Chapter 6
Six
Blair
“Gotcha.”
That one word lacerated me with a thousand cuts.
Cold terror ripped through my body as the hairs along the back of my neck rose. His leather glove sealed over my mouth, trapping my air like a hostage.
My lungs burned as I struggled to breathe against his palm, my vision blurring at the edges. The trees began to smear together, melting into shapes I couldn’t make out.
This is it.
Today was the day I’d die. I was sure of it.
All because some rich assholes had decided to torture playthings like me for their twisted entertainment. I’d fallen into a disturbing, privileged world I wanted no part of.
Whatever happened to reading a book? Playing a sport? Fucking studying?
Regret poisoned me for not staying in my dorm and minding my business. I’d wandered into the dark woods alone like an idiot, knowing I’d caught the attention of the devil.
My stepfather’s voice echoed in my mind. “Your problem, Blair, is that you fly too close to danger,” he’d told me after I was expelled from my last university. He’d called me Icarus, saying he’d given me wings, but I refused to listen when people warned me how to use them.
He blamed it on overconfidence. I blamed it on my upbringing.
As I gasped against the hand crushing my mouth, I thought about the guy in the library again.
His warning about Enzo and his cult buddies.
About how that same murderous psychopath had turned his attention on me.
But why me?
Because I have choppable hair?
Because I’m the new girl?
And speaking of the lunatic …
I was sure he was the one restraining me.
Trembling, I drew shaky breaths through my nose, his masculine scent flooding my lungs. It reeked of insanity with hints of spiciness, gunpowder, and pine.
His forearm pressed harder against my jaw, forcing my head back as he pulled me flush against his chest. The sudden movement jolted me back into the present.
His body was solid behind me, my spine pinned against him.
I felt his heartbeat. It was so slow that you’d think he was knocking on death’s door.
My heart? Quite the contrary.
It violently slammed against my ribs, desperate and frantic, like it was trying to escape my chest entirely and abandon my body to fend for itself.
A strangled gasp tore from my lungs when he slid his hand from my mouth to my throat, tapping his fingers to the frantic pulse beneath my skin.
He was counting my pulse.
Fucking asshole.
I screamed the moment his forearm loosened slightly around my neck.
Screamed so loud that my throat went raw.
That scream was short-lived.
He clenched his hand around my throat to silence me, so hard that I waited for my windpipe to crush. My vision grew hazy as I clawed at his arm, my breaths turning into ragged gasps.
He loosened his hold just barely to allow me a sliver of air, like he wasn’t ready to kill me yet.
He still wanted to have his fun.
That was one thing we had in common: I wasn’t ready to die yet.
While he could silence my screams, I wouldn’t go down without a fight. The harsh wind stung my face as I thrashed against him.
I kicked wildly, drove my elbows into his stomach, dug my nails into his sweatshirt, and twisted and jerked in his hold like a deer fighting to break free against a hunter’s snare.
But he didn’t flinch.
My blows didn’t even affect him.
He outpowered me in every way.
Physically. Mentally. Strategically.
He laughed wickedly, as if reading my mind. A chill ran down my back.
That laugh promised nothing but destruction. He had planned my ruin and couldn’t wait to watch it unfold.
He was the hunter, and I was the prey.
But hunting was never a sport if both parties didn’t consent to play. And I sure as hell hadn’t signed up for this game.
I took in my surroundings frantically. Nothing but the fog, trees, and silence. No one was coming to save me.
The lion had smelled the fawn in the forest, and he’d come for her blood.
“Oh, sweet Blair,” he taunted. “You shouldn’t wander into the dark, looking for trouble.” He didn’t speak in my ear this time. He said the words loudly and dominantly, like a judge delivering a death sentence. “You never know what’s hiding, waiting to snatch you right up.”
I ground my teeth as saliva pooled in the back of my throat, hating the way my name rolled off his tongue. He said it like a word he blessed and damned.
He whipped me around to face him and slid his fingers beneath my chin, forcing my head upward while keeping his other hand clasped around my neck like a leash. I attempted to shrink away, to twist free, but failed.
Dread seeped into my bones like a malignancy. Predators only showed themselves if they planned for their prey not to make it out alive.
My eyes locked with the narrow slits of menacing ones.
His eyes were a violent storm, his irises burning like embers in the darkness. They were the only part of his face I could see. The rest was hidden behind a skull mask.
It wasn’t one of those cheap Halloween masks. The white part—the bones—glowed eerily in the dark, like a neon sign in an empty diner window. The hollow eye sockets cast shadows across his face, making him look less like a person and more like a killer.
A dark hoodie covered most of his hair, though a few messy strands had escaped, falling across his forehead.
I gawked at him, lost for words, lost for screams. His long fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck again, squeezing hard, like it was his favorite fucking hobby. I winced as he pushed them so deep into the muscle that it hurt.
Bile bubbled violently inside my stomach as I cried out in desperation.
“But you’re in luck,” he said callously. “I’m here to show you the way.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Though don’t get your hopes up. I’m not showing you to safety.” His glowing mask tilted slightly. “I’m about to show you exactly what you came out here looking for.”
I didn’t want him to show me anything. I wanted him to let me go.
My fight mode returned, and I swung my elbows in every direction, trying to hit anything I could. Anyone I could.
“Please,” I pleaded. “Let me go.”
His shoulders shook as he laughed. “I love it when they fight. You have no idea what kind of monster it brings out in me.” His voice lowered. “How hard my cock gets when you try to escape me.”
I’d never heard a voice so sinister.
I stilled, not wanting to provide him with anything he loved.
