Game Night (Supernaturalette Book 4) by Katie May

Author:Katie May [May, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Expresso Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-09-22T22:00:00+00:00

We’re led to a room labeled as Dracula’s Escape. Because Dracula? He’s the real fucking deal. According to rumors, he was alive hundreds of years ago and paved the way for supernatural reform.

The goal is simple: escape the room before Dracula wakes up and attacks us for entering his domain.

A bored worker reminds us that we have only one hour to escape after she locks us inside. I can dimly make out cameras concealed in every corner of the room and behind a set of picture frames. No doubt, Kyler is nearby watching this entire interaction. I suspect that he watched us in the limo as well, though I can only pray that he doesn’t air that private moment between Lincoln and myself. And the whole buttface thing. I really, really don’t want to be known as the “Ass Girl” for the rest of my life.

The room itself is small—maybe only fifteen feet by fifteen feet. There is a second door directly across from the one we just came through with a lock the size of my head dangling from the knob. Against one wall is a distressed wooden dresser displaying ten photographs, each depicting a different vampire. There’s an old book there as well, its musty, yellow pages at odds with the brightness of the room. Opposite the dresser and against the far wall is an ancient chest with a dangling padlock and three candles on top. Finally, there’s an old grandfather clock adjacent to the door, and it’s there that Lincoln stands, frowning.

When the silence becomes almost too thick, too awkward, too pungent, I release my lip from where it’s being abused by my teeth and query, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” he snipes, scrubbing a hand through his pitch-black hair. He releases a ragged sigh, as if only now realizing that his anger is misplaced and manifesting where it shouldn’t be. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just…”

Sadness wafts off of him in almost palpable waves as he moves his hand from his hair and to his cheeks, his long, tattooed fingers pausing at his chin where he scratches at the scruff residing there.

“It’s just…?” I tentatively venture, moving to step beside him. Almost absently, I open up the grandfather clock and peer down. There appears to be a long strand of rope secured to the interior, and I waste no time tugging at it like one would a bucket in a well. It’s the SUP agent in me—I must solve every mystery tossed my way.

Tied to the bottom of the rope is a huge ass metal key, and a triumphant smile blossoms on my face.

“Yes!” I fist-pump the air as I raise the key like it’s the holy grail. Lincoln watches me with an indiscernible expression, fingers tapping against his leg.

“You’re cute when you’re excited,” he blurts, and then instantly makes a face as if he’s mad at himself for using the word “cute.”

But he’s cute when he’s flustered for calling me cute.

“Um...thank you.” A blush rises to my cheeks as I attempt to place the key in the door.

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