3. Chapter 3 #2
“Hey, hey, hey, slow down. Breathe," he says, stepping closer to catch my shoulders and pulls me to him.
His massive frame instantly blocks the chill in the air as he rubs at my back in soothing motions, grounding me to him before I can spiral any further and rush off into unconsciousness again.
“You can't go back there right now. Not in the dark, and not here.”
“But my stuff…”
“A fender bender on Halloween night near the hollow? Trust me. Your things will still be there in the morning. I assure you it’s safer this way,” he says.
“Your car isn't going anywhere but the temperature is dropping here fast, and soon we won't be the only ones bumbling around in the night. Let me take you to my home first and we can grab some supplies. From there we can venture to your car together and retrieve your lost things. I promise.”
His mouth forms into a calm, steady line, and as I look up into his fiery, glowing face, the sheer logic in his tone deflates my panic just enough to have me nodding.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“I’m Catherine," I say.
“A beautiful name, Catherine. I’m Victor. Now, we’re just going to head to my lodgings and see about getting you to your car, okay?”
I find myself nodding my head. “Okay. Where is the hunting lodge?” I ask, shivering from the cold, even as his big warm hands rub soothing circles across my back.
This is the weirdest night of my life.
His big jagged mouth curls into a warm smile, and his eyes burn with flickering orange glow.
He holds out a palm, but this time I place my hand in his, at least trusting him with this much, as I've no other way to get back to my car.
His skin is incredibly warm, a stark but comforting contrast against the cold October winds.
Still, my chest tightens with hesitation as he leads me toward the big black stallion.
The horse chuffs and a sharp plume of smoke and orange sparks twist from its nostrils, and my feet freeze in the dirt while I stare into the terrifying animal’s crimson gaze.
Victor notices immediately and steps between me and the horse, using his big body to shield me as he squeezes my hand gently.
“He’s not going to hurt you. Trust me,” Victor says, his weird mouth curving into a smile as if to reassure me. “He’ll keep us warