THIRTY-FOUR: Tied

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