Dark Descent: The Arondight Codex - Book One by R Nicole (best books to read all time TXT) 📗

He stared at me, his expression giving nothing away. I was an annoyance he didn’t want to deal with—he’d said it once and I could feel the words rising in the back of his throat again.

Scarlett Ravenwood, you are a broken toy nobody wants.

I cracked, then I turned sharply before he could see it on my face. I strode away from him towards the tube station, every step tearing through the life purpose I’d had for a full two minutes. New high score, Scarlett. It was fun while it lasted.

“Wait.”

I stopped, my heart beating double time.

“I can’t promise anything,” Wilder said behind me, “but I can take you to the Sanctum. The rest will be up to you.”

I turned, hope causing me to float. Metaphorically, that was.

He grimaced. “Don’t make me regret helping you, Purples.”

I shook my head. “You won’t.”

10

Wilder phoned it in. He literally took a mobile phone out of his pocket, called some unknown person, and said, “I’m bringing her back in.” Then he escorted me back to Battersea, making me walk the entire way.

“What do I say?” I asked as we walked down the lane towards the Sanctum.

“Don’t ask me,” he replied.

“Well, how does it normally go? You know, for all those kids who go off to train.”

“They’re asked if they want to be a Natural, they say yes or no, and that’s it.”

“That’s it?” I made a face. “That can’t seriously be it.”

“If you’re looking for the secret handshake, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t one.”

I sighed, my stomach churning.

“If you’re so hell-bent on becoming a Natural, just tell them what you told me,” he added. “Though I’d recommend turning around and going home. This life isn’t a picnic, Purples. It’s Hell on Earth.”

“If I go home, I’ll have to go back on my meds again.”

Wilder stopped and ran his hand through his hair. Cursing, he turned and glared at me. “Don’t pull that shit with me, got it? I don’t do manipulative ultimatums.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His eyes shone silver for a moment, then he blinked and they were clear again. “You don’t have to do anything, you know that? You’re not forced to drug yourself into oblivion. There are a million other things you could do, Scarlett. A million other things. There are people out there who aren’t so goddamn lucky.”

He had a point, but my only defensive manoeuvre at that moment was smart-arsery. “Who? Like you?”

He let out a frustrated grunt and turned. He stomped off, forcing me to borderline jog to keep up.

“What’s with your eyes?”

He didn’t answer, he just kept on striding down the lane.

“Wilder?”

“Shut up,” he hissed. I guessed our conversation was over then.

When we entered the Sanctum, two Naturals were waiting for us. They looked like Tweedledee and Tweedledum, they were so similar—black trousers, tight black T-shirt, matching boots, jackets, the whole kit. Must be their Natural uniforms. Black commando gear wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“They’re waiting for you in the library,” the man on the left declared.

They stepped forward, and I gathered they were my assigned escorts for the evening, but Wilder held up his hand.

“I’ll take her.”

“Our orders—”

“I know what your orders are and I’m relieving you of them,” he barked, sounding all authoritative.

The Naturals didn’t look too pleased, but they stood down and allowed us to pass.

Wilder led me through the Sanctum, his expression guarded. I still got that pissed off vibe from him, so I kept my mouth shut, not keen on repeating the reprimand he’d given me outside. At least not when I was about to pitch myself to three of the most intimidating and powerful people I’d ever met.

When we arrived at the library, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see, but it wasn’t what I was presented with, not by a long shot. Maybe I thought there’d be a few beat-up computers and a squeaky metal carousel with a couple of new release books covered in clear contact paper. Oh, and a magazine rack full of dog-eared copies of Cosmopolitan and Glamour from 2004 and some scratched DVDs available to check out, and a few threadbare metal shelves with more contacted books donated from the local charity shop.

Yeah, it was nothing like that at all.

Ironically, the place smelt like old books. I wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it was like walking into a musty secondhand bookstore and stuffing your nose into the open pages of a yellowing Mills&Boon novel and inhaling—slightly crazy and mildly addictive.

Our boots tapped on the hardwood floors as we walked the length of the room, passing glass cases with artefacts sitting daintily on faded red velvet, and rows upon rows of shelving that went from the ground to ceiling, each shelf packed with books. Red, brown, and black leather-bound tomes of all shapes and sizes were lined up, some had writing on their spines while others didn’t. A window sat in each alcove on the left, and beyond, I could see the Battersea power station doused an orange hue.

Glancing in one of the display cases, I saw an array of taxidermied moths. Some were tiny little brown creatures, and there was one huge specimen that had creepy looking eyes on its wings. Shivering, I walked on, following Wilder right to the end of the library.

The rows of shelving ended, and the room opened up into a circular space. Above, another domed skylight topped the building, and within, the floor dipped into a circular depression. Three steps down and we were in a seating area with crimson leather couches and armchairs and rich crimson carpet underfoot. Around the walls were Greek columns, and sixteenth-century style portrait paintings of people in big puffy collars and pants, holding swords and riding rearing stallions.

I didn’t get a chance to study the library in more detail because Greer, Brax and Aldrich were waiting for us in the centre of the room. All the effort I’d gone to hold in my nerves