Chapter 18 Seek #2
Torches dotted the path, illuminating bright flower buds and well-manicured gardens. But they were nothing compared to the absolute beauty of spotting the green glow of a lantern ahead.
Daisy’s heart leapt, and her pace doubled. She still had a ways to go, but she saw it now, a beacon of hope in what had seemed like an endless night. Then she spotted another and another, the green line working like a connect-the-dots map through the distant landscape, leading her to salvation.
She was going to make it! She was going to get to a safe—
Daisy’s blood went cold, and her steps faltered as Hadrian Welles emerged from the fog like a fever dream. His plum tuxedo and silver mask caught the distant torchlight and threw it back in shards, as he strolled toward her. “We meet again.”
He prowled closer, each step deliberate and lacking urgency. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew his prey had nowhere left to run.
“You look a bit worn since the last time I saw you. Almost as if you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.”
Pebbles scattered as she stepped back, never letting him close the distance.
He tapped his finger. “Is the beautiful 1922 still as virginal as she once was?” He grinned. “Or has the bell tolled for you—as it inevitably does?”
Her jaw trembled as she walked backward, switching directions and burning extra energy to keep her body safely out of reach.
His stride lengthened just enough to keep her in sight, to let her feel the distance closing by inches. He glanced up ahead and chuckled.
“Green lights. You’re so close.” He lengthened his strides so they were now side by side. “Pity.”
He wasn’t like Peter. This was more than a game to him. And he wasn’t like the doctor who thought himself so godlike he felt entitled to brazenly break the rules. No, Hadrian was different. This was personal. He was the kind of man who liked using women, but deep down, he hated them.
If she begged, he’d get off on it. If she ran, he’d toy with her like a cat tortures a mouse. The green glow ahead called to her like sweet salvation, but he wasn’t going to let her get there.
“Shall I tell you how this will go?”
She looked up at him, still walking toward the green light, but said nothing.
“I’m going to have you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Once something’s in my mind, I don’t stop until I succeed—whatever the goal, whatever the cost.”
The path forked ahead, and Daisy didn’t have time to hesitate. Eyes on the green lanterns, she veered right, because that seemed the right way to the safe zone.
“You’re quiet. I appreciate that—to a point. But you won’t be quiet for long.”
A bell tolled far in the distance.
There were still hours until dawn, and he had plenty of other options, but Hadrian Welles was a man of specific taste.
He liked rare things. A dish that cost a fortune would always taste better than one that did not, even if the ingredients and recipe were identical.
He liked labels, and she’d been saddled with one he couldn’t resist.
Every word out of his mouth was polished venom. She bet he rehearsed every controlled line he used. No part of her believed she was the first to hear this specific speech.
He was waiting for a response, whether he admitted it or not. Men like Hadrian did not like being dismissed, and he’d only tolerate her indifference for so long.
“Is this your first Feast?” she asked, wisely keeping the focus on him.
“Fourth.”
“How…How many have there been?”
“I was one of the first.”
Then why didn’t he give her an exact number? “Do you know who J.T. is?”
“Who?” He matched her steps. “Never heard of him, so he’s probably not anyone important.”
How could that be when J.T. had been the one corresponding with her from the beginning? “I think he runs The Feast of the Fallen. I thought someone as important as you would know him.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The Volkovs host the hunt. Whoever told you any other name told you a lie.”
“Oh.” Irritation rolled off him in waves.
He didn’t enjoy having his authority or influence questioned.
Daisy was getting a better picture of him now. This “hunt,” as he called it, wasn’t about sex for him. It was about submission and destruction. He needed others to acknowledge his superiority.
“You must be really important if you know the hosts.”
“I’m a Welles. Fifth-generation. There isn’t a door my name won’t open.”
That was a lie. How she—a nobody—could tell, she wasn’t sure, but the more he spoke, the more his facade showed cracks.
Here, he was a hunter, a man of ultimate power and privilege.
But outside of this game, he was just a suit with his daddy’s name, she bet.
He liked the feast because taking was an easy way to prove his worth to others.
Women were likely mirrors to him. He saw his dominance reflected in their fear.
Daisy swallowed, unable to see a way out of this and certain he would make it unpleasant. He didn’t want to just capture her. He wanted to break her.
