Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

“Anouk, you can’t use up Viggo’s blood yet,” Luc warned.

But she was too angry to stop herself. “Just a few drops,” she hissed. “For Cricket.”

She whispered, low and fierce.

In the next second, Toblerone came charging down the hallway from the foyer, summoned by Anouk’s spell. Lady Metham barely had time to register surprise before the bear barreled into her like she was a bowling pin. Lady Metham, already weakened, collapsed, her head knocking against the stone floor with a deadly crack. Blood seeped out. Her eyes were glassy and unmoving. It didn’t stop the bear—?he began tearing her body with wooden claws until she was nothing but a pile of crimson rags.

“I can’t watch this,” Beau moaned.

Anouk stared at the blood pooling on the floor, at the bear that tore at Lady Metham’s body, and she whispered a quick end to the spell.

Both Beau and Luc looked slightly ill, but Hunter Black gave Anouk an approving nod. “Now there are more of us than there are of

them. Good.”

Clinking footsteps came from down the hall, interrupting their victory.

“Those are glass shoes. Countess Quine is coming,” Luc warned. “She must have gotten out of the cellar.”

They took off. Their footsteps were drowned out by the sound of her ragged breath. Anouk darted down a hallway that led past rooms full of more portraits. In and out of interconnecting chambers. Up and down dark staircases where she could barley see her own hands and her mind whirled as though she were trapped in a maze. When she finally reached a quiet alcove near the chapel, she dared a glance behind her. Luc was there, but Beau and Hunter Black were gone. She skidded to a stop.

“The others. We got separated—”

A sound in the distance interrupted her, something between a howl and a yell.

“Did you hear that?” she asked Luc. The howl came again. It was less like a yell now, more of a growl. “That’s an animal.” She gasped. “Not the cat. Something bigger . . .”

Luc’s face turned grim as he grabbed her shoulders and prodded her forward. “Keep going.”

They ran down more hallways until they reached a spiral staircase. The steps were narrow and ancient, worn down from countless footsteps.

“This is it.” She gasped. “The bell tower.”

Luc rested a hand on her arm before she could climb the stairs. He peered up at the turret as though he knew where—?and to whom—?it led. “Anouk, are you sure about this?”

“It’s what we came here to do.”

He nodded gravely. “Then let’s do it.”

“No.” She laid a hand on his chest. “There’s nothing you can help me with there, but you can help Beau and Hunter Black. Quine must have trapped one of them.” She paused. “That howl . . .”

“I know.” His tone was somber. He paused a beat before answering the question she hadn’t asked. “It came from a wolf.”

She closed her eyes, fearing the worst. Not Beau. Not Beau. Not Beau . . .

“It’s Hunter Black,” he said.

Her eyes snapped open. “How do you know that?”

“Three years ago, Goblins dragged in a wolf caught in the Black Forest, and two days later Hunter Black walked out of the attic.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Countess Quine must have turned him back.”

She felt a stab of anguish. Hunter Black was family, after all, and in some crazy way, she had actually come to care for the sulking assassin.

A wolf.

Cricket had been right. That was two of them turned now. She kept expecting to wake up from this nightmare and be in her bedroom back in the townhouse, tucked snugly beneath a quilt, a book fallen open by her side.

But this was no dream.