A Vow Of Hate Read Online By Lylah James - Read A Vow Of Hate(6) Online free

CHAPTER FIVE

Julianna

“Gracelynn, no!” She tried to grab my arm, pulling at it. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Let me go!”

“Julianna, slow down. You’re going to kill us!” she cried. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

“I’m going slow.” I grinned, keeping my foot on the accelerator.

She clutched her chest, her face red. “Julianna, stop! Please. You’re going too fast.”

I laughed, glancing at her before looking back at the road.

“You’re drunk,” she accused, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I was? I didn’t know…

There was a dull throb at the back of my head, like a low hum. Confused, I blinked hard once and then… pitch-black darkness.

The scene faded away and we were now driving down a lonely, dark road. My heart hammered in my chest.

The car was unstable under my hands; I could feel myself losing my grip, but for some reason, I didn’t lift my foot off the accelerator. My foot was glued to it.

My lips parted and I let out a silent scream. Stop, I told myself. Slow down.

My lungs squeezed and I seemed to gasp for breath, my hands clammy and shaking.

“I’m scared,” Gracelynn whispered.

“Me too,” I said.

I heard her screams first.

I remembered my body flying airborne when the car flipped – then silence. I crashed into a void before landing back in the present. With the stench of blood strong in my nostrils and searing pain coursing through my body.

So much agony.

I couldn’t feel my legs. There was an insistent pain in the back of my head and my ears were ringing. There was an echo, but I didn’t know where it came from. Blood rushed between my ears and my head was heavy, as my body dangled upside down.

My skin burned.

Agony licked through my veins. Every cell in my body felt like they had been crushed under a ghost weight.

I can’t breathe.

I don’t want to die.

I can’t breathe…

It hurts.

I… can’t… breathe…

My eyes blinked open and the first thing I saw was her face.

Her bloodied, mangled face – her empty eyes wide open.

My body startled awake and I sat up straight, my ears ringing with screams. Loud and anguished. I shook, whimpering until I realized they were my screams. My jaw snapped close and my lips trembled with the effort to hold back my cries. My bedsheets were twisted around my ankles, sweat soaking through my nightgown.

The terror of my nightmare paralyzed me with fear and confusion. My face and neck felt like they had been scratched raw and my skin was aflame, burning and sensitive. I knew it was only the ghostly echo of my own past pain. I remembered it so vividly and I could still feel it on my flesh and in my bones.

My chest tightened.

My heart hurt but it was almost like a physical discomfort. Something tangible squeezing the fragile organ.

My body had long grown accustomed to pain. I had lived with it long enough that it was now familiar; we were best friends, after all. Pain and me – we came together, bonded by my tormenting past and the sins I bore on my flesh.

I wiped away the sweat on my forehead, settling back against my pillows, but my body was still shaking. My recurrent nightmare had left a bitter taste on my tongue and bile rose in my throat before I swallowed it down, with great difficulty.

This interpretation of the accident made no sense to me.

I only remembered what happened before the accident, but anything after that? My mind drew blanks.

I remembered making the plans to sneak out, to go to the party. I knew I was the one driving the car, but I didn’t remember why or how the accident happened. My memories were all jumbled up. Every time I dreamed of the accident, it was always somewhat of a different version until it left me senselessly confused.

What was exactly real… and what was just my imagination?

My father said I hit a deer and that I must have panicked. Apparently, I had been driving too fast, way over the speed limit… and when I hit the deer, I didn’t brake and ended up swerving, which made the car flip over.

I rubbed a hand over my face. There was a giant blank space in my memories and I was so lost. I wanted to remember exactly what happened that night, but after two years of nothingness, I had eventually given up.

Because at the end of the day, the accident was still my fault.

I decided to sneak out and convinced my sister to come with me.

And I was driving, while being intoxicated.

There was no justification. It didn’t matter what version of the accident I tried to fill the void with, I killed my sister.

This was the only reality that mattered.

One week later

“Boo.”

I yelped and almost dropped the book I was reading. Rolling my eyes, I peeked over my shoulder to see Mirai sneaking up on me, yet again. She was grinning while obnoxiously chewing on another piece of gum. Today, she had twin braids pulled up into double buns atop her head. She wore a neon sweater and black jeans shorts.

“You have to stop doing that. I might just end up hurting you one day in my fright,” I warned.

She scoffed. “Please, I’m not worried. You can’t even hurt a bug.”

My heartbeat pounded in my ears, harsh and loud, like beating drums.

Sorry to fool you, Mirai. But I did more than hurt just a bug. I had killed. My own sister’s blood was on my hands and no matter how much I tried to wash the blood away, tried desperately to hide my sins – my skin was still soaked with the stench of her death.

I squinted up at her. “Is it really fun to scare someone?”

“You’re just so jumpy. Sorry, but yeah, it is fun.” Mirai smiled.

Such a brat, but I found her presence somewhat delightful. Over the last few days, her companionship had entertained me. Mirai was young and bright, full of mischief and life.

“So, do you have it?” Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she practically bounced on her toes.

I felt myself smiling at her eagerness and I crossed my legs, closing my book to give her my undivided attention. Reaching for the pocket in my dress, I fished out what Mirai was so excited about and dangled the keys between my fingers for her to see.

“Holy shit,” she gasped.

Two days ago, Mirai told me a little secret. Something I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, and so I took matters into my own hand.

My curiosity got the best of me, after all.

