Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2) Read Free

book. Why have you come up here?”
    “That tour group you were calling out to so desperately is the last of the day. It is such a lovely day and you have been cooped up inside this room for hours. I would be honoured to have your comp—”
    I launched myself at the door. My knee connected with the brass bedframe, slowing me down as I swung over the edge of the bed and raced towards my only escape. My fingers grasped the frame, ready to pull myself through. Cool air rushed past my face – the winds of freedom. The next moment, my body slammed against the wall. Pain shot down my side, and my legs were dragged out from beneath me. I crumpled to the floor, my head bouncing hard against the baseboard. My vision swam as pain arced through my skull, and my ears rang loudly. A heavy shoe pressed down on my chest.
    “I have watched you eye up that door since our conversation began.” Victor’s voice broke through the ringing. “Do not try anything that foolish again.”
    I nodded limply, my hand clutching the throbbing lump on my head.
    Victor removed his boot from my chest. Thin hands helped me up, and sat me back on the bed. I heard the door slam behind me.
    “As I explained in the letter, you are not to be trapped in this room forever.” Victor said, his hard voice managing to sound a little friendly. “I came upstairs to invite you to walk with me around the grounds, if you wish. It would be my pleasure to show you all the treasures of Morchard Castle.”
    I shrugged. “Sure.” It was such an oddly phrased request from a man who was keeping me prisoner, who’d only moments before slammed me against a wall. But if he was willing to show me around the house, then I would happily take the opportunity to search for any potential means of escape or clue that might help Cole.
    Unfortunately, shrugging caused my head to move, sending another searing jolt of pain across my skull. Those ravens must have hit my head quite hard.
    Victor stood up, his body unfolding like a roadmap being dropped from a great height. He extended his arm to me. “Come with me.”
    Inwardly, I wanted to retch at the idea of holding his arm like a character from a Jane Austen novel, but I thought it best to be polite, to play along with his show of gentility. So I slipped my arm through his and allowed him to lead me to the door. Far better to have my kidnapper in good humour, and watch for an opportunity to flee. That’s what Cole did, he watched and waited.
    Victor pulled open the door. Outside was a long hall, the floor below my feet a beautiful marble chessboard, the walls finished with crisp white plaster. Unlike Ryan’s main halls with the heavy wood furniture and gilded portraits crowding the walls, this hall contained only a small, spindly French sideboard, and some tasteful but dull pastoral paintings.
    “This is the guest wing,” explained my host. “It has hosted many noble families and celebrities, even the royal family during their visits to the county. The young prince and his lovely wife usually stay in your room.”
    “Delightful,” I said woodenly, casting my eyes around with interest. The hall stretched for several feet in both directions, and was lined with doors, all closed. As Victor guided me to the right, towards an open landing and sitting room, we passed a door with a large deadbolt on the outside.
    Who needs a lock on the outside of a room? I wondered, my stomach tight with fear.
    We descended the wide staircase and moved through more expansive hallways, large drawing rooms and sumptuous guest rooms. Finally, we passed through an opulent ballroom, the vaulted ceiling carved with Rococo designs and lavishly gilded. Carvings depicting hunting scenes decorated the walls and columns. The inlaid marble floor had been polished to a high sheen, and upon it stood several wax figures in period costumes posed around the piano, in the midst of a waltz. The whole thing looked ready for a grand party, as though Mr. Darcy and