Indebted: The Premonition Series (21 page)

Brennus’ eyebrows pull together in a frown. “Get dressed, I expect ta see ye downstairs today, or else,” Brennus says, striding towards the door.

“Or else, what?” I ask as Finn follows Brennus.

Brennus pauses and says over his shoulder, “Have ye na learned yet dat ye do na want ta know?” Without looking back at me, Brennus leaves my room with Finn trailing close behind him.

In frustration, I pace my room, trying to figure out what I should do next. I have to figure out a way to make Brennus break our contract so that I can be free to leave here and find Reed. My heart twists as Reed’s face enters my mind. He must be really, really mad at me for agreeing to Brennus’ terms. He would have never made a bargain like this. I have to start thinking more like him, he always seems to do the right thing, whereas I make a mess of everything…but my friends are still alive, so I must have done something right.

As I rifle through my closet for something to wear, I hate everything I see. Not because it’s all bad, but because it’s all very sexy and the last thing I want to do is entice a bunch of killers. No, I plan to repulse them, make them find nothing appealing about me. With that thought in mind, I walk out of my bedroom into the large sitting room that is attached to it. My stomach growls because they stopped sending trays up yesterday in an attempt to starve me out of my room.

I have to go downstairs anyway, just to find some food. I open the door that leads to the hallway a crack. Faolan and Lachlan are milling around at one end of the hall while Eion and Declan are shooting dice at the other end. I don’t want an escort on my next mission, so I wait until they all have their backs turned to me. When no one is looking, I dart through the open doorway across the hall from mine. It’s one of the fella’s bedrooms—one of my personal bodyguards: Declan, Lachlan, Faolan and Eion. I know they all stay on this hallway so they can be close to me, and I’m pretty sure that they are hating their new assignment because I haven’t really left my room, forcing them to do nothing all day but wait for me to surface.

I go directly to a wardrobe and rummage through it quickly, finding a green and white striped rugby jersey. I pull it on, but all the trousers are way too big, falling off me the moment I put them on. I have to settle for a pair of boxer shorts and a pair of really long, athletic socks that go up well past my knees. Walking to the window, I open it and look out. There is a stone terrace several stories down from this window.

Our rooms are located in one of the tower sections of the castle. The stone outside the window is covered with ivy that is as thick as jungle vine. Grasping a handful of the vine, I jump from the window and easily pick my way down the wall to the terrace below. I let go of the vine at the bottom and stride by the open glass doors of the terrace, seeing several very chicly attired Gancanagh inside an enormous room. The room is like a comfortable men’s club with thick, soft leather chairs and polished side tables. As I pass another set of open, glass doors, I look in and recognize Ninian sitting in a leather chair that is facing the terrace and the grounds without. Ninian is reading a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Walking casually through the doors, I ask, “Which way to the kitchen, Ninian?” When he glances up, his mouth drops open a little. I know I must look shocking to him. He is probably used to all the women around here doing everything they can to look as attractive as possible. I, on the other hand, have not showered since I arrived or even attempted to brush my hair. I know I look frightening and I try to hide the little smirk that is forming in the corners of my mouth. Too shocked to respond, Ninian just points to the door behind him.

“Thanks,” I reply. I walk to the door he indicates; it leads to a broad hallway. I call over my shoulder, “Left or right, Ninian?”

When I glance back over my shoulder, I see several Gancanagh milling around where Ninian is seated, watching me with avid curiosity. “Left,” Ninian says. I nod and head left.

After walking into several rooms that are clearly not the kitchen, I find what I am looking for at the end of the hallway. It’s a huge, medieval-looking kitchen made of stone that has been completely updated with all of the modern amenities of any five-star restaurant. Several women are running the kitchen, doing dishes and cooking what looks and smells to be the chicken soup that I remember so well from my time in the copper mine. My stomach turns over at the aroma. I feel sickened by it and I know that there is no way I will be able to taste that soup without becoming violently ill.
Don’t they know how to make anything else?
I wonder, holding my hand over my nose so I won’t smell it.

These women are definitely under the thrall of the Gancanagh. I see puncture marks on their necks that indicate they have been a snack for at least one of the fellas. In a daze, a girl about my age speaks to me in an Asian dialect that I don’t understand. She seems to be indicating the soup on the stove, offering me some. I shake my head, feeling an overwhelming sorrow for her.
How long has she been here? How long will she last?