She could run.
She could try to escape.
She could fight.
None of those options sounded promising, especially since Hadrian had done this before.
She tried to think of him as a boy. She pictured a baby cutting teeth on a diamond ring, a toddler terrorizing au pairs when they tried to tell him no.
Over time, their salaries likely increased, but Daisy bet that even the tough ones didn’t stay for long.
And so he learned that force of will would eventually give him his way.
“You’ve gone quiet again.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“Save yourself the effort.” He lifted his chin, breathing in the night air, his hands resting casually in his pockets. “You won’t be making many decisions after this.”
“This?”
He pointed. “There’s a spot up ahead. We’re almost there.”
She realized then that she wasn’t leading him anywhere. She was being corralled.
Gravel crunched underfoot as she slowed her steps. He shortened his strides.
“Turn at the rose bush.”
That wasn’t the way to the Green Lanterns. “I need to—”
“Your needs don’t concern me.” He caught her arm and steered her toward the lawn.
Daisy’s legs stopped, but he dragged her toward what she could only describe as some sort of torture chamber.
“Come on.” He tugged her forward, impatient with her hesitation.
She dug in her heels. Her body had nothing left. She shook her head, struck mute by the large wooden cross draped in so many ropes that the planks looked more like a centipede.
When she refused to go easily, he sighed and stopped pulling her.
Instead, he faced her, cupping her chilled arms and chafing her skin softly.
“You’re scared. That’s natural.” He gently tucked a curl behind her ear and tipped up her chin.
“You’ve been running all night, haven’t you?
And getting away with it, too.” He tipped up her chin and smiled.
“I told you I was going to be the one to take your innocence, didn’t I? ”
Her shoulders jerked, and his grip tightened.
“I don’t know whose blood is stained on your dress, but I can promise you won’t see a drop of mine.
Yours however… That’s up to you.” His hand slid softly into her hair, then tightened with a painful yank.
“Now, march your ass over to that cross and take off this filthy dress or I’ll fucking drag you there by the hair. ”
Her head pulled back, but he yanked her hard. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Did you think I was fucking kidding?” He yanked her forward, and something snapped.
“Don’t touch me!” Daisy swung out a hand, and he caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip, a look so terrifying in her eyes, she knew she had to do more than break away. She had to disable him.
So she clawed at his face with her other hand. Her nails raked down his cheek, leaving three parallel lines that welled red in the moonlight. He jerked back with a snarl of genuine surprise, and his grip loosened for a fraction of a second.
She tore herself free and went sprawling in the pebbled path, wincing as her battered palms tore open again.
“Bitch!”
She swept up a fistful of gravel and rocks and hurled it back at him. He clutched his face and howled, blindly stomping forward.
Daisy scrambled to her feet, sliding awkwardly on the path.
His fingers snagged the back of her gown, fisting in the fabric at her nape.
The chain of her locket bit into her throat.
For one terrible moment, she thought she was done, then the fabric tore and she broke free, running toward the green lights.
“You’ll pay for that!” His voice chased her into the dark. “I’ll make you beg!”
The world fractured into sensation. Rocks wedged between her toes.
Blood in her mouth. A prickling at her scalp.
The ragged saw of her own breathing. She ran until her lungs filled with fire, until her legs turned to water, until the only thing keeping her upright was the certainty that the safe zone was up ahead.
She could see it now, a shining beacon blazing green against the black trees in an almost radium glow. Her foot caught on her gown, and she stumbled, tripping forward, falling over her feet, until she was sprawling on a cobblestone path.
Panicked, she rolled to her back, eyes wild, ready to fight. No one was there. She pushed herself up, only to stumble again as a wave of vertigo threw her off balance. Her arms and legs were scraped and shredded to a concerning degree she could handle. But dizziness…
She staggered forward. Her dress was hanging off her shoulder, the heavy beaded fabric dragging through the dirt. She gathered the mud-stained material and hobbled on, limping over the bridge as she investigated further.
The hem at her back had torn when Hadrian grabbed her. The strap now sagged and—
“Oh, my God.” Daisy stopped, her heart dropping. “My locket.” Her neck was bare.
She looked back at the winding path and gardens, realizing the exact moment it must have snapped.