But there was no water, no urn, only a chamber pot of sorts that was uncomfortable to use.
There wasn’t even a rat scurrying around for her to catch and eat.
Then again, according to the massive tome on the desk, she drank her meals from the mysterious Darius. In flowery language she even described the taste and how addicting it might be.
Pearl didn’t use flowery language. A great many of the entries she scanned didn’t sound like her at all.
Had he told her what to write?
More importantly, if she had been the one to tear out a page, where would she have hidden notes in this crypt?
Running her hands under the heavy mattress had led to nothing. Nooks in the wall were explored, the space behind paintings, even the trunk of scandalous clothing at the foot of the bed.
There was nothing but dust.
Dust?
Stamping her foot, Pearl felt the earth under the room’s sumptuous rug. Things could be buried in dirt.
Like bodies.
Or trapped women.
Throwing back a corner of the rug, brushing aside dried rushes, damp earth met her fingers. Clawing at it here and there did naught but pit the ground. Fueled by a growing need for answers, Pearl threw handfuls of earth aside, careless of where they fell.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for there.”
Crouched like a spider and panting as if she’d just run a race, Pearl cut a glance over her shoulder and hissed.
The mystery man himself stood like a beautiful beacon. And he was smiling at her, serene and unthreatening.
“Darius?”
A winged eyebrow arched. “Yes, Pearl?”
He obviously knew what she was up to, and seemed unconcerned. Tickled even. “Where are the missing pages?”
Walking toward a fantastical painting of an ancient warlord, the stranger pulled back a bit of torn canvas to display a nook. “Sometimes I find them here.” He then changed course, moving to a stone in the wall that came away easily when jiggled. “And often here.”
Both cavities were empty. Whatever she’d hidden away had been lost. And he had known to look for them. Nervous despite his kind expression, Pearl asked, “Why do you take them away?”
The handsome man’s smile grew charmed. “Take them? I collect and keep them for you.” He pointed to a small, obvious box on the desk. A place Pearl had ignored in her hunt.
Wiping dirtied hands on the impractical lace gown, Pearl crept forward, untrusting and cautious. It was as he claimed. Inside the jeweled box, the folded notes were haphazardly stacked.
Once she stood before them, he crossed the room. Appearing out of thin air behind her body.
His heat met her back. Lips to her ear, breath warm, he asked, “Do you want to play a game?”
Her fingers hovered over the notes. Buzzing nervously from the intimate way he brushed against her, Pearl whispered, “What kind of game?”
“For every note you choose to read, I earn a kiss from my beloved treasure.”
It was a trick. Men were never forthcoming. But there was something deeper than cautious intuition that warned she needed to see what was on those stolen pages. “One kiss for one note?”
A rich smile in his voice, the man nuzzled closer. “A kiss, my love, nothing more.”
Delving in, a random scrap of paper was chosen, pulled free, and unfolded.
Darius is the devil and you are in hell.
A hearty chuckle shook her body, the man pressed to her back extremely amused. “I do so love the look on your face when you read that one. In those first precious moments, you don’t want to believe it. You’ll turn and look me over from head to toe. Where are the horns? Where is the tail and cloven hooves? What reason might you have to think I am this character from your nightmares? Maybe it was written as a joke. Maybe, we’d argued that day… Perhaps you’d fallen gravid and grown difficult.”
Fear crawled up her spine and blood ran cold no matter how warm the body at her back. Turning her head so she might glimpse the one wrapping his arms around her torso, Pearl met his glowing red eyes.
His gaze burned all the brighter, fangs slowly descending behind a positively elated smile. Teasing in the meanest voice she’d ever heard, Darius hummed, “Or, maybe it’s absolutely true.”
Mortally afraid, she stood there, a hairsbreadth from those teeth, and asked, “What does gravid mean?”
He brought a hand to her cheek, reminding her that there was a price. A kiss for a note. After all, there were rules to this game. Fingers pinched her chin, turning her attention back to the box. “I never claimed questions were a part of our fun.”
One folded page would not be enough. Snatching up another, she tore it in her haste to read what was waiting.
He raped me over and over until I bled from every hole a man might abuse on a woman. I begged him to stop, and he laughed.