Chapter 19
YELENA
I might be insane.
I know I’m insane.
There’s no other possible reason for me to be standing here alone in the woods at midnight, just three hours after the local police department announced that another suspected murder victim had been found not two miles from here.
It’s the middle of the week, so nobody is partying at The Garrison.
It’s dark.
Silent.
I walk through the huge stone archway that I suppose was part of the front gate and step into the area that usually houses laughing, drinking college students.
But not tonight.
I feel a shiver ripple up my spine as I look up at the night sky through the jagged hole where the ceiling used to be.
The moon is barely a sliver. Clouds obscure all but a few dimmed stars.
An owl or some other night bird cries out in the darkness, and another shiver tingles up my back as I hug my arms around myself, my shoulders caving.
I’m in a simple hoodie, t-shirt, yoga pants and sneakers.
I mean…maybe not the usual outfit choice for an occasion where you know for a fact you’re going to lose your virginity.
But this isn’t a date. No roses. No dinner reservation somewhere exclusive.
No jewelry, held doors, or other sweet gestures.
And I’m more than fine with that.
I like that this is devoid of anything “romantic”, because that’s not what this is, nor why I’ve shown up.
I’m here because of a deranged need inside me that craves this sort of darkness. I’m here to meet Achilles specifically because I know he can and will give me what I need.
I’m not here because I’m in love with him. I’m here because I know he’ll scare me, hunt me, hurt me, and then fuck me.
No "being taken to bed". No "lovemaking".
Tonight is a night for letting the darkness and the danger strip away any pretense and reduce us to our basic animal nature.
Love.
Sex.
They’re two different boxes, and I’ve already filled one of them.
I refuse to think the words “and now I’m here to get the other box filled” because it’s just a little too crude and on the nose.
But it is why I’m here.
Except, so far, he's not.
Saying his name out loud feels a little too much like a horror movie cliché, which isn’t something I need given what already happened tonight.
A fisherman docking late at the harbor found a body by the pier: a male in his thirties, his eyes cut out, his throat slashed, and a heart carved into his bare chest.
There are no witnesses. No suspects. No idea who he was.
Jane Doe now has a boyfriend at the morgue named John Doe.
I talked to my parents briefly about twenty minutes ago, right after I frantically wiped the lipstick message off my mirror as I was getting changed to come here.
I told them everything was fine, I was safe, and no, I didn’t need Dad to send some of “his guys” up here, nor did I need to go stay with his friend Laz in town.
I’m fine. I love you both. I’m totally okay.
I’m totally okay except for the fact that I’m here.
In the dark.
Waiting to be hunted.
Praying I haven’t wildly misjudged this whole situation. Or him, for that matter.
I mean, maybe I have.
There is a darkness to Achilles. His golden boy mask has slipped enough in my presence that I’ve seen the monster lurking beneath it.
The real Achilles Drakos.
And he isn’t pretending to be a guy from MaskTok. He’s not roleplaying.
I don’t even know if I’ve seen all of the real him, or have the remotest idea what he’s capable of. In fact, one particularly blood-chilling thought I had on the way here was wondering where Achilles was earlier tonight.
Was he down by the docks in Hawthorne Hollow, cutting a man’s throat, carving out his eyeballs, and etching a fucking heart into his chest?
Let’s hope not.
I swallow nervously, shivering again in the cool, dark night.
Where is he?
I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. 12:04.
Still no sign of him.
Frowning, I sit against the edge of the fire pit and thumb my phone open, navigating to the website for Santoro Equities. The second I see that asshole’s smug face at the top of the page, I pull my eyes away with a shudder.
“No phones tonight.”
My heart lurches into my throat as the low, gravelly baritone rumbles from the darkness. I whirl, searching for him, but only find shadows.
“Leave it on the edge of the fire pit.”
I shudder and whip my head around again. I swear, this time his voice came from another direction entirely, but I didn't hear him move at all.
A cold sensation finger-walks up my spine as I set the phone face down on the edge of the fire pit.
“W-where are you?”
“Here.”
I spin again, hearing him from yet another direction. But there’s still nothing there. My gaze vainly tries to pierce the darkness of the ruined fort. The soft sound of the ocean against the cliffs whispers nearby.
“Do you remember your safe word?”
I whirl yet again. This time, when I stop, my scream catches sharply in my chest and my blood turns to ice in my veins.
Achilles is standing right there.
He's shirtless, in black jeans and boots, with the moonlight glinting off the heavily shadowed grooves of his muscled body, making him look like a feral predator, build solely for violence and destruction.
