Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ariana
My eyes remained locked on him as he moved closer, each step slow. Deliberate. A dark silhouette emerging from the trees, gun slack at his side, and something large and shadowy padding beside him. A dog. Maybe a retriever of some kind, though the way it moved was more like a soldier than a pet.
The wolf had vanished. But this man, this shadow , was somehow more dangerous.
I should run.
But I didn’t.
Couldn’t .
My body stayed glued to the ground, my breath fogging in the air, my socks soaked through and clinging like ice to my toes. My legs ached. My lungs burned. And my heart thudded so violently I thought it might crack my ribs from the inside. Still, I couldn’t move.
As he stepped into the clearing, the last wisps of shadow peeled away, and I finally saw his face.
Recognition hit me like a punch to the gut.
Broad shoulders. Rigid posture. Square jaw dusted with dark stubble. The same piercing green eyes I hadn’t been able to look away from the other night.
It was the man from the gala.
The one who watched me like I was a painting he’d studied but needed to see in person.
He’d traded the perfectly tailored suit for boots, jeans, and a winter coat, but even without the tux, power radiated from every inch of him.
“You,” I breathed, hate simmering beneath the lone syllable.
He didn’t speak. Just studied me, his gaze flicking down to my scraped hands, my trembling legs, the soaked socks clinging to frozen skin. He was cataloguing me, not with concern, but with precision. Like I was evidence. Or, more appropriately, his property.
“Is this why you were watching me all night at the gala?” I spat as I managed to pull myself to my feet. “Why you pretended to be interested in me?”
His only response was even more silence. I didn’t know if I was more angry he wouldn’t speak or that a part of me had been flattered by his attention.
I thought he saw me.
I thought he wanted me.
How stupid could I be?
Did my years with Victor teach me nothing?
“What’s the matter?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Cat got your tongue now that you’ve dragged me to whatever snowy hell this is? Or are you going to pretend this wasn’t your plan all along?”
At that, something shifted in his expression. Not guilt. Not triumph. Something quieter. Sharper.
“I was interested,” he said finally, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Just not in the way you thought.”
“What was it then? Money? Abduct me in the hopes of a huge payday from my husband? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but?—”
A harsh, humorless laugh tore from his chest, cutting me off. “I don’t need money. And I sure as hell don’t need anything from your husband.”
The hatred in his voice was palpable, clinging to the air between us. But was it hatred because of my insinuation? Or of my husband?
“Then why are you doing this? What do you want?”
His gaze locked with mine and, for one suspended moment, I wasn’t staring at the man who abducted me. I was staring at someone fractured. Someone carrying something he didn’t want anyone else to see.
I knew that look.
I wore it, too.
“What I want,” he began, each word slow, precise…deadly, “is to drag the truth from its grave. To relish in the screams of everyone who used money and power to bury it. To watch as every last drop of blood is squeezed from their bodies. Only then will I finally be at peace.”
The wind gusted between us, sharp and biting, but it was his words that cut the deepest.
My lips parted, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue.
Who are you?
What happened?
What the hell does that mean?
But before I could utter a single syllable, he gave a small gesture with his head. “Come on. House is this way.”
He started past me, the dog following every step of the way.
“You kidnap me and expect me to just go with you?”
He paused, turning to face me, his dog doing the same. Like he was another extension of his master.
“There’s food. Water. Heat.” His eyes flicked to my trembling legs. “Or you can stay out here. And die.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with the bears.”
“They hibernate this time of year,” he said casually, as if it were common knowledge. Maybe to him. “You’re more likely to die of hypothermia.”
“Still better than going anywhere with you.”
“Have you ever had hypothermia?”
I crossed my arms, more to shield myself from the cold than to look defiant.
My fingers throbbed, stiff and red, barely responding.
I had to fight to keep my chin lifted. Somehow my scarf was still knotted around my neck, offering me some protection, but the silk material was no match against the frozen tundra surrounding me.
“No.”
He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the snow. Everything in me screamed to back away, but I was rooted again, powerless against the quiet intensity in his gaze.
“It’s not pretty. And it’s certainly not the way I’d choose to die. You wouldn’t die right away. That’d be merciful. No, it starts slow.” His words weren’t cruel or threatening. They were precise. Intentional. Informative even.
