Chapter 15
Jensen
The second those smooth, baritone soundwaves land, reason flutters, spinning out and morphing into something different. Something fleeting. Something wispy and surreal. My feet leave the ground and slam down.
Right one and then left.
I take flight.
I’m not sure I mean to. I definitely don’t consciously intend to do it. It’s one of those decisions I don’t make purposefully.
It’s a decision that makes me.
My body moves like water. Like muscle and fluid merging together. My lungs fill with such abrupt force, it’s like a balloon has been inflated in my chest. My arms and legs pump, ligaments burning from the shock of the speed of acceleration.
It’s a reflex, not a plan.
A reaction, not a strategy.
Survival instinct swiftly engaged.
I take off so fast and with such fury that the lord doesn’t react until I’m several paces away from him, flying toward the garden path. My heart beats savagely, crashing against the confines of my rib cage, ringing in my ears.
My thoughts slow.
My vision tunnels. Dark shadows lighten, turning navy blue instead of black. Shrubs and trees snap into sharp focus. I see my route as though it’s a line, clear and hand-drawn. Something that has existed for ages. Marks put on a map a long time ago.
I throw my gaze to the east side of the garden, to the maze, and everything that doesn’t lead there ceases to exist. I run like my life depends on it. Like there’s danger behind me, and freedom ahead of me. Like my past is trying to catch me, and my future is within reach.
Over the cacophony of my heartbeat, my wheezing lungs, the wind in my face, and the rustle of leaves above me, one sound stands out above all others. Singular and proud.
Quick heavy thuds that repeat. A rhythmic sound that thumps out a predictable echo.
Leather soles on a pebbled path.
Big shoes. Big feet.
A big man closing in on me.
He’s quick, but I’m quicker.
He’s much larger and stronger than I am, but I’ve been waiting for a night like this all my life.
I make it to the maze, and a wall of citrus and pine wafts up from the hedge, enveloping me in a strong embrace. A long, comforting embrace. It’s almost as though it’s been expecting me, as though this is where I’ve belonged all along.
I sprint at top speed through the narrow passage carved into the conifers, lungs screaming as the path I’m on comes to a dead end. My heart thunders. An owl hoots from a high branch in a birch tree.
The lord’s footsteps grow closer. Louder, and harder, and faster.
I dart back the way I came, and swerve right—panting frantically, throat burning—and then left.
I turn this way and that, trailing my hands along the hedge to feel my way as my vision grows blurry. I run until I no longer know where the house is in proximity to me. Where the stables are, or the library.
Where north is. Or south.
Where I am, or where the sky is.
I only know one thing. One thing only.
Where he is.
He’s close. He’s closing in on me. He knows the maze better than I do. He knows up from down, and he knows where I am.
The way I’m running is chaotic and disordered. His path is a straight line that leads directly to me.
I come to another dead end, and this time, there is no left or right.
No way back. He’s too close. I look for an escape, but find none, so I crouch, making myself as small as I can, and try to slow my breathing to avoid detection.
I press myself into the hedge, under the thickest part of an old woody trunk, and take cover.
The danger closing in on me is imagined. The fear is real and electrifying.
He’s slowed his pace now, his steps lighter and quieter than they were moments ago. Where my breathing is erratic, his is even. He whistles a pleasant, folksy tune as he draws near, sending a shiver of dread through my shoulders. Then he falls silent.
For the first time since I started running, I’ve lost him. I don’t know where the house is, or where the sky is, or where he is in the maze. I only know that he’s close.
I curse his lack of scent. If I could catch it, I’d know where he is, and I’d have a chance of getting away.
Things being what they are, I huddle in the shadows, hiding as best I can, as my internal wiring goes haywire. Sparks fly. Nerves sing. Instinct turns me to solid ice.
Hide it whispers. Stay small and out of sight. Stay safe, and you won’t get into trouble.
I stay where I am, quaking, shaking from unreal danger and very real fright. I hold my breath when instinct warns that he’s close, but I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’ve lost the use of my legs, and quite possibly, my arms.
The moment drags out, stretching disproportionately as shadows and shards of moonlight distort objects around me. I don’t blink or breathe. My eyes start to burn and tension tightens like a vise around the back of my neck, and suddenly…
I’m weightless.
I’m on the ground one second, the next I’m not. I’m safe, and then I’m kicking and being dragged backward through branches and leaves. My legs and feet are in the air, my arms thrashing, hands clawing at the tangle of shadows in front of me.
There are arms around me, crushing me.
Holding me tight.
A solid, muscular chest against my back, and the soft sound of a man’s laughter spilling down my neck.
“Got you,” he says.
I make a strange, unhinged sound as he sets me down.
He offers me his arm because he’s a gentleman. A gentleman who knows I don’t have a lick of sense in my body right now, or the ability to remain upright without support.
“You’re faster than you look,” he says as though chasing people around in the dead of night is a perfectly normal thing to do.
“I came in third in a cross-country race at school once,” I tell him. “I didn’t really care for cross-country. It’s not like I trained or anything. I just decided to apply myself that one time, and that was the result.”
He bobs his head, likely unsure how to respond to such nonsense.
We amble back to the house, taking our sweet time getting there. The entire time, I fervently thank God that the man at my side has the sense of smell of a telephone book. For if not, he’d never in a million, billion years be able to miss the fact that I have slick running down to my knees.