Chapter 3
WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE
Seraphina
I stumble as he sets me on my feet, my legs weak from being bound for so long.
He doesn't try to steady me, just watches with that unnerving stillness as I find my balance before pulling a knife from his back pocket and cutting me free of my binds in practiced, easy movements.
In the moonlight, I can see him more clearly now—tall and broad-shouldered, wearing an unbuttoned black shirt that shows glimpses of tattoos across his chest. His pants are expensive-looking slacks, and even his belt looks like it cost more than my rent.
But it's the mask that makes my entire body go still. It's like something out of a nightmare, distorted angles and demonic features that seem to leer at me in the flickering pumpkin light.
He's the devil. He's actually dressed like the fucking devil.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice carries a note of pride, like he's showing off a work of art. "I had it designed just for you."
Just for me? The words make my head spin. How could he possibly know me well enough to?—
"I don't understand," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
He steps closer, and I instinctively back away, my shoe sinking into the soft earth.
"I told you. I want to play a game." His voice drops to a deadly whisper that makes my stomach tighten despite my terror. "A very simple game."
The fog swirls around us, so thick I can’t see beyond the immediate glow of the nearest jack-o'-lanterns. The rest of the maze disappears into that spooky mist.
"What kind of game?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
He’s handsome in a way that would make angels weep—sharp cheekbones and bright green eyes, medium brown hair styled perfectly even with the mask, and a short, clean-cut beard that frames a wicked grin. Everything about him screams danger.
I feel like I should recognize this face. Like I should know who he is. But my mind is blank, terror short-circuiting my ability to think clearly. All I know is that he's the most beautiful monster I've ever seen.
Play the part , some distant part of my mind whispers. He wants you terrified. He wants you confused. Give him what he wants until you can figure out how to escape.
"I don't know you," I say when he doesn’t respond, my voice shaking. "I don't understand why you've done this to me."
His smile is slow and predatory, showing perfect white teeth. "You will. Before this night is over, you'll understand everything." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell that expensive cologne again. "But first, we’re going to play."
"What kind of?—"
"I'm going to give you exactly what you've always wanted," he says, cutting me off.
His voice is rough with desire. "I'm going to hunt you through this pumpkin patch.
I'm going to chase you until your heart is pounding and your legs are giving out beneath you and you're running on nothing but pure adrenaline and will to survive. "
My mouth goes dry. This is insane. This is absolutely fucking insane.
"And when I catch you—not if, but when —I'm going to have my fun with you." His green eyes are burning with an intensity that makes my knees weak. "I'm going to touch you and taste you and fuck you in ways that will make you forget your own name."
Oh my god.
"But here's the thing that makes it interesting," he continues, circling me lazily like a predator sizing up his prey.
"You're going to run. You're going to run like your life depends on it, because in a way, it does .
The woman you are right now? She ends tonight.
What you become after I'm done with you?
That's entirely up to how well you play the game. "
I can barely breathe. The combination of terror and confusion is making my head spin. "And if I don't run?" I challenge him.
His laugh is dark and throaty and absolutely terrifying.
"Oh, you'll run. Every instinct you have is going to scream at you to run.
" He leans in close, his warm breath sending chills down my spine.
"The question is how long you can keep it up before your body betrays you and you start wanting to be caught. "
This can’t be happening.
But even as I think about it, I can feel it awakening deep in my chest. The part of me that responds to the promise in his voice, to the careful way he's watching me through the mask. That part of me that whispers what if instead of help me.
No. Absolutely fucking not. I am not going to Stockholm syndrome myself with my own kidnapper.
"I'll scream," I threaten, though my voice lacks any real conviction. "Someone will hear me."
"Go ahead," he says with that same terrifying smile. "Scream all you want. We're five miles from the nearest paved road and ten miles from the nearest house. The only things that will hear you are the wolves." He pauses, head tilted like he's listening. "Actually, I think I hear them already."
As if summoned by his words, a low howl echoes through the trees, followed by another. The sound makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Now," he says, stepping back and giving me space. "I'm going to count to ten. When I reach ten, I'm coming after you. You'd better hope you can run fast in those boots, night monster."
This is really happening.
"One."
Fuck!
My heart lurches into my throat. He's serious. He's actually serious.
"Two."
I look around wildly, trying to orient myself in the field of pumpkins.
The fog makes it impossible to see beyond what’s directly in front of me, and the pathways wind between the pumpkins in patterns I can't follow.
But there—beyond the jack-o'-lanterns, I can make out the dark shapes of trees.
If I can reach the tree line, maybe I can lose him in the forest.
"Three."
Run. Just run.
"Four."
My feet are already moving before my brain catches up, carrying me deeper into the pumpkin patch. The soft earth is treacherous under my boots, and I stumble over a pumpkin vine almost immediately, barely catching myself before I fall face-first into a particularly menacing jack-o'-lantern.