“I forgot to tell you,” Mirai started, looking excited to gossip. “Did you know that, apparently, there are old letters from Arabella that have been kept safe and locked away in one of the rooms in this castle?” She quirked up an eyebrow, waiting for my response.

“Letters from Arabella?” I paused. This was literally a treasure, I thought, while gaping at Mirai. If what Mirai said was true, the letters would be a direct look into Arabella’s past and story. “Do you know which room?”

“North wing. That’s where her room used to be. It’s locked and I don’t have access to it. But you should be able to get the keys from my grandpa. This is your castle now.”

“Good point. I’ll ask Stephen for the keys.”

Mirai gaped at me. “You actually got it?”

“Well, yeah. Like you said, this is my castle now. I should have access everywhere, even forbidden and haunted rooms.”

She giggled. “Oh, girl. We’re going to have so much fun!”

“Do you want to go exploring now?” I asked, even though I already knew her answer. Mirai was every bit of a historical fanatic as me. She was obsessed with the secrets that this castle’s walls bore. Maybe this was the reason why Mirai and I got along.

“Duh! Those letters better be real and not just rumors,” she said, echoing my thoughts.

I got up and gestured for her to follow me. “Let’s go.”

Nerves burst in my chest as Mirai and I walked down the corridor of the north wing. I thought my side of the castle was eerie, but the north swing was just… plain gloomy and disturbing. Maybe because it lacked life.

The hair on my arms stood up and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. My body grew cold and I didn’t know if it was just a feeling or if it was because the temperature of the wide corridor had somewhat decreased.

The chandelier lights were dimmed and as Mirai and I walked past, our shadows danced on the walls. The knights stood still, for they were frozen in time. The statues that decorated the corridor stood tall and imposing. The sculptured faces were not ones of joy, but their expressions were contorted in what seemed like despair and anguish – as if tormented souls were trapped in them.

“There,” Mirai pointed at the end of the corridor, “this was Arabella’s room.”

We stopped in front of the double doors, with golden and carved designs on the wooden surface. I inserted the key into the lock, holding my breath at the same time. There was a loud click that echoed through the deserted walls of the north wing as Mirai pushed the doors open.

We crossed over the doorway, but my feet faltered at the entrance. I gaped at the inside of the room. I didn’t know why I imagined an unkept room with dust and spiderwebs… something old and well, looking quite… haunting. But it was the complete opposite.

The room was spotless. It appeared that the housekeepers had been keeping it clean and organized. The room was quite similar to mine. A huge four-poster bed in the middle, neatly made, with silk curtains and more pillows than I could count. Two nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser to my left and a large window that overlooked the labyrinth. There was another full-length mirror on the other side of the window, the frame made out of thick wood and the carved flower design was… well, fancy and immaculate. There were two crystal chandeliers and there were hints of gold in the crown molding. The wallpaper was a golden flower design, giving it the final feminine touch.

The bedroom was every bit antique, just like my own – and just like the rest of the castle.

I stayed by the door while Mirai rummaged through the drawers, almost impatiently. She pressed against the walls, as if expecting them to open up and to show her a secret passage. When she didn’t find anything on one side of the room, she walked to the next drawers, opening and closing. Searching.

I walked over to the dresser, trying to find anything that would look out of the ordinary. For a brief moment, I felt a sense of… guilt. Like I was doing something wrong.

Well, snooping around was wrong.

But then again, Arabella died more than a century ago. Her stories had been told over and over again, each version different from the previous one. And this castle belonged to Killian and me, after all.

Every secret that came with it was mine to discover.

Maybe Mirai and I should leave the dead souls to rest, and let the secrets be buried with them. But damn it, my fingers itched to know everything.

I didn’t know why I was so curious about their story. But I felt it, deep inside my bones.

I wanted to know.

I needed to know.

I had been obsessing over it for a week.

A small squared jewelry box caught my attention. I reached for it, but the bottom of it was stuck to the surface.

Curious, I wrapped my fingers around it, struggling with the pretty box as if it had been glued to the dresser. With a flick of my wrist, it turned to the side and there was a clicking sound that made me pause and then… a drawer in the dresser opened, revealing stacks and stacks of books and… letters?

Not just any random letters. They were handwritten; some were sealed in envelopes while others were piled and tied together with several thin ropes.

“Holy shit, you found the letters!” Mirai practically squealed, coming to stand by my side. I guessed I did…

My heart slammed into my rib cage, like a thundering storm, and my legs grew weak.

Arabella’s secrets… and her love story were all right here. Written in these pages.

I took out the stack from the drawer and the musky scent of old books and papers prickled my nose. The letters were so old, some of them were wrinkled and torn apart. The black ink had run out, slightly fading on the brown paper, but I could still make out the words.

The papers had many creased lines, from so many times of being folded and unfolded.

There were some stains on the letter… tearstained?

“This is literally Arabella’s life in your hands,” Mirai said in awe.

My fingers brushed against the first letter, the one on top of the stack. I admired the penmanship of Marchioness Wingintam, my eyes caressing over every cursive word, the careful strokes of the pen made so many years ago.

Dear Husband,

My thoughts are filled with you.

Your hatred for me, for I have taken the one thing you did want the most.

Your handsome visage,

Your sturdy hands,

Your wicked smile,

And your soft eyes.

I want to believe you were made for me and our souls are one.

But how can I bethink so…

When you still envisage her while you bed me.

- A

And so, I got lost in a love story that wasn’t my own, yet it called me.