My lungs are on fire. The gravel that cut into my feet outside the house has turned into sharp sticks and pine needles now, the forest is swallowing me whole. Every breath is a wheeze, ragged, my chest aching from the sprint. \The moonlight barely cuts through the canopy, everything around me a blur of trunks and shadows.I don’t stop. If I stop, he’ll catch me. If he catches me—fuck, no.Something snaps beneath me. A thick branch rolls under my bare foot and the pain rips through me before I even hit the ground. I bite back a scream, but a broken sound still escapes as my knees slam into the dirt. My palms sting. Warmth spills down my ankle.Shit. Shit. I tore something open.I claw my way to the base of a tree, pressing my hand against the gash on my leg, but the blood keeps sliding through my fingers, sticky and hot. The coppery smell is so sharp it makes my stomach turn. My eyes blur, not sure if from tears or the sting of dirt grinding into the cut.The forest is quiet except fo
I buck under him, wrists burning in the rope, but he doesn’t move. His weight pins me down in a way that makes breathing feel like trying to suck air through a straw.“Get off me,” I snap, jerking my knees up to shove him away. It’s pathetic—he barely rocks back before settling over me again, deliberate, like he’s savoring every twitch I make.“How long?” My voice shakes, but it’s sharp enough to make him pause. “How long have you known?”His mouth curls slow, it used to be so hot and although it still is, part of it is fucking infuriating. “Long enough.” he murmurs.My stomach drops and I stare straight into those crimson eyes, “What the hell does that mean?”“It means,” he says, eyes locked on mine as he pushes a hair strand off my face, “you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are, darling , , ,”I blink, pulse hammering in my ears as I remember all the heads hanging off of the palace walls. “If you’ve known for that long, why didn’t you kill me?” My voice comes out too fast,
My neck burns.It’s the first thing I feel before the rest of the pain crawls up from my spine like fire ants gnawing through my nerves. My throat is dry, my mouth tastes like metal, and my limbs—fuck. My limbs won’t move.I blink hard against the dark. There’s no light but only the moonshine pouring in from the cracked glass window, and I swear I can hear my own pulse echoing in the silence. I think I’m still at the house.I try to sit up.My left hand immediately jerks.But it doesn’t go anywhere.Panic swells in my chest, immediate and animal.What the hell?My gaze drops to my wrist. It’s . . . tied?Rough, thick rope—probably torn from the storage closet in the hallway—twists around my hand, knotted tightly against the bedpost. I try the other hand. Same. One foot. Same.Oh my god.No. No no no no no—It hits me all at once, crashing into my chest like a truck.The chase.The bite.The voice.He remembers.My pulse stutters. Cold sweat coats my back, and I pull against the restra
The house is colder than I remember.Not temperature-wise. Not really. But that stillness, that off quiet that wraps around me when I open the door sinks its claws right into my chest. It’s as though something’s already here. Watching.I’m having delusions.I kick it shut behind me and press my back to the door. My fingers are still clenched around the car keys Rafe gave me. I don't realize it until I feel the edge of the key biting into the meat of my palm. I let go. They fall to the floor with a dull clatter.I stare at them for a second.Then I move.I move straight up the stairs, two at a time. The wood creaks beneath my boots. There’s no time to hesitate now. This isn’t about second-guessing. It’s about getting out before the sick, twisted pull I feel every time I think about him drags me back in.I march into the bedroom and drop to my knees, yanking out the two luggages from under the bed. One big. One small. One for clothes. One for the things I said I’d never pack.The zipper
The door slams behind me.Cold air smacks my face and everything I’ve been holding in rips out of me. It’s as if my lungs finally decide they can breathe, but all it does is let the sobs through. My legs give out for a second. I grab the stone column by the door so I don’t collapse right here in front of everyone.I can still hear him. Even out here. That voice calling my name, over and over, like it’s carved into me now. My chest burns like I swallowed fire. He knew. I swear he fucking knew even as it was happening. That I let it happen. That it was me.And he still said my name.My hands cover my mouth, but it doesn’t do anything to muffle the ugly, loud, gasping sound that comes out. Tears blur the world. My nose is running. I wipe it with my sleeve, because what else is left to ruin tonight?Goddess, I did this.I stand there in that mess for—I don’t know—maybe ten seconds, maybe a whole year, before headlights cut across the front of the restaurant. A black car pulls up too fast,
I can feel my pulse in my fingertips as I stare at the soup. It’s steaming, fragrant, harmless-looking, like any normal goddamn soup. Nobody here would know it could put down a wolf twice Dante’s size.His hand tightens over mine. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head, crimson eyes cutting straight through me. There’s no suspicion in them, just worry. Which makes it worse. Makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.I force a shaky smile. “Nothing.”He lifts a brow, glances at the spoon, then at me. “Then why are you staring at the food like it murdered someone?”Because it’s about to. Not kill. But close enough.He lets go of my hand and picks up the spoon. I watch him bring it up to his mouth.Panic bolts through me. I grab his wrist.“Wait.”His eyebrows pull together. “Eris—”“Don’t. Not yet.” My voice cracks. Fuck. Pull it together.I can feel eyes on me from across the room. I don’t need to look. It’s the waiter from earlier. The one who helped set this all up. He’s probably