"Five."
His voice is already getting fainter as I put distance between us, but it carries clearly through the fog. There's amusement in it, like he's enjoying watching me panic.
Focus. You need to focus.
I force myself to slow down slightly, picking my way more carefully between the pumpkins. The field is more complex than I initially realized—every time I think I've found a straight path to the trees, it curves back on itself or dead-ends in a cluster of particularly elaborate and creepy carvings.
"Six."
The fog is getting thicker the deeper I go, swirling around my legs like ghostly fingers.
The sweet pumpkin smell is stronger here too, making everything feel that much more dreamlike and surreal.
My corset is making it hard to get a deep breath, and I can already feel sweat gathering at the base of my neck despite the cool air.
"Seven."
I risk a glance back and can't see him anymore. The fog has swallowed him completely, leaving only the glow of jack-o'-lanterns to mark where I've been. But I can feel him back there, waiting. Watching. Counting.
"Eight."
There . I spot what looks like a clear path toward the trees and start running full speed, my boots pounding against the dirt. The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness, but I can't help it. Terror is driving me now, pure survival instinct that demands speed over stealth.
"Nine."
Almost there. I can see the edge of the patch now, the dark bulk of the forest beyond. If I can just reach the trees, I can lose him in the undergrowth. I can find my way back to a road, to civilization, to help. To anywhere but here.
Please. Please let me make it.
"Ten."
The word echoes through the fog behind me like a goddamn death sentence, and suddenly the night explodes with sound.
Heavy footsteps pounding against the earth, moving fast and getting faster.
He's not just following me—he's hunting me with an intensity so overwhelming I nearly collapse on the spot.
Oh God. Oh God, he's actually doing it.
I reach the edge of the patch and plunge into the forest without looking back, branches catching at my costume and hair. The moonlight barely penetrates the canopy here, turning everything into a maze of shadows and uncertain footing. But I don't care. I just run.
Behind me, I can hear him crashing through the trees. He's fast—much faster than I expected—and he's gaining ground quickly. Too quickly.
How can he be this fast?
My lungs are burning, my legs already shaking, but I force myself to keep going. I have to keep going. I’m not ready for him to catch me.
A root catches my ankle and I go down hard, skinning my palms on the rough bark of a fallen log. For a moment, I just lie there gasping, my whole body trembling with exhaustion and terror.
The footsteps behind me have stopped.
Where is he?
I hold my breath, straining to hear over the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. The forest has gone completely silent, like even the wolves are holding their breath to see what happens next.
Maybe I lost him. Maybe he ? —
A twig snaps somewhere to my left, and my blood turns cold. He's not behind me anymore. He's circling me like a wolf stalking wounded prey.
I have to move. I have to get up and move right fucking now.
I struggle to my feet and immediately realize my mistake. In my panic, I've lost all sense of direction. The trees all look the same in the moonlight, and I can't tell which way leads back to the pumpkin patch and which way leads deeper into the forest.
Another sound—this time to my right. Closer.
He's playing with me.
This isn't just about catching me, I realize. He's enjoying this. He's drawing it out, letting me think I might escape just so he can take that hope away piece by piece.
"Marco," his voice calls through the trees, dripping with dark humor.
I don't answer, don't move, barely even breathe.
"Polo," he says anyway, and his voice is definitely closer now.
Run .
I take off again, crashing through the forest with no regard for stealth or direction. I just need to get away from that voice, from the terrible certainty that he's going to catch me no matter what I do.
But even as I run, some traitorous part of my mind is whispering that this is exactly what I've always fantasized about. Being chased. Being hunted.
And a masked man, of all fucking things.
Stop it , I tell myself fiercely. He kidnapped you. He's a psychopath who kidnapped you and tied you up in his car. This is not a fantasy. This is not something you want.
But my body seems to have other ideas. Despite the terror, the exhaustion, and everything logical and sane screaming at me to get away, I can feel heat building low in my stomach, trickling down between my thighs. My skin feels hypersensitive, every brush of cool air making me shiver.
What is wrong with me?
"Getting tired yet, night monster?" His voice is practically on top of me now, and I realize with dawning horror that I ran in the wrong direction. The pumpkin patch is visible through the trees ahead—I'm right back where I started.
I spin around, trying to locate him, but the fog has followed me into the forest and everything is a blur.
"I can hear your heart racing," he says, and his voice seems to come from everywhere at once. "I can practically smell your fear. It's intoxicating."
Where is he?
"But there's something else, isn't there?" His voice drops to a whisper that carries perfectly through the still air. "Something you don't want to admit to yourself."
No.
"Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."
Strong hands grab my waist from behind, and I scream into the night.