Chapter 2 #3
She stiffens, shocked, but it’s too late. I’ve trapped her. Arms pinned. Mouth sealed. She muffles a noise against my gloved palm, squirming awkwardly, but no one notices. Not with the music swelling. Not with Damon and Kayla tangled up in each other. Behind these vines, it’s only me and her.
I stare down at her, savoring it. Her hands paw helplessly at my sleeves, her eyes closed. I tip my head down, so close now.
I lift her chin with two fingers, my thumb brushing her lower lip. She freezes under my touch, but her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t even make a sound anymore. She’s perfect.
The built-in distortion of my mask deepens my voice when I murmur, “Keep your eyes on me.”
She obeys instantly. Her gaze moves up to mine, wide and startled at first, and then she just stares. And fuck, now that I see those eyes—so blue, so open—it’s breathtaking.
Everything about her is. Her delicate cheekbones my fingers touch.
Her soft mouth under my thumb. Her cute chin my pinky grazes.
I drink in every detail like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
My grip loosens slightly, purely out of awe.
Because the force of her beauty’s slammed the breath out of me.
I can’t breathe evenly. I can’t think straight. My spine shivers, the tremor spreading down my arms, my legs, until I almost stumble. What has she done to me?
For a long moment, I don’t move. I just keep holding her while the world around us blurs into nothing.
Her pulse flutters wildly against my fingers, a fragile rhythm I could snuff out without effort.
But I don’t want to hurt her. I want her to stay still.
I want her to stay mine. I want her to look at me the way she did back there, terrified, transfixed, and unknowingly giving herself to me.
Her lips part on a shaky exhale against my palm. My eyes devour the sight of the soft flutter of her lashes. The way her breath trembles in her throat. The way her cerulean eyes catch the dying light, glistening like gems the color of the sea.
And then, like a goddamn miracle, she relaxes in my arms. Not entirely.
And I know it’s not because of trust. But her melting against me, even this little, is enough.
Enough to make that tight wire in my chest clench tighter, twist deeper, and threaten to break that scorched ash of my heart inside me free.
She relaxes by the second. Her eyes looking less and less disturbed, but more hollow. I’ll take it.
I feel a smile crawl behind my mask. My voice comes out deeper than I mean it to, distorted by the mask, and roughened by the raw hunger burning through me. “Good girl.”
Her pupils dilate the moment the words hit her. I see it. I feel it. She wants me too, doesn’t she?
Maybe she doesn’t know it yet. Maybe she never will. But it doesn’t matter. Because as I drag her back into the dark with me—away from the lights, the music, the safety—I know one thing for certain. She’s going to learn exactly what kind of monster wears this mask.
***
She’s quiet in my arms now. That pleases me.
But she’s trembling. That pleases me even more.
She isn’t struggling, not really. Only the occasional sharp inhale, and the tiniest jolt when my grip tightens. It’s not that she’s given up. No, I’d recognize that look in an instant. It’s something else. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. That makes two of us.
I haul her through my graveyard, my pace steady, never once glancing back at where we left the newlyweds. Let them have their moment. I have mine in my arms.
She’s still shaking when we reach the farthest rows, the part of the vineyard no one dares step into. The earth is disturbed here, patches of soil uneven from fresh burial, the scent of iron lingering beneath the sickeningly sweet stench of crushed grapes.
Three bodies lie in their open graves, waiting for me to finish the job.
I wasn’t expecting an interruption. I certainly wasn’t expecting her.
Then I study her as she sees them. With a harsh blink, another sharp inhale rips from her throat.
She goes rigid in my arms, muscles seizing.
And then she fights. Her body twists, thrashing against me, desperate and wild.
She claws at my sleeve, legs kicking, trying to plant her feet into the ground and force me to let go.
It’s adorable how she thinks that’ll work. My grip tightens, arms locking around her, and I hiss out a breath against her ear, feeling the way she freezes at the sensation, blinking in confusion.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I say.
She blinks some more, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, but stays still.
“Good girl.”
I take another step, and she stirs again but doesn’t misbehave.
When we reach the shed in the far corner, I finally release her.
She’s too far from anywhere close to salvation.
And she’s close enough for me to grab again without a problem.
She scrambles back anyway, and presses herself against the wooden wall.
She’s staying put, acting smart, and I didn’t need to say a thing. She’s complying all on her own.
I’d praise her, if I weren’t lost in her eyes. Still beautifully blue, even when her wide, panicked eyes gaze over the graves. Then to me, blinking those sea color orbs my way. Like she can see through my mask. Something twists in my gut. But I ignore it. Because I know she can’t.
I reach into my pocket, fingers brushing over cool metal. The key to the shed. A simple turn of it will lock her inside it, safe and contained. Always within my reach. Away from them.
But when I try to slide the key into the lock, it slips out of my hold, and hits the dirt. I frown. That’s never happened…
I crouch, snatching it up, jaw clenching hard enough to ache. I do it again, slower this time for precision, slipping the key into the lock, but the way my fingers tighten around it feels wrong.
I’ve done this dozens of times. A hundred.
So why the fuck am I fumbling now? I exhale sharply through my nose.
She’s watching me. I don’t have to use my peripherals to check.
I can feel her gaze on me, wide and unblinking, her breath coming too fast, too shallow, sounding further away.
And something about it—no, something about her makes me tremble.