At that, he released my throat. I took in a mouthful of air.
But the relief didn’t last long. He lifted one hand and slowly shoved a finger into his mouth, pulling off the leather glove with his teeth. His bare hand returned to my throat, gripping it tighter, showing me how much control he had.
My breath scraped out of my lungs like gravel.
“I’ll break that fight out of you, sweet Blair,” he continued with the tone of a thousand demons.
“And the more you resist, the more fun I have.” He ran the tip of his cold finger along my jawline before making a slicing motion across my neck.
“Fight me. Curse me. Hit me. I feed on it like a starved man.”
“Let me go,” I pleaded.
“Let you go?”
“Please,” I whimpered, hating how weak I sounded. But I was fucking terrified.
This man had killed Clarissa. I was sure of it. He’d have no problem doing the same to me.
“Since you asked so politely.”
I almost lost my balance when he shoved me forward. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing as I crashed into another body.
Another solid chest that belonged to a Greek god, not a college kid.
My head spun, and I now realized we had never been alone.
This man’s mask blazed neon red, and horns crowned the top of it.
He caught my arms, holding me at arm’s length.
“Please,” I begged, lowering my voice to a whisper, as if this man would be my savior.
Stupid, stupid Blair.
He tilted his head, like my plea amused him.
I was certain that behind the mask, he was smiling.
This man was just as ready to sign my death sentence.
My words were as meaningless as the dead branches littering the forest floor under our feet. Rotting. Useless. Something you could easily break.
He dug his gloved hands into my shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said, as if thinking. “Do you think she’ll look better crying or begging?”
His chilling words weren’t directed at me. They were for the man now crowding my back again. My initial terrorizer.
The masked man in front of me dragged his hands slowly down my shoulders, over my collarbone, until his palm rested against my chest, right over my racing heart. “You have nowhere to run here, Blair. Nowhere to hide from us.”
He held me in place as I tried to jerk away from him. I slammed my eyes shut, accepting defeat.
The man behind me pulled my hands to my back. Dread knotted in my stomach when zip ties sliced into my skin.
At the same time, the man in front of me forced my mouth open. I struggled, whipping my head relentlessly, but his grip tightened. He reached into his pocket and pulled something free. I gagged when he shoved a rag inside my mouth. Before I could spit it out, tape sealed over my lips.
I retched at the pungent taste of chemicals, and vomit swept up my throat. I quickly forced it down, still tasting the remnants of the concoction.
Everything went black when they pulled a cloth over my head.
The man behind me patted my cheek through the cloth. “Time to have some fun.” He shoved me forward.
My head spun as they dragged me deeper into the woods. I dug my heels into the ground, pressing the soles of my sneakers into the dirt in a desperate attempt to stop them.
One of the men sighed in annoyance.
I sucked in a breath, tasting something rancid, when the other pulled me back. He ripped my shoes and socks off.
My feet pressed into the moss-covered ground. Twigs and needles stabbed into the bottom of my feet like thorns.
The men guided me in unpredictable directions.
Left. Right. Forward. Backward.
Never warning me or giving me time to adjust.
They were trying to disorient me to make sure I couldn’t track where we were going.
“Hush, little Fawn,” one whispered. “You can’t hide now that you’ve caught our eyes.”
He didn’t recite it like a chant.
It sounded more like the Devil himself reciting a nursery rhyme with a sinister twist.
“This isn’t just a game,” he continued. “We’ve laid our claim.” A pause. “Now, let the fun arise.”
Goose bumps prickled my skin as he repeated the rhyme.
During our walk, they played games.
They’d trip me, then let my body pitch forward, only to yank me back before I smacked into the ground.
Their every word and move was meant to torment me.
To show me I had no control over anything.
They cupped me under my armpits and lifted me off the ground entirely. My feet no longer felt dirt. Instead, something cold and hard met my skin.
It had to be stone or concrete.
The vomit started to make its way back up, and I struggled to swallow it down.
I was being dragged straight into hell.
The Devil didn’t rule the underworld.
The Night Sons did.
The bitter taste of chemicals coated my mouth, numbing me like a drug and making me dizzy.
We took more steps.
Made more twists and turns.
They continued their taunting as they forced me forward, leading me down what felt like a set of narrow steps. Their hands stayed on my arms, but their assistance wasn’t out of concern for my safety.
It was all about control. Nothing more.
When my forehead slammed into what felt like a concrete wall, neither man apologized. They only laughed.
It grew colder with every step, and a draft swept through the fabric covering my head.
Somewhere ahead, a door creaked open.
The energy turned even more sinister. Colder. Suffocating.
Lights blurred through the cloth, just faintly, not bright enough for me to see anything clearly.
I grew lightheaded. Their voices echoed as they spoke, but I couldn’t make out their words.
When we stopped, I dramatically choked on the rag stuffed in my mouth, hoping it’d convince them to remove it. My tongue felt thick and swollen from whatever they’d soaked it in.
They shoved me down, my knees slamming into the cold floor as they forced me onto them.
One man shoved my head forward. The other yanked the cloth from my head, and I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the sudden light.
I winced when he ripped the tape off my mouth.
I gagged, spitting the rag onto the floor and coughing from the chemical taste.
I looked around, seeing the man in the white mask in front of me.
No, Enzo.
“Welcome to the show, Blair,” he said smoothly. “You’re about to get an Oscar-worthy performance.” He waited a second, tilting his head, as if wanting to taunt me. “And guess who’s the star of the show?”
He stepped aside, moving out of my line of sight, and my blood turned cold.
I suddenly wished the chemically soaked rag had killed me.