Strays

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

I trudged up the back stairwell of The Roaming Troll, swaying a little with exhaustion. The partying downstairs was in full swing; the sound of rowdy patrons and dance music pulsed through the walls, echoing along the floorboards and making my head my head pound dully.

A part of me just wanted to curl up on the floor and crash for a week but I knew it was better to just get this over with. Rip off the proverbial bandage before the wound festered. Or he manages to find something else to strip from us.

I sighed. Thomas led the way through the fire door and out into the empty hallway. I wondered if any of the other rooms were occupied. Beneath the muted sounds coming from downstairs, there wasn't so much as a squeak from behind any of the closed doors as we moved past. It reminded me of Theo's request for a soundproofing spell when we first moved into our apartment building — and the pulsing headache I'd gotten from the racket emanating from each apartment. But instead of feeling relieved we'd managed to escape it, I found the silence perturbing.

How am I supposed to be prepared for an attack if I can't fucking hear them coming?

Theo pushed his door open first. I hovered in the doorway, watching as Thomas knocked on the door opposite. Arran answered and Thomas gave him a quick update before he slipped inside — to sleep, presumably — while Arran and another girl took over the next shift.

"You good?" I mouthed at Theo. I could still picture the look on my mother's face when she made her escape earlier and I couldn't suppress the sliver of fear that curled in the pit of my stomach. Or the sound of Sebastien's voice whispering in my ear, "Eliminate the threat..."

I flexed my fingers and Theo winced at the sound of my knuckles cracking.

He nodded sullenly, his eyes flitting warily to our guards before he closed the door. Bracing myself, I moved to the next door, using the keycard Thomas had given me earlier to open it. Then, with a quiet beep, I pushed the door open.

Inside, it was pitch dark. I stilled, my eyes darting around warily like I half-expected Michael to spring out at me from the shadows. But there was no sign of him anywhere: no dark silhouette wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing, no cold eyes glaring at me from the other side of the room.

I swallowed, a strange taste coating my tongue and glanced over my shoulder at Arran. "Where is he?"

He shrugged one shoulder; the universal gesture for, Who the hell knows? "Out."

I sighed and stepped over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind me. It was so dark and I was so tired, I could barely see where I was going. The scent of sex and us still permeated the air despite the open window. It was strong enough to raise goosebumps on my skin and cause a little tremor of latent heat to stir in my belly. I could feel him here, in the dark: his presence was embedded in the walls, creeping around me like wisps of smoke.

I scraped a hand over my face, wincing when the contact only made my headache worse. I was still coasting a hormone high — I had to be. The effects of oestrus still lingered in my system, like the bitter aftertaste of alcohol as it surged up your throat the morning after a binge.

I'm just hungover. It'll fade eventually...

My stomach churned as I approached the bed, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand. Once I could see what I was doing, I seized the remote, aiming it at the black screen and waiting for the damn thing to come to life.