Beast (The Submissively Ever After Series Book 1) by Kim Faulks

trapped stale air filled my lungs. I close my mouth and sniffed. There was no sickening stench of death. Nothing but dust. I opened the door wider and took a step inside, leaving the door open in case I needed to escape.
    There were no sounds inside this room. No tap, tap, tap of tiny nails, nor the whisper of some demented spirit. I reached out, ready to stop when I hit the other side of the room. Step after step, I moved deeper, fighting the urge to move faster. My fingers buckled. My knuckles grazed rock. I stopped at the cold wall. Probing the sharp edges of what seemed to be stones, set with mortar, into a waist-high square. I dropped, finding a hollow in the center. My hands didn’t reach the other side until I leaned in. Something soft covered the bottom. I rubbed my fingers together, bringing my hand close to my nose.
    The faint smell of charcoal lingered. I sniffed again while my chest tightened, speeding my heart. A fireplace. I fought the need to jump for joy. All I needed now was wood. I forced myself to stand, gripping the stone. The wall moved under my hand, one small rock dropped out and hit the floor with a thunk.
    Jesus, a rock. I knelt, feeling in the dark and skirted over the stone. The rough edges bit into the soft skin of my palm as I clenched my hand. I slammed the mass against my chest, fighting back tears. It was a weapon. Something I could use. Something I could kill with.
    That thought rocked me. Kill. Could I kill another, even if it meant my own survival? I shoved the though aside. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe....
    I shoved off the floor. If I could find something to burn and something to use as a lighter I’d have a fire. Only small. Just enough to keep me warm. My thoughts returned to the dead rat in the kitchen. Food. If I was hungry enough. I swallowed a retch. I wasn’t that fucking hungry—not yet, anyway.
    My fingers slipped from the rock fireplace as I moved to the right, following the wall as I searched the room by feel alone. Every tiny sound jacked my heartbeat. Every touch had me reeling. If being blind was living in a constant state of fear, I’d rather be dead. My courage was waning. Hopelessness seemed to be just one small step away. I brushed something soft and pressed, finding hardness underneath.
    Cloth. I snagged a crease and pulled, feeling the slide. Fabric fell to the floor in front of me. Jesus. I dropped, gathering the edges, and threw whatever it was around my shoulders.
    Dust clogged my nose. I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling the noise as I sneezed and sneezed. The fabric was thin, but there was plenty to drape around me. I felt the weight and prayed warmth would soon follow.
    I slid my hands over the smooth surface of an armrest. The straight-backed chair felt solid. I yanked, feeling some resistance, then the chair scraped along the floor. The finish was smooth and had the texture of wood, but would it burn? I wasn’t sure.
    Another few steps and I touched another—thicker—sheet, covering more furnishings. I yanked the material free and shuffled back to the chair. A fire could wait, just for a moment. I turned and eased into the seat, pulling the sheet across my body, and tucking my feet under my thighs, cocooning myself as tightly as I could.
    My muscles strained as I shuddered and shook, and as the minutes slipped by the fight for warmth became easier. I concentrated on my breathing, feeling the ice inside melt as I drifted into a dream-filled slumber.
    "Where is our mysterious host?"
    I jumped at the sound. Disoriented, I scrambled for a hold on whatever I could find. The question lingered in my mind, was the ghost back, or had I completely lost my mind. Still, I wet my mouth and answered. "I’m sorry?"
    The piercing eyes seemed to look right through me. I was seized by the harsh angles of her face and the sun, bouncing off her chestnut hair. On anyone else, this color would’ve been stunning, but nothing could hide the contempt in her