[ BOOK ONE ]
Erin Gilbert believed the worst thing that could ever happen to her was the death of her parents. But when the Salvatore brothers waltz into town, she finds herself longing for the sorrow-filled days of the past.
All too soon, Erin's n...
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A JOSTLING MOTION greeted Erin as her awareness returned. Her body swayed side-to-side, limp against whatever rested beneath her knees and back. It reminded her of the sensation of being carried. But why would she be carried anywhere?
Erin nearly gasped aloud when everything came rushing back. The masquerade, the plot to kill Katherine, the witch interference, and the shadowed figures that attacked her and Elena. Someone had taken them from the Lockwood's. They had been kidnapped.
It took every ounce of patience Erin held to keep her eyes shut and her body still. The last thing she wanted was to let her captor know that she was awake. The better option would be for them to believe she was still unconscious.
Even without moving, Erin could tell something had been tied around her wrists and ankles. The binds scratched at her bare skin, making it sting and itch. Ropes of some kind.
Erin held her breath when her captor stopped, leaning forward to set her body on a soft surface. A couch, maybe. It felt like a couch. She let her body settle, feeling the stranger remove the ropes from her ankles then her wrists.
"What do you want?"
Erin peeked through her mascara caked lashes to see her sister laid across from her on a dingy floral printed couch. Awake.
A man with brown hair almost to his shoulders sat next to them on the edge of the cushions, pulling away the ropes that kept her bound. He shushed her.
"Please, I'm hurt," Elena pleaded with him.
"I know. Just a taste," he replied and began to lean toward her, prompting Elena to scream.
Erin shot up, reaching under her dress to the stake cuff that miraculously remained in place. The wooden shaft ejected into her hand and raised it, slamming the point down into the man's back.
The man roared in pain, erupting from the couch as he yelled and reached for the stake protruding out of his skin.
"Trevor! Control yourself," a feminine voice called out from across the room.
Erin turned to see a tall woman with short cropped hair stride in their direction. Her gaze flicked between her and the man, Trevor, who tore the stake from his shoulder.
"The little bitch stabbed me," Trevor exclaimed, clutching the blood covered stake in his hand. He whirled to face Erin, veins rippling down his cheeks.