I finally turn the key, yanking the shed door open, and step sideways to reach for her and bring her inside. That’s the plan, at least, but I don’t do it. Not yet. Because I need a second. Just one second. Because my hands are fucking shaking right now.
I hiss under my mask, confused and panicking. There’s an unfamiliar flutter under my ribs. It’s insane to feel it after all these years. What the hell’s wrong with me?
In these past years of honing my mercenary skills, I’ve never fumbled. Never hesitated. Never shook. Except for that one fucking time. That was four years ago. This is now.
Still, I feel the tremor in my fingers, the stiffness in my jaw, that growing ache in my chest. My body is betraying me in ways I don’t understand, my control slipping through my hands like sand. Because of her. Because of—
A shuffling sound snaps me out of it. By the time I register what’s happening, she’s already gone. She’s running. Has been that entire time I couldn’t do something so fucking simple.
The moment of lost control shatters inside me, replaced by razor-sharp desperation. I react. I sprint after her, my strides long, devouring the distance between us. My heart pounds. My breath comes hard, harsh and aching, but I don’t let myself feel it. Not when I only want to feel her.
She’s heading toward the music. The lights. The people. The wedding reception. I bare my teeth in a silent snarl, feeling my hot breath curving under my mask. No, no, no.
She’s slipping through the vines, tearing through the narrow pathways, her arms outstretched as she clumsily stumbles forward.
My fingers brush the back of her dress—just barely—before she wrenches forward with a burst of speed I didn’t expect.
A shaky, soft gasp shudders through my entire system. I haven’t seen that kind of move since…
My feet almost freeze again. And my brows furrow when her foot catches on an uneven root, and for a second, she nearly falls. I want to be there to catch her. But she finds her footing, sprinting forward toward the lights.
The music is getting louder. The glow of lanterns bleeds through the vines ahead, casting moving shadows, flaunting the fact that she’s so close. But I… I’m closer. I have to be.
I’m going to catch her. I’m going to have her.
And I don’t know what I’ll do once she becomes mine.
Because this is different. She’s different.
Because I’ve never ran like this before.
I’ve never wanted anything like this before.
But right now, none of that matters. Because I can’t let her reach them.
I push harder, faster, my breath ragged in my ears, my pulse hammering. And then the vines break apart ahead. The reception comes into view. She’s almost there. So I reach for her. Almost.
She sprints with everything she has, her entire body practically screaming to get away from me. And it hurts. It stings. It burns. It eats me up alive. Like fire. Fire that—
A dull, dragging ache spreads through my chest, like breathing in smoke.
She’s not just running. She’s running away from me again. I should push harder. I should close the gap, drag her back, and fix this before it’s too late. But I don’t. I can’t. Because the chase feels so fucking wrong.
She crashes out of the vineyard, into music, into murmurs, into a celebration that doesn’t know what’s bleeding behind it. And then she stops. She’s run straight into someone. Someone who catches her easily. Someone who steadies her with a single, practiced hand.
It’s Clo, the matriarch of my terrifying family.
The moment she’s in Clo’s grasp, something in my chest completely fractures. The sharp pain spreads like the string’s finally snapped.
The girl’s still gasping, still trembling, still trying to make sense of what’s happened to her. But she’s not in my hands anymore. She’s in Clo’s.
Panic drums into my limbs, shaking that tight wire free from my chest. This moment has unleashed something in me I can’t explain. I’m too afraid of what I’ve failed to do. Again.
My eyes track how Clo barely moves. She doesn’t even glance around. Because of course she fucking doesn’t. I’m nothing to her in this moment. Not worth noticing. Not worth acknowledging. Never was, unless I did her bidding. And I haven’t done that in years.
Clo’s focus is on the woman in her grasp, who’s unsteady and fighting for air. I watch as Clo adjusts her hold.
And the girl who belongs to me…doesn’t look back at me. Not even for a second. She struggles to steady herself, her fingers gripping Clo’s arm like she doesn’t realize yet that she’s no safer now than she was with me.
I should be relieved. This should make things easier.
She’s not my problem anymore. Except she is.
Should’ve always been. Now that I see her in Clo’s arms. But I can’t show myself to the crowd, not with my mask on.
Not when I’m still fucking shaking. It’s not just my hands anymore.
I’m full-body trembling. And my mind’s worse, completely slipping in a way it hasn’t been since I ran away from this mansion, from my family all those years ago.
So I disappear into the shadows, slipping away into the silence I’ve always found comfort in. I stop my thoughts. I have to, or I’ll keep trembling. All thoughts are gone, except for one. The thought pounds through my skull, through my ribs, through the ache growing deeper and deeper in my chest.
Her. That girl. She’s drowning my mind, and all I can think of is how this is the biggest mistake I’ll ever make. Because I didn’t just let her slip through my fingers. I let her fall into something worse.
I made so many mistakes in the last fleeting moments.
And I don’t think I’ll ever recover. But it’s too late.
I have to handle these fumbling feelings before they get much worse.
It already feels like I’m suffocating, my mask becoming an obstruction for once.
I snatch it off, gasping for air. It doesn’t feel like I can fill my lungs enough.
I let it happen again, when I swore to myself never to make the same mistake. I chased her right into the arms of my so-called mother. Clo’s the last person she should trust. Between me and Clo, I’m the lesser of two evils.