“Do you have anything else,” I ask, hoping she might speak English, but she just stares at me, not understanding what I’m asking her. None of the women seem to speak English, so I wander around until I find a huge walk-in pantry. Browsing the shelves, I spot something that I recognize. Pulling a jar of peanut butter down from the shelf, I twist the lid and sniff it. My mouth waters at the familiar, comforting smell. As I walk back out into the kitchen, I find a spoon in one of the drawers. There is a wide table in the kitchen with several stools positioned around it, but the thought of eating in here with “the doomed” is more than I can take.

I leave the kitchen, looking for a quiet place to eat. As I pass a couple of beautifully attired Gancanagh in the hall, they both stop talking and stare at me like I’m an apparition. Their fangs engage with a
click
, causing my heartbeat to kick up. I attempt to remain outwardly calm until I turn down the first hallway that presents itself. Goose bumps flitter up my arms as I stifle the urge to look over my shoulder. I hurry down several more hallways in my search for a place to be alone.

In the middle of another hall, there stand two large, weathered suits of armor flanking an enormous set of double doors. Intrigued by the presence of the ancient armor, I stop to admire the cold, smooth surface of one of the silent warriors. Turning from it, I push a heavy, wooden door aside and enter a very masculine bar that I’m going to name the “Knight’s Bar” for all the suits of armor within it lining the walls.

It looks like it may have been the chapel of the castle at one time in the distant past, but it has been converted into a very chic tavern. The walls are lined in dark wood with an intricate Celtic knot carved into the top of each panel. Stained-glass rosette windows adorn every wall, letting in colorful light that draws intricate patterns on the floors and walls. Heavy chandeliers hang from the exposed beams, peaking high above my head and casting soft light down on the tables beneath them. A sleek bar area is built into the side of the room. Wandering behind the bar, there is every kind of alcohol known to man stocked behind it. I let my eyes wander over the labels. Some are in English, but most aren’t. It’s a menagerie of colorful bottles and liquids that would make any evil scientist cringe in envy.

Selecting a glass from the bar, I fill it with water from the tap and then carry it to one of the polished tables by the bar. Sitting down on a chair, I prop my feet up on the table, while dipping my spoon into the jar. As the peanut butter melts in my mouth I have to fight the tears that spring to my eyes. Memories of homemade lunches packed by Uncle Jim into paper bags with juice boxes and carrots flash in my mind.
How did I get here?
I wonder as I attempt to swallow past the lump in my throat.

I take a sip of water to try to ease my throat and I almost gag on it as Declan, Lachlan, Faolan and Eion stroll into the room. Lachlan and Faolan look relieved as they both slow and go to the bar to lean against it. Declan and Eion, on the other hand, walk with cool, corporate precision to my table. Pulling out chairs across the table from me, they both sit down, glaring at me.

“By all means, have a seat,” I remark with sarcasm. “Peanut butter?” I ask, offering my spoon to Declan and then Eion with a quirk of my brow.

Eion looks askance at the peanut butter and growls at me.

“We have ta go o’er a few ground rules, Genevieve,” Declan says in a stern tone right before he looks at me closer. “Is dat me shirt?” he asks, appalled.

I shrug, “Could be—where’d you leave it?” I ask.

“’TIS me lucky shirt, Genevieve! Ye blighter! Ye took it from me room—are dose my pants, too?” he accuses me, pointing to the boxers I’m wearing. Dipping my finger in the jar, I pull out a huge glob of peanut butter. I pop it in my mouth, pulling my finger back out, and then I wipe my finger down the front of the shirt in question, watching his brows draw together in a scowl.

“It’s not that lucky, Declan. You’re still sitting here,” I say, picking up my water and taking another sip.

“Ah, ye’re disgustin’,” he says. “Is dat yer plan, den? Make us toss ye out when ye smell as bad as da rubbish—and ye do smell, lass,” he says, wrinkling his nose as if I offend his senses. “It’s na going ta happen. He will never let ye go, no matter whah ye smell like.”

“Hey, pot, you’re black—stinky, rotten flower boy,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks redden as he easily sees through my plan.

Eion’s fangs shoot forward in his mouth, causing Declan and me to look at him. “I luv it when ye blush,” he says, shrugging his shoulders lightly and all the hair on my arms stands up as he gazes at me with longing in his eyes.

