Untouchable by Marii Solaria

Chapter 138

Chapter 49 – A Trap

“A trap is only a trap if you don’t know about it. If you know about it, it’s a challenge.“– -China Miéville

Kiya

In order to get out of this madhouse, I need the power of stealth. Wolves are crafty creatures by nature, in packs even more so. But tonight, I’m alone and can solely rely on myself. Getting home safe is my motivation because my family is waiting for my return. I must return and put this insanity behind me.

Danger lurks at every corner, in the light and the darkness. One slip up, and I’m a goner. Hiding in the darkened corner between two walls, I listen for distant chatter along with utilizing my senses to sniff out how close an enemy is. This home is full of enemies with cruel intentions. Once the coast is clear, I sneak out of

my hiding spot, on the search of a new one.

I don’t know where the exit is, but I won’t stop until I find it. My freedom depends on it. The mansion’s atmosphere thickened with wicked magic humming through the impenetrable air. Heavy and weighing down on me without consequence, partially to do with the chainless shackles around my wrists. The work of corrupt witches, who I’m sure lurk about between these walls. If I am to sniff the woodsy air again, I must slip past

them too.

“I wonder what’s the deal with the witches.” I thought, walking through the vacant halls, attentive to not step on a creaky board. “What do they get out of working with Osiris?”

“Hmm. Whatever he promised them, it must be good.” Artemis wondered. “Evil doesn’t need a reason to do what it does. Sadly, not all witches are as kind–hearted as Phoebe.”

“It’s tragic, but I can’t pity anyone who choses this path. All they do is hurt people.” Like Odessa and Jonathan did. As I traversed down the obscure, windowless hallway, my eye caught an old, large painting residing on the wall near an exit. In silence, I walked up to gaze at the couple presented in the portrait, framed dark gold with light dusting at its corners. Remnants of brushstrokes added depth to the art, intertwining with physical features and colors to make them stand out. The colors weren’t strong, but soften

and subtle to not sting

the eyes.

My gaze landed on the woman in a golden, pleaded dress with gentle, down–turned, auburn eyes peering back. at me. Skin as smooth as silk and brown as russet, her smile gave way to her kindness captured in the art. Black hair mimicking ocean waves rested on her shoulders, coiling down her cleavage, framing the diamond necklace resting around her neck. Pinned to the side of her hair was, what I suspected to be, a blooming carnelian. She folded in her hands her lap, nails colored white, blending in with the soft theme of her

aesthetic.

Standing above her was a man, regal, wearing a black and white petticoat with a hand on the woman’s shoulder. The more I stared at the man, the likeness he held to Osiris came to light. Colorless, pin–straight tresses flowed behind him as his fringe shielded one crimson eye, giving him a mysterious vibe. With skin in the shade of paling bronze, the black in his clothing made it stand out. While his eyes were serious, the grip on the woman’s shoulder was soft–a telling contrast between the two.

“Are they…Osiris‘ parents?” Artemis asked the million–dollar question. Pondering on that possibility made the likelihood of that theory to be true.

“I think so. He shares features from both his mother and father, so that means this palace belongs to them. A

Chapter 49 – A Trap

ssuming those two are dead, what would they think of Osiris‘ hellbent scheme to punish werewolf kind?”

“A question we’ll never have an answer to.” My wolf sighed. “You should keep going. I want the

don’t man in question snatching you up***

“Right.”

As

tables, and behind doors, I took notice of the mansion’s habitants freely roaming on each floor. The corrupt witches ranged from young adults to the elderly with deadly magic braided into their aura. Whenever they passed by me, it is as if I couldn’t breathe because their presence is suffocating. Phoebe told me stories of witches who practice dark magic, the type she dabbles in, but it was never to harm others. Magic is the manipulation of energy to work in the way the caster wants, and some use it for their selfish benefit.

spot. Now, I know these horrible people designed and constructed not just

is a cunning man, but his mind is a puzzle I can’t seem to decipher either. His plans are solid, but his clandestine methodology leaves nothing for the imagination.

the kitchen. Or so I thought was the kitchen. Judging by the rancid smell, however, I don’t think edible food is being cooked in there.

to see what’s going on in

perhaps where they

but tread carefully. There’s more

hybrids I spot in the crowd. I ducked underneath a table, hiding behind the tablecloth, curling into a small ball with my back pressed

We should put our abilities to better use.” One witch huffed; her feminine adenoidal voice thick. My ears

begin with the ritual.” The dull voice of another commented. “He must make sure everything is in

moment we can finally rain hell amongst those

A high–pitched voice warned. “If you want that immortality, shut the hell up and do what you need to

and finishing carving the ouroboros and it’ll be ready.” The monotonous voice replied. “All our hard work

from under the tablecloth,

is going and I’m not staying to

chills down my spine. Rituals of that caliber cannot equate to anything good. If

door is around here.

and passed another set of doors until I heard, “Hold on, I forgot something!” followed by hasty footsteps. My heart hammered against my ribcage as the prospect

the hell should

“Hide!”

know that, but where?!”

door open to see

no one else is inside, I slipped

of that unscathed! witch pass by. I let out a sigh of relief; I can’t believe

started moving.

to my chest. This is going to be one hell of a story to tell Jackie and the others, I swear. Footsteps trotted inside the hall, coming close to my hiding spot. Pressing my hand over my mouth, I

the tablecloth. The black flats she wore

urge to

“Kiya. No.”

“But I’m annoyed.”

“NO!”

get broken toes.”

“Stop it!”

the big toe!”

Why a

you like this?”

knuckles for me.”

Спартет 49–А Тгар

swear to

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