Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate (PDF) novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134 – Ella Finds a Pa*sage

Ella

I wipe the tears from my face and scan the room, Sinclair’s voice ringing in my mind. I’m still upset with him for making me share my location, but I’m determined to escape before he can endanger himself coming after me. If there’s a way out of this room, I’m going to find it.

Let me help! My wolf requests eagerly, as exhilarated with adrenaline as I am.

You are helping. I roll my eyes. Whose instincts do you think I’m using here? Certainly not my useless human ones.

And it’s true, The stronger my wolf has become, the stronger all of my senses have become. My ears are cocked for the sounds of anyone approaching the room, my eyes are hawkishly raking over every nook and cranny in the bedroom, searching for the tiniest details on the walls and floors. My nose is scenting the air, trying to determine if there are strange draughts of air beyond the interiors of the small space. More than anything, I’m tapping into the strange and mysterious gut feelings which have recently been becoming more and more pronounced, hoping this sixth sense will help point me in the right direction. These are all things I wouldn’t have been able to do before – at least not in the same level of sharpness.

I pat my belly. “Mommy has a silly wolf, Rafe.”

The canine in question snorts in my head, Not as silly as his fathers.

You may have a point there. I remark fondly, thinking about Sinclair’s possessive, overprotective inner animal who has a conniption if his scent fades from my skin or tries to bribe me with stolen children so I’ll let him avenge my honor. A deep pang rises in my chest the more I linger on my mate, love and long overwhelming me all at once.

It’s okay, we’re going to see him again. My wolf a*sures me, every bit as heartsore as I am – if not more so. The sight of Sinclair’s battle scarred body is fresh in my memories, and the pain I feel for the pain I love suffering thus is almost too much to bear. I’ll never forgive myself if he’s hurt worse than he already is because of me.

You’re right. I answer with renewed determination. “Mommy’s going to get us out of this.” I add to Rafe, rubbing my navel.

I begin to walk along the interior walls, checking behind every painting, lifting every vase, shoving at the bookcases and tilting and tugging each and every book. I scour the space with a fine-toothed comb, feeling along the plaster and trying not to get dissuaded when I come up empty handed. Still, it’s difficult not to feel a little pessimistic when everything I attempt fails.

At last I come to the fireplace, poking and prodding at the mantle, applying pressure to the heavy grey stones and lifting the grate. Nothing happens. I run my fingers along the underside of the square opening, praying that I find some sort of button or handle, but again I find nothing. Still, something is telling me to keep trying. I’ve been hopeful with the other objects and furniture, but now I have the surreal sense that this is right.

As a last ditch attempt, I begin fiddling with the tools situated next to the fireplace, lifting the brush, spade and tongs. Finally I attempt to lift the poker, but it won’t budge. I yank at the handle, but it remains firmly in place, as if it is glued to the floor. My heart begins to race, and instead of lifting, I try to pull it from side to side. With a forceful tug, it finally deploys, shifting towards the floor with a pronounced click. There’s a rumble and the scaping of rock against stone, and suddenly the back wall of the fireplace disappears.

It takes all my restraint not to jump up and down and cheer. My spirit soars, and I hurriedly flit around the room, pulling the curtains closed and unmaking the bed. I’m listening intently for the sound of anyone approaching, terrified that a guard might walk in while the pa*sage is open, but also afraid of making more noise than I already have by closing it. I dash to the desk and frantically try to figure out what to write. The cipher Sinclair suggested isn’t the problem – the question is what on earth I should say to the man who abducted me.

Eventually I settle on the following:

To His Royal Highness and Her Unholy Pain in the Ass, Lydia,