Declan rubs his forehead in irritation. “Do us a favor, go and feed and den come back,” Declan orders Eion. Eion retracts his fangs and gets up from the table, leaving the room in a fraction of a second. Shaking his head in frustration, Declan turns back to me. “Rules—” Declan begins, but stops when I interrupt him.

I hold up one finger saying, “Rule number one: don’t bother me when I’m eating. I don’t bother you when you’re eating. Let’s consider it a mutual respect thing.”

“Respect?” he asks, looking at me with widening eyes. “If ye had respect for us, den ye would’ve told us ye wanted ta leave yer room. Den, we would’ve come wi’ ye and den we would’ve gotten ye someting better ta eat den dat stuff ye have found for yerself.”

“I want to be alone,” I say. “Why do you have to follow me around anyway? It’s not like I can leave,” I point out, frustrated that I can’t be alone.

“Dis is na Disneyland, Genevieve,” Declan says in a serious tone, watching me across the table.

“You think, Declan?” I shoot back, because he is stating the obvious.

He ignores my sarcasm and says, “Dere are dose here dat could be tempted by ye even tough ye belong ta Brennus.”

“I tought ye said I’m disgustin’,” I reply, using his accent.

“Disgustin’ for ye, which makes ye still very, very, sexy. Have ye no idea den whah ye look like? Whah ye are like? Ye are a legend ‘round here. The fellas favorite ting ta do is ta sit ‘round and tell all the stories of ye from da caves,” he says with a speculative raise of his eyebrow.

“So I’m a fish story? The one that got away…until now,” I mutter with a grimace.

“Dere’s dat, but dey mostly like ta tell ‘bout how ye didn’t allow Brennus ta turn ye. Dey all know whah dat means,” he says significantly. They all would. Some, if not all of them, have been turned into Gancanagh by the same method of starvation and thirst that Brennus tried on me, but I didn’t give in—I was prepared to die. “Course, dey also like da story of how ye killed Keegan,” he adds, smiling. “Dey call ye the ‘Queen o’ Hearts’ ‘cuz it was off wi’ his head.”

I feel like he just punched me in the stomach, hearing Keegan’s name and knowing how I had killed him. I say quietly, “Keegan was insane. He wouldn’t stop.”

“He was insane,” Declan agrees, “and he would’ve killed ye, so ye took care of him. No one disputes dat. He died a good death. It jus makes ye dat much more attractive,
aingeal
. So ye need us, because ye are too much of a temptation, for now anyway. If he turns ye, den ye can walk ‘round here wi’out us. Maybe ye should ask him ta do dat and den I can be free o’ ye.”

“But then I’d miss you, Declan,” I smile mockingly at him, before eating another scoop of peanut butter.

“Eaves!” Molly calls and my head snaps towards the doorway to see my friend entering the room, walking with a casual swagger that has every eye on her. “There you are! Everyone is looking for you. Brennus is pissed off. You better go tell him you found her, Deck, or he might have a total meltdown. He heard that you were wandering around alone and almost went postal,” she says significantly, looking at Faolan and Lachlan who have guilty looks.

“Faolan, tell him where we are,” Declan orders and Faolan is out of the room with military precision.

“What are you eating? Peanut butter?” Molly asks me as she comes up to me, and leaning down, she hugs me tight, pressing her icy lips to my cheek. As she pulls back she says, “It smells so disgusting! I used to love peanut butter and now it smells like, ugh, fertilizer or something.” She rubs her nose like it stings while Declan snorts in agreement and Lachlan grins.

“Don’t laugh, Declan, or the lucky shirt is going to take another hit of stink,” I warn him, brandishing the peanut butter near to his shirt.

“Eaves, you look—did you take a shower today?” she asks, trying to be discreet as she plugs her nose.

“I’m so sorry, Molly,” I murmur, feeling tears spring to my eyes, as I look at my friend who has been like a sister to me. I can’t fix what they’ve done to her. I can’t undo it and the agony of that fact is crushing me. They made her a beautiful, undead monster.

“It’s okay, you don’t smell that bad,” she tries to reassure me when she sees my tears.

“I’m sorry that I made you their target,” I explain right away, so that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. My tears are running down my cheeks and I’m unable to do anything about them.