Haunted Hearts

Chapter 22

The morning light was blinding, I wrinkled my eyes as I tried to adjust to the sunlight. Amidst the verdant expanse, I searched in vain for any sign of the graveyard where my father languished, finding only a quaint wooden cottage with its inviting chimney spewing warmth into the crisp air.
And even if I knew we wouldn't set my father free today, my stomach dropped. Annoyingly, I realized I was holding to a string of false hope. Thinking maybe he would change his mind. Maybe it would be done today. But I was wrong and we were definitely not at the cemetery.

I hated that I had to keep asking him, but my curiosity won as I turned to face the demon next to me, "Where are we?" the chill of the morning seeping through my day dress.

"Istanbul," he replied casually, his strides purposeful as he made his way towards the cottage.

My mouth dropped. "What? Why? How—" I started to protest, but he appeared in front of me. His hands enveloped my shoulders with a warmth that instantly killed the chill in my bones.

His face tilted down to meet my eyes, "Alright, love," his voice a soothing melody laced with urgency, "as delightful as it is to revel in our little game of surprises, where you pretend you don't know how powerful I am, and I show you just how much, time is of the essence. Let's not delay."

The demon took my hand dragging me to the entrance of the cottage as I realized how big it was compared to mine, "Why are we here? Who lives there?" I whispered.

He sighed, his tone grave. "Put the rosary on." He said so I did. "A word of caution: if you can avoid meeting her gaze, I suggest you do so. In fact, try not looking at her face," he warned, locking eyes with me momentarily, his piercing blue gaze stealing my breath. "And try to refrain from speaking, unless she prompts you."

"She? Is it a she or... a demon?" I murmured as we approached the front door, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I think you know," he replied nonchalantly.

"I don't want to see another demon," I whispered, pulling away from his grasp.

In a swift motion, he turned to face me, his face mere inches from mine. "Just me, hmm?" he purred with a wicked grin.

"Not even you," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my voice.

"Liar," he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. "If you insist on deceiving yourself, so be it," he thought, a smirk appeared on his lips.

"Why would I even want to—" I began to protest, only to have his hand swiftly cover my mouth, silencing me.

"Listen," he whispered, his playful demeanor giving way to seriousness. "If we're going to do this, we need to trust each other. As much as you may detest it, if I ask you to remain silent, please do so."

"Asshole," I thought, fully aware that he could hear my internal retort. As he opened the main door, I heard his amused response in my mind: "You can just call me Alexander."

He entered through the chateau. I blinked hardly. My hands became clammy. Caught between uncertainty and resignation, I found myself unable to do much. I was literally trapped in the middle of nowhere, I had no choice but to follow along. I followed him inside, and despite my reservations, despite knowing that this might be a trap, a part of me surrendered to his guidance.
There was nothing I could do, but trust him.
Because even if I hated him whole heartedly, I knew he wouldn't kill me.
He still needed my soul.

As we stepped into the cottage, I first noticed the stench. Like there was some rotten corpses somewhere hidden inside those wooden walls.
My breathing became uneven. Anxiety crept in. I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that something was off. My gaze fell to my stupid tight skin dress now drenched in sweat even with the cold temperature. Then my eyes went down to my feet where I noticed there was no floor—just dirt and dead grass beneath our feet.
A solitary rocking chair faced the fireplace, while a massive brown couch occupied the opposite end of the room. There was no sign of a kitchen or any other door besides the one we entered through. It seemed this place lacked rooms, bathrooms, or any amenities beyond what lay before me: a couch, a chair, a fireplace and books.
Books everywhere.