Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

I shrugged the thought aside as we reached the porch. Five low steps led up to it, and twin wooden columns rose up on either side of the door, which certainly looked like it had seen better days. Like the rest of the house’s exterior, the wood was roughened with age, and discolored by moss and mold.

“Am I the only one getting a creepy vibe from this place?” Lauren said quietly.

I shrugged. Yeah, I guessed the fact that it was built in the woods, and we were approaching it at nighttime, did give it a Hansel and Gretel vibe. Though I imagined that in the daytime it looked quite picturesque.

Angie reached the door first and was about to knock, when it gave way slightly under her touch. It glided open, creaking softly, and Angie looked back at us with a questioning expression.

Lauren and I said nothing, so she continued pushing it, until there was a large enough gap for the three of us to slip inside.

Once we were through, we found ourselves standing at the beginning of a long, dusty hallway. Everything was wooden, from the walls to the floors, and completely bare, except for a few dusty gas lamps fixed at odd intervals against the walls.

More than anything, I was taken aback by how high the temperature was. It felt like a wave of hot air had washed over us as we stepped in, and I found myself stilling for a moment, trying to adjust to the temperature as my mouth went dry. It definitely was a good thing that Lauren had brought water.

“Okay, yeah, this is pretty creepy,” Angie whispered, eyeing the general decor—or rather, the stark lack of it. She pulled back a bit, so that she was level with Lauren and me, rather than ahead of us.

I refocused on the groaning, which sounded like it was coming from the other end of the hallway.

“Hello?” I called softly.

Still no response.

I wondered where the other men were, and from the confused expressions on my friends’ faces, they were wondering the same thing. Were they all sleeping in this place? It seemed so… bare. But where else would they be? We hadn’t noticed any kind of camp on our way here, unless it was set up around the back of the house.

I poked my head through the open doorways on either side of the hallway as we passed them, and each of the rooms beyond, also bathed in dim gaslight, looked equally derelict. Most were scattered with furniture, covered with thick layers of dust, and none of it looked like it had been used in years. Perhaps upstairs was nicer?

It was the strangest thing, but as we crept deeper into the house, I realized it was becoming hotter. By the time we were two-thirds down the corridor—having passed a set of stairs leading up to the higher floors—we had to stop and take a sip of water.

“Seriously, it’s like an oven in here,” Lauren gasped, stowing the bottle away once we were done with it.

I brushed away the sweat that was quickly forming on my brow with the back of my hand, and set my focus on the only door in this corridor that was closed — right at the end, and now only about five feet in front of us. This house was far deeper than I had anticipated; the hallway had seemed to stretch forever. I guessed the heat also had something to do with that impression.

As we closed the final feet between us and the last door, my ears picked up on something other than the persistent protests of pain. There was murmuring coming from the room—which meant other people were in there—but there was also the sound of… crackling?

It sounded like the crackling of flames.

“It’s all right,” a deep voice spoke from within. “It’s almost over.”

“Just think,” a second voice added, “one more day, and it will be done. You’ll never have to go through this again.”

“You’re doing better than we could have hoped, Ronad,” a third voice spoke. “Hang in there.”

Ronad?

More groans interspersed the comforting statements, and my curiosity reached the breaking point. I strode forward, gripped the handle, and pushed the door, springing it open wide and granting the three of us full view of the room.

Nothing could have prepared me for what we saw.

I had to be hallucinating.

I frowned, then closed my eyes and blinked several times, trying to shake myself to my senses, but when I opened my eyes, the scene was unchanged.

I glanced at Angie and Lauren, and from the look of utter shock on their faces, I realized they saw it too.

A fire roared in a hearth in the center of the room, beside which stood a small stand holding a round glass container, filled with reddish orange liquid. Huddled near the stand and in front of the fire were four men, bare from the waist up. At least, “men” was the first term my brain spat out for what they were. Unlike any man I had ever seen—or unlike any human for that matter—these men had skin the shade of ash, literally gray in color, and… wings. Two broad, black wings that protruded from beneath their shoulder blades, except for one man who was lying on his back closest to the fire, supported by some sort of stretcher—he appeared to have only one wing.

Lauren let out a string of curse words and stepped back, while Angie and I remained rooted to the spot. All we could do was gape.

The men whipped around at Lauren’s movement, and I recognized three of them instantly—the three men we’d met earlier, outside the fence. Only, earlier they’d looked like bronzed gods, rather than some kind of ash demons from hell.

My gaze locked on the taller man, whose eyes had darkened to thunderous storm clouds. His jaw went slack as he stared at us, apparently as shocked to see us here as we were to see them, and a hard look came over his face, one so stony and unreadable it frightened me.

The next thing I knew, an arm as rigid and strong as iron had locked around my waist, pushing me backward, and then the floor disappeared from underneath me. I felt the sensation of intense heat around my midriff, where the arm was holding me, as well as against my back, which was suddenly pressed against something smooth yet rock hard. It was all I could do to not cry out at the surge of heat flooding through my veins, before my stomach dropped, and the last breath was knocked from my lungs.

I soared off the ground and flashed through the corridor and into one of the open doorways at what felt like lightning-speed, then landed with a thud that caused whatever strength I had left in my knees to leave me. The iron arm released me, the heat relinquishing along with it. I sank to the floor, gasping for air, and felt my two friends collapse on either side of me.

When I looked up barely a second later, the door to the room slammed shut, followed by the sound of a bolt being drawn.

We’d been thrown into one of the dusty rooms cluttered with old furniture. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the door, slamming against it, yanking the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“Help me!” I wheezed, panic setting my brain alight.

This couldn’t be happening. We couldn’t be stuck in here. With these… I didn’t even know what they were.

My friends rushed to help me, but no matter how hard we slammed our fists or kicked against it, the door wouldn’t move.