23. Chapter 18
Shards of ruby gems lie scattered at my feet, glistening in the moonlight. I reach down to pick up a broken piece from the concrete, but my fingers slide through the gems. It’s wet. Sticky. Warm.
Red like blood.
I rub my fingers together, feeling the thick, warm scarlet moisture between my thumb and forefinger.
Blood is thicker than water.
My mother’s voice rings in my head. She always used to say that. I never knew what she meant. People aren’t bonded by water. We’re bonded by blood. Like my mother and me. We’re blood. Like my father and me. We’re blood too.
Cora.
Maybe she’s the water.
My name whispers in my ear. I turn, but no one is there. Wiping my fingers on my dress, I look down and see the pretty lavender dress I wore that night. The night I couldn’t save her.
Coldness brushes my ankle and I look down at my feet and see blue sapphires. My mother loved sapphires because they matched her eyes. The sapphires at my feet crack, splinters forming, running in lines from a dark center. They aren’t gems at all but eyes. My mother’s eyes.
And they aren’t rubies at my feet. It’s blood.
Everywhere.
Running down the walls, pooling at my feet, dripping down my face like tears.
A scream cracks through my head, clawing at my mind.
I bolt upright; the scream echoing in my head. I can’t tell if it’s the lingering sound of my scream from my dream or if it was real.
It cuts through me again, far away.
Cora.
My stomach drops. Did I hear Cora screaming? I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and grab my sweater, slipping it on over my silky nightgown as I walk to the window.
Wind howls outside, rattling the panes of glass. The moonlight casts a haunting glow on the ocean below the cliffs, illuminating the crashing waves along the shoreline. The distant scream cuts through the night again and my blood chills.
Without thinking, I run to the open door and cross the hall to peer out the window overlooking the gardens. Other than the empty planters and spindly trees, the garden is empty.
The scream rips through the night again, but this time, it’s cut off.
Gathering my sweater around me, I run back to my room to grab my boots before heading for the stairs, but remember, as my foot hits the top step, to be quiet. Moonlight slants across the stairwell from the row of windows that wind down the stairs, turning the cracked and peeling walls ice blue. I creep down, the wooden steps creaking under my weight, trying to control my breathing.
Did they let her out?
Images flood my mind, my overactive brain flooding with terrible scenarios: Cora trying to escape, running and getting lost or worse, hurt by a wild animal. Striker warned me there are dangerous animals out there. What if she’s hurt and screaming for help?
I don’t know where the men are, or where they spend their time in this giant mansion. Most of the house is blocked off, doors locked, so I don’t know what lies beyond the library and the few rooms where they’ve let me roam. And since I can’t go outside, I don’t know what lies beyond the library and the few rooms where they’ve let me roam.
Halfway down the stairs, I freeze, terror gripping my lungs. Silvery moonlight spills through the opaque leaded glass windows framing wither side of the front door, which stands wide open, like someone left in a hurry.
Or fled in fear.
I rush forward and stumble through the door, the frigid night air nearly sucking the breath from my lungs. The cliffs are to my right, a long dirt road a slash of white along the cliffs edge. In the center of the large circular drive sits a broken fountain and beyond that lies the gray tree line below a dark, star studded sky. My toes curl in my boots and I bite my lip, debating.
It may not be her.
Another distant scream breaks through the night like splinters of glass. My fingers curl into my sweater. I cast a look over my shoulder, to the dark, empty foyer, then break into a run.
Every step takes me further from the mansion, Striker’s threat echoing in my head. But then the scream slices through the cold air and I pick up the pace, my boots hitting the earth, barely audible on the soft grass.
By the time I reach the tree line, I’m panting, panic scratching at my insides, making each breath scrape in my throat. My step falters and I stop at the edge of the dark woods, pressing my hand to a thick tree trunk, my breaths bursting out in white puffs in the cold night air. Now that I’m here, I hesitate, common sense returning with each ragged lungful. I have no flashlight. No weapon. I don’t even know if it’s Cora.
What if this is part of some game and they’re luring me out here?
The scream cuts through the woods, sending a sliver of terror down my spine. Without even the slightest hesitation, I bolt past the tree line and run toward the sound, using the bright moonlight filtering through the skeletal tree limbs to dodge roots and sticks.
The shrill scream seems to travel further and further away the deeper I get into the woods, moving from my left to my right. It rings out again, this time even farther away.
It’s not her. It can’t be her.
