He surveyed the kitchen and its many cabinets. The room matched the rest of the spacious house. It was big enough to easily prepare a meal for a large party. Or a Teulu of Hunters. Yes, he could see his siblings living here.
The nine-bedroom home wasn’t nearly large enough to house them all, but there was plenty of room on the property to have more buildings erected if they needed. Likely, though, his brothers and sisters would break off into smaller groups and scatter over the human realm, going where they were needed. At least they had in the past.
Once Dar was captured, though, there wouldn’t be a need to ride, at least not in the same manner as the Wild Hunt was meant to act. They’d be free. He couldn’t wait for the day to come when duty didn’t direct their lives. He pushed the thoughts away for the moment. Dreaming of the future would do little good if he failed in his goal of capturing Dar.
Calan scanned the room once more, then asked, “Do you have paper plates?”
“Probably”—her gaze darted to the basement door—“in the pantry.”
He glanced from her clenched fists to her haunted eyes. Protective instincts gripped him. He tentatively touched her mind and found the brick wall she’d erected earlier in place. Fear built it, not anger. Her rapid breathing and ashen skin supported his assumption. Why, though?
“The pantry is in the basement?” A jerk of her head answered him. He walked toward the door. “Okay. I’ll get them.”
Wide-eyed, she rushed forward and blocked him with her body. “No! I’ll go.”
“I don’t mind. You can sit at the table and rest.”
Harley ran a trembling hand through her hair. “It’s cluttered down there. You’d never find it.”
He wanted to demand she tell him why she didn’t want him to see what was in the basement, but her closed-off expression warned him to tread cautiously. “You’re sure?”
She flashed him a smile—a fake one that left her eyes hollow. “Of course. Be back in a minute.”
She turned, took a deep breath and yanked open the door. Stale, dank, dusty air spilled out. She coughed into her arm.
“There’re no windows, and the basement runs the length of the house.” Harley flicked two switches on the wall. Lights flared. A motor kicked on. A few moments later, the noise dimmed to a low hum. “The fan will take a bit to circulate the air. There’s a purifier attached to it and a humidifier. If it’s running all the time, it’s quite pleasant. It doesn’t get too hot or cold down there. The bulbs installed in the fixtures mimic natural sunlight too.”
She was rambling, not even looking at him while she spoke. The tremor in her hands worsened.
“That’s an elaborate setup for storage space.”
Harley gripped the handrail but didn’t move. “It wasn’t used only for storage. There’s a bathroom, small kitchenette and a living space too.”
“A mini apartment?”
She swallowed loud enough for him to hear. “Something like that.”
After a minute where she only stared at the staircase, he asked, “Would you rather I go?”
“Oh no.” She gave him another empty smile. “I just got lost in thought. There are so many memories here.”
“Not all good ones.”
Harley shook her head. “No, not even close.”
Before he could say anything else, she walked down the stairs and disappeared around the corner. He waited a moment, then followed.
He found her standing at the end of a short hallway. Three doorways led from it, two open ones and one made out of metal. He approached, the clunk of his boots on the cement floor announcing his presence. She didn’t move. He stepped behind her and rested his hand on her hip.
A quick peek into the open rooms showed the pantry with shelves lining the wall and a small space that had obviously once been used as an indoor garden. Ceramic pots, bags of soil and packets of seeds were scattered over the tables.
He faced the metal door. There was no handle on it. A dead bolt kept it closed. An idea formed that threatened to enrage him. “The living space you mentioned is behind this door?”
She leaned back, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Yes. It was mine.”
He stared at the heavy-duty locking mechanism and fought to keep his anger in check. Harley needed his comfort, not his fury.
“You”—he cracked his jaw—“lived in the basement?”
“Not always. I had a room upstairs too, but it didn’t have windows either.”
“Why were you sent here?” He’d guess protection, but he wanted Harley’s take on it. With the way she reacted at the mention of the basement, spending time downstairs hadn’t been welcome or pleasant.
“Sometimes for punishment. Sometimes just because.” Harley pulled his arms tighter around her middle. “My brothers didn’t have to stay inside it, only me, but Ian always kept me company when I had to go in there.”
He’d seen the pictures in the living room of her family. She’d had three brothers—Ian and twins who might’ve been nine when they died. “You were closer to Ian, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “Ian was always there for me. He was my link to the outside world. I wasn’t allowed off the estate, nor was I permitted outside after dark. The twins and Ian could go, though. They went to the local school, were involved in sports, and had sleepovers with their friends.” She motioned to the door. “While I stayed here.”
Harley snuggled closer, burrowing into his embrace. “Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t abused. Physically, anyway. Mom and Dad homeschooled me, and I learned to play the piano. I just had to follow a different set of rules. Dad insisted it was because I was a girl, and Mom was overly protective of me.” She snorted. “That wasn’t what she’d said, though.”
“What was her reason for locking you away?”
Harley turned the dead bolt and pushed the door open. A child’s playroom greeted them. There were bins of stuffed animals, books,