“It starts with your fingers and toes. A slow prickling. Pins and needles. You try to move, stomp, flex, but it only gets worse. No blood flow. Just pain and numbness fighting each other. Like your nerves are short-circuiting.”
I swallowed hard, involuntarily flexing my hands to make sure I could still move them. Thankfully, I could, albeit barely.
“Then the cold creeps up your legs and arms, burrowing deep in your marrow. You’ll start to ache to the point that it feels like someone’s lit your insides on fire. Your muscles will seize. You can’t control them. You’ll try to walk, but you’ll fall. Again. And again. And again.”
He came to a stop mere inches away from me, his eyes searing into me. Cold. Unflinching.
“Then comes the shaking. Not shivering. No. Shivering is nothing compared to the violence in store for you. Like your body is trying to tear itself apart just to stay alive. To anyone observing, it’ll look like you’re having a seizure.
But unlike a seizure, your brain is fully aware of what’s going on.
You’ll feel every tremor. Every shake. Every thread of pain as it courses through your body.
It’ll feel like thousands of knives are stabbing you at the same time.
Like you’re being skinned alive. But at least you can still breathe, right?
Except every breath will feel like you’re swallowing shards of glass. ”
My breath came faster. Too fast. I hated that his words were getting to me, but I couldn’t stop picturing it. Stumbling in the snow. Legs buckling. My body thrashing in some silent, lonely fit. The terror of it. The helplessness. And all the while, feeling everything.
“But the worst part?” He curved toward me, his face mere inches from mine, not letting me escape his words.
“Yes?” I managed to squeak out, my morbid curiosity engaging with him when every other voice in my head screamed at me to retreat.
“That’s when the shivering fades. You’ll think it’s over.
Maybe you’ll be okay. You’ll feel…warm. Comfortable.
Peaceful. But it’s all a lie. Because that warmth?
” He arches a dark brow. “That’s death putting its arm around you.
That peace? That’s your body waving the white flag.
You’ll watch the trees, the sky, the snow. ..and wait.”
I swayed where I stood, swallowing hard. I could feel the weight of my socks again, the raw sting in my fingers, the hollow ache deep in my bones.
“And if something finds you, a wolf or mountain lion perhaps, it might think you’re already dead.
Fresh meat for the taking. They’ll bite.
Rip. Feed. You won’t be able to scream. Won’t be able to move or fight them off.
You’ll have no choice but to watch them feast on your body.
And that will be the last thing you see of this world. Wild animals ripping you apart.”
The bile surged fast, and I fought to force it down.
I hated this.
I hated him .
But mostly, I hated that I could still smell him — faint pine, warm leather, and soap.
Hated that, even as he detailed my own dismemberment, part of me still noticed the angle of his jaw, the stubble catching the light, the way his mouth curved when he delivered something brutal.
There was no mistaking it. This man was a monster.
But he didn’t look like one.
Then again, neither did Victor.
I’d learned by now the worst monsters were the ones who hid their true nature.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And there was no doubt in my mind that was what he was.
“But if you’d prefer that ending…,” he interrupted my thoughts, stepping back, giving me space again, “be my guest.”
The cold sliced at my cheeks, burrowing into my bones. My body was trembling violently now. Just like he predicted would happen.
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
“Fine,” I hissed, holding my head high. “But only because I don’t feel like dying today.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Infuriating. Beautiful. I wanted to slap it off his face. I wanted to touch it.
God help me.
“Tomorrow, then?” he taunted.
I glared. “Don’t push your luck.”
“I’ve learned that luck’s for people who have something to lose.”
“That’s not you?” I pressed.
He slowly shook his head. “That’s not me, Mrs. Kane.”
My spine instantly stiffened. “Do not call me that,” I declared with venom in my voice as I shoved past him, my legs heavy and sluggish.
I’d barely made it ten feet when warmth suddenly blanketed my shoulders.
His jacket.
“Wrong way,” he murmured, his words brushing the back of my neck like a secret. “Mrs. Kane.”
I turned to glare at him again, but he was already walking, his dog at his side, the void where his touch was seconds ago causing a chill worse than any threat of hypothermia.
I cursed him. I cursed myself.
Then I followed.