Freezing, I glance around, realizing I have no idea which direction I came from. I think I went straight, but every time the sound shifted, I changed my path slightly and now I’m turned around. I glance up to the moon, trying to determine east from west, but everything I learned in Girl Scouts flees my brain.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
Instead of being murdered by four men in masks for leaving the house, I’m going to die of fucking exposure.
“Delilah!” The distant, terrifying sound of my name being called sends dread up my spine and I stumble forward, catching myself on the exposed roots of a massive tree.
Oh god.
My knees hit the dirt.
“Deli-lah!” he yells again, this time closer, his voice slicing through the night as dangerous as a switchblade.
They know I left the house. They know I disobeyed.
Striker’s threat rings in my head again and terror creeps up my throat.
Scrambling backward to a large tree, I kneel between thick, twisted roots, my breath catching in dread, snagging in my throat.
A twig snaps somewhere to my left, and I press my hand to my mouth to suppress my scream.
“We warned you not to run, Kitten,” Reaper calls, his voice just far enough away to tell me they must have been close behind me when I ran from the house.
“And now our pretty Princess is in trouble,” Striker yells, his voice closer. Too close.
My heart skips in my chest, and I press my hand to my throat like this will somehow slow it down.
He warned me. Striker told me what they’ll do if I left the house.
If you try to run, we will catch you.
Do you know what happens to naughty girls who try to run? They are caught and tied up. Wrists bound so tight it’ll make your pussy wet.
I’m so fucked.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Reaper calls, his deep voice closer than before, but still behind me. “If you can outrun us, we’ll go easy on you.”
Viper’s cruel laughter shivers through me, even closer than Reaper and somewhere to my left. I turn my head, my eyes scanning the dark woods, looking for movement but see none. It’s just a blue-black night, thin branches bleached white by the moonlight, stretching toward the star-filled sky like boney fingers.
A twig snaps to my left.
My stomach drops. I scramble back onto my ass, pressing myself to the tree, trying to control my breathing.
“Maybe we’ll let you get back to the house,” Breaker says and my heart flutters when I realize he’s somewhere in front of me. “Before we tie you up and punish you.”
“What do you say, brothers?” Reaper’s voice rings from behind me, like he’s just on the other side of the tree I’m pressed against. “Let’s make a game out if it.”
Leaves crunch, and suddenly he’s all I see. A black mass with gleaming eyes. My scream tears from between my lips, but it’s cut off when his hand slams over my mouth.
“Pretty little Kitten likes to break rules,” Reaper growls, weaving his other hand into my hair and yanking me up onto my knees. Twigs and leaves cut into my bare skin. He drags me forward, making me practically crawl. “Or maybe you wanted us to catch you.”
On instinct, I open my mouth and then bite down. Hard. The sharp, coppery tang of blood fills my mouth, but he doesn’t remove his hand. He clamps it down harder, using his free hand to secure my head, until my nose is crushed and I can’t breathe, his blood smearing on my lips.
“Don’t you remember?” he asks cruelly. “I like the pain. Crave it.”
A scream builds in my throat, but then he drops his hand from my mouth, using it to grip under my arm, dragging me to my feet. I suck in a breath, stumbling against him as I’m forced up, biting down on my lip, cutting through sharply. Coppery blood hits my tongue, mixing his with mine.
His fingers snake into my hair, and he grips it by the roots, shoving me backward. My head hits the tree, but his hand absorbs the impact. His body presses to mine, molding to me, every curve and dip invaded by his hardness. Reaper’s thigh slides between mine, pressing to my core, and I gasp at the electric jolt that shoots through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the way my body thrums with awareness. The way his hard planes feel so right against my soft curves. The way the cold air skates across my heated flesh, and how the heavy sound of our breathing, almost animalistic, creates a primal need to throb between my legs.
I whimper when I feel his thick cock press into my belly.
“Oh, sweet innocent girl,” he grates. There’s a hint of something, almost like regret, but I know better. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
My entire body shivers, mostly from the adrenaline and only slightly from the cold. Possibly from the gravelly sound of his voice and the threat hidden in his words blooms desire in my belly. “Where’s Cora?”
His head twitches slightly, letting me know he’s surprised by my question. Reaper backs away, his chest heaving, hands lingering, letting strands of hair slip through his fingers as he lets me go. His black eyes in the white skull cut through me, the melting face and stitching something out fo a nightmare. He takes another step back, letting his gleaming gaze drag down my body. “I’ll give you a head start, Kitten.” He lifts his arm, motioning for me to move. “On a count of three.”
I shake my head.
“One.”
“No.” My heart stutters. My palms flattening to the tree.
“Two.”
I push off the tree, eyeing him, fear locking my jaw tight.
“Three.”
I turn and run.