But what really catches my attention are two other details:
One, he’s wearing a Scream mask, the ghostly, leering grin looking extra sinister given that he’s half naked, his muscles twitching like an animal's.
And two, he's wearing black gloves, and holding a huge, gleaming, serrated hunting knife.
Eat your fucking heart out, MaskTok.
I swallow thickly, trembling as I stare at him.
“Well?” he growls quietly.
“I remember it. It's thunder,” I breathe, my voice shaking.
He’s silent for another moment. I swear, I can feel his eyes boring into me even through the mask.
“And if you say it?”
I wet my lips. “It ends it,” I whisper.
“Not quite,” his voice rumbles. “It ends all of this. All of you and me.”
I stiffen. “I—I don’t under—”
“I'm not going to be your experiment, Yelena.” Achilles’ rasping voice slices through the darkness. “I'm not interested in being your tour guide. So yes, there’s an emergency exit. But it comes with a strict no re-admission policy.”
I tremble as he prowls closer.
“Once you leave,” he growls, “there’s no coming back.”
My breath leaves my lips in a shaky exhale.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper quietly.
“Is there anything you’d like to say before we begin.”
He stalks another step closer, his muscles visibly twitching and his free hand clenching repeatedly, like he can barely hold himself back from jumping me.
“Any particular word.”
My throat works as my pulse quickens.
“I’m not going to hold back, little prey,” he murmurs, the edge in his tone making the muscles at the nape of my neck tighten and clench.
“I’m not going to go easy on you. I will not be gentle.”
My breath rasps over my dry tongue, my eyes locked on his ghostly Scream mask as he slowly advances, until he's looming right over me.
The fact that I can’t see his face or even his eyes chills me more than I thought it might. But his scent grounds me and gives me a sense of familiarity.
I mean, not much, but enough that I don’t turn and run, screaming “thunderthunderthunder” at the top of my lungs.
His gloved hand reaches up as if to cup my jaw. But he pauses when his hand is hovering right over my skin, his forearm flexing, making his dragon tattoo there ripple.
“Will you stop if I tell you to?”
He slowly shakes his head. “Not unless you say that safe word.”
Heat sparks inside me.
“Will you hurt me?” I whisper.
“Maybe.”
God…
“W-when do we start?” I croak.
“Now.”
The words pour over me like ice water.
“I’ll begin chasing you when I get to zero.”
My brow furrows. “What—”
“Ten.”
Holy shit.
“Achilles—”
“Nine.”
“Wait!” I blurt. “Are there rules?! Do I have to stay in the fort? Or—”
“Eight.”
Animal instinct takes over. Before I can lose any more time, I turn, and I fucking run.
Screw staying in the fort. I bolt through the archway I entered through, my blood humming in my ears as I plunge into the dark forest.
Branches claw and scratch at me, forcing me to keep my arms up to protect my face. I dart to the right, bursting through a thicket and gasping as I pause for a second to get my bearings.
I doubt there’s going to be a “ready or not, here I come” when he gets to zero.
My pulse skips.
Has he gotten to zero? I couldn't hear him, and I have no idea how long I’ve been running.
A twig snaps nearby, making my breath catch loudly and my heart squeeze in my chest as I whip my head to the side.
All I see is darkness.
All I feel is the ominous silence of the forest pressing down all around me.
I have a vague idea that campus is to the left. But if I go that way, it means breaking free of the tree cover and running across open green.
So I dodge right instead, crashing through more branches and making way too much noise.
The odd thing is that I willingly came here for exactly this: for him to hunt me, chase me, catch me, and fuck the shit out of me.
And yet now that I’m here, there’s an all-consuming fear of that happening.
I know there’s a word that’ll end it. But it ends everything.
No more games.
No more Achilles pushing me out of my comfort zone and dragging me through my darkest fantasies.
Ticketholders will not be re-admitted.
Knowing that I have this word but might not be able to use it is making this all much more real.
Scarier.
Darker.
More dangerous.
In giving the word so much weight, he's made it no longer a safety net if things get too intense tonight.
It’s a full stop.
And I know he realizes the effect that’ll have on me using it.
Another stick snaps just to my left. I choke on my ragged breath, sweat slicking my back and dizzying panic spinning through my head. I push myself harder, faster, trying to tell myself this is just a game and he won’t really hurt me.
Maybe he will.
He’ll stop if I use my word.
But you don’t know if you'll use it.