Destroyed(92)

All the stupid hope I’d had that Fox might’ve broken through his no touching issues had been dashed into dust thanks to what happened in his office. He was still the same. Still haunted. Still ruined.

I thought my heart would never find a natural equilibrium again.

My skin pricked with goosebumps, and I breathed shallowly. I hadn’t been in this part of the house, and my limbs throbbed with adrenaline. I kept an ever watchful eye on Clara, poised to grab her just in case anything went wrong.

I want a weapon.

The thought popped into my head as Fox stopped outside a massive medieval door with a large lock. Engraved in the wood, looking as if someone took a sharp blade and carved with no finesse, were three lines. III.

It didn’t look like it belonged in this century. Just like the house constructed around it, there was something sinister and evil—something inhabitable.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as Fox inserted a key and pushed open the door. The only door without a keypad lock.

He looked back, his grey-white eyes delving into mine. You can leave if you want. His gaze screamed the message glowing with pain.

I wanted to take him up on the offer. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I would ever be ready for what he wanted to show me.

I couldn’t give him a reply—either silent or verbal. My thoughts waged with each other, terrified at knowing, horrified at what he had to say. But mostly petrified of the decision I would have to make.

Clara darted inside—no fear or residual surprise with what happened in his office. A brief exclamation of amazement escaped her, followed by a delighted giggle. “It’s like a cave. No, it’s like a prison cell.” She turned to me. “Remember? Those pictures you showed me of those poor people in Tower of London for stealing the crown and all the Queen’s money? Remember, mummy, with the things dangling from the walls and the horrible items they used to make the poor men tell the truth? It looks like that.”

My heart stopped beating as I moved forward, taking in the room. Clara was entirely right. The space looked like a dungeon—fit only for murderous thieves and men who waited for the gallows.

Fox snorted before moving forward to flick on a row of lights hanging above work tables, tool benches, and paraphernalia. The light helped dispel some of the original cell appeal, but the walls were damp, the floor unfinished and compacted with earth.

The sharp metallic scent of bronze and lifeless metals hit my nose. Mixing with old sooty smoke from the large fire, and the cold dirt around us, the scent reminded me of Fox.

He belonged here more than he belonged in the black decadent rooms above. I couldn’t swallow at the thought of him living somewhere like this. Enduring a life in this sort of environment.

Clara skipped around the room, inspecting old-fashioned bellows, and eyeing up two massive anvils. Pliers lay scattered along with hammers and odd bits of discarded metal.

My eyes fell on the silver chain draping off the corner of a table. Fox spun to lock gazes with me. He nodded. “It’s the same gauge I used on you. It seems stupid now.” His eyes fell to the glint of silver around my throat. I still wore the star bracelets he’d made. The centre piece that secured my wrists to the belly chain had disappeared into his pocket never to be seen again.

“You were never the danger. It was me. I should’ve been the one to wear that. Not you.” His eyes fell from my throat, tracing the metal under my clothes.

“Wear what?” Clara came to my side, her eyes wide and interested. She coughed gently, sending spasms into my heart.

“Nothing.”

“You always say that.” Snorting in annoyance, Clara dashed off and disappeared through a crack at the back of the work room.

“Clara!” I jogged forward, very aware of how many sharp instruments and dangers this place held. What the hell were we doing down here? Fox could’ve told her his story anywhere. The garden where the sun was bright would’ve been much better than a f*cking dungeon. “Get back here.”

“Shit, I thought that room was locked.” Fox moved forward, effortlessly swooping like a shadow on the wall rather than a human. Something about him had changed, almost as if he embraced the side of himself he was about to expose. He didn’t have to hide down here—he fit.

I held back, letting him crack open the heavy door that looked like a bank vault. Disappearing inside, he looked over his shoulder. “It’s safe. I promise. It’s a hobby of mine—that’s all.”

I frowned, entering the smallish space. Rows and rows of shelves existed from floor to ceiling.

Oh, my God. My heart clouted my ribcage, taking in what the shelves held. How was this possible? I’ve stepped through time, or entered a movie set.

“Wow, this is awesome,” Clara said, spinning around in a treasure trove of weaponry.

Fox kept a careful eye on her, but his body faced mine, ready to take whatever I had to say. I glared at him, unable to believe he thought bringing a child to someplace like this was smart.

But as much as I wanted to scream, I couldn’t deny he hovered over her like a protective father, ready to snatch whatever danger she gravitated toward out of her reach.

“Holy crap.” I drifted forward, eyes bugging at the huge arsenal hidden beneath Fox’s house. A secret room full of secret things. Things from his past. Things no one should see. Unless they were a Jacobite, or Napoleon Hill. Every item of death existed from dirks, sickles, swords, and bayonets to sabres, axes, long bows, and nun-chucks.