided with the new king. But the rightful ruler is the rightful ruler, and he still has the support of his subjects. I wish to place him back on the throne. That requires some killing to be done.”

I pull back mentally, realizing two things: One, I don’t know what Skins or Fliers are, but I know the other word. Please tell me vampires aren’t real. Two, I just noticed the other men in the painting are no longer sitting still.

“We do not have time for games. Tell her the truth, Alwar,” says the savage-looking man to Alwar’s right. He has long, jet-black hair, golden eyes, and a dark beard. He’s slightly bigger than Alwar with more pronounced features—higher cheekbones, deeply set eyes, and larger lips.

To Alwar’s left is an equally vicious-looking man, but his long hair is golden blond, and his eyes are a stunning emerald green. He’s leaner than the other two, but still very intimidating and ripped. Something about the way he’s looking at me, with an intense focus, tells me he’s sizing me up.

Alwar turns his head to the black-haired man. “You will be quiet, Tiago.”

“I agree with him,” says the blond man. “Tell her.” His voice is quiet, subdued, but laced with authority.