Chapter 3
SERAPHINA
His words are frozen in the air between us, and something inside me snaps.
I can’t stay here. I take off, my bare feet slipping on ice-slicked snow, but adrenaline overrides the pain screaming through my frozen limbs. I don't look back—I can't—just push forward into the maze of trees, branches whipping past my face, tulle catching and tearing on evergreen needles.
Behind me, I hear him laugh. That dark, amused sound that shouldn't make my stomach flip.
But it does.
I fucking hate that it does.
The path ahead splits into three directions, each marked by those glowing candy cane stakes. I veer right without thinking, following lights that blur into streaks of gold and red. My lungs burn from the cold air, each breath stabbing like icicles in my chest.
I need to think and focus through the panic and whatever drugs are still clouding my thoughts.
He's herding me. Every time I've run, every choice I've made—he's been guiding me. Cutting off routes. Circling around to block escapes. He knows this place intimately, and I'm just a mouse in his maze. He’s calm because he’s in control.
I know it should terrify me. It does terrify me… But the heat that coils low in my stomach each time that deep voice hits my ears…
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I'm running for my life from a stranger who drugged me and tied me up, and part of me is aroused by it. By him. By the way he moves, the confidence in his voice, the predatory grace.
I'm sick. I have to be sick. Right?
My bound wrists throb where the velvet rope digs in, and I bring my hands to my mouth while stumbling forward. Maybe I can untie them with my teeth. Maybe if I can just free my hands—
The knot is tight, too professionally done. My teeth catch on soft velvet but can't find purchase. I'm panting around my wrists, still running, still trying to put distance between us even though I know he’s faster than I am.
The trees open into another clearing, this one filled with elaborate structures made of twisted peppermint. Archways and pillars rise from the snow like candy architecture, red and white spirals glowing from within. It's stunning—magical—completely wrong for the nightmare I'm living.
I duck behind one of the pillars, pressing my back against the cold candy-striped surface. My whole body shakes—from cold, from fear, from exhaustion. My feet have gone numb, which is probably a blessing. I don't want to look at them. I don't want to see the damage.
I work at the rope again, teeth scraping against velvet. The knot won't budge. He knew what he was doing.
Footsteps crunch through snow behind me. Not rushing. Still taking his time. Still letting me run and hide and hope before he closes in again.
I abandon the rope and scan my surroundings. The clearing is surrounded by dense evergreens wrapped in red and white lights. More structures dot the landscape—another gingerbread building, what looks like a candy sculpture workshop, elaborate displays of giant lollipops.
It's all so carefully designed. So intentional.
How long did it take to create this? Weeks? Months? How long has he been planning this night?
I cling to the back of the peppermint pillar, trying to stay in the shadows despite my glowing dress.
The rhinestones are a liability, catching every stray beam of light, but there's nothing I can do about it now.
I'm stuck being a walking beacon in pink tulle and sparkles unless I want to get entirely naked.
Movement catches my eye—a flash of dark fabric between trees. He's circling me again. Like a wolf.
I make a split-second decision and run for the grove of trees directly ahead, their branches heavy with red and white lights. If I can just lose him in there, maybe double back—
"You can't outrun me, sugarplum."
His voice comes from behind and to the right. Closer than I thought. Fuck!
I push harder, ignoring my body's screams of protest. The grove swallows me, branches creating a canopy overhead that blocks out the starlight. The lights have cast everything in alternating crimson and pearl, making the shadows dance.
I weave between trunks, trying to vary my path. But my footprints in the snow betray every step. There's no hiding my trail, not barefoot, not in this fresh powder.
My lungs are on fire. My legs are trembling. My body is giving out faster than my will to fight.
Ahead, through the trees, I spot another structure. Smaller than the gingerbread houses, with a striped awning and windows that glow with warm light from inside. A sign above the door reads "Santa’s Workshop" in elaborate frosting-style letters.
It's another prop. Another set piece in this elaborate production.
But it's a shelter. Somewhere to hide, to catch my breath, to figure out what to do next.
But this isn’t a workshop.
It's a bedroom. An elaborate, sexy bedroom with a massive four-poster bed draped in red silk sheets. A fireplace crackles against one wall, casting dancing shadows. Fur rugs cover the floor. The walls are decorated with more twinkling lights, more candy decorations.
And in the corners, barely visible in the firelight, I see chains attached to the bedframe. Soft chains, probably designed not to hurt, but chains nonetheless.
This isn't my salvation. This is the endgame.
I back toward the door, but before I can run, I hear it close behind me.
The lock clicks.
I spin around and he's there, filling the doorway I just came through. He got here first. But how?
Always waiting. Always one step ahead.
He leans against the door, completely relaxed despite the chase. The Christmas lights coiled in his hands pulse red, then white, then red again. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths, like he just took a casual stroll.
Meanwhile, I'm gasping, shaking, barely able to stand.
He takes in my appearance with dark eyes—the ruined dress, the shredded fishnets, my bare and probably bleeding feet, the tears tracking through the snow on my cheeks—and satisfaction curves his lips.
"Welcome to the workshop, sugarplum," he says, his voice low and rough with promise.
I back away, but there's nowhere to go. The bed is behind me, solid wall to my left, fireplace to my right. He's blocking the only door.
I'm trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
He pushes off the door and stalks forward, unwinding the Christmas lights as he moves. Each step is full of intent, predatory, the lights trailing from his hands like glowing rope.
"There’s nowhere left to run," he murmurs.
My back hits the bedpost. My heart is pounding so hard I’m almost certain it’s going to implode.
He stops just outside my reach, head tilting as he studies me. The firelight flickers across his features, and I can finally see his face clearly.
Strong jaw. Dark eyes that seem to see right through me. A wicked mouth with full lips.
He smiles, taking another step closer. "Now the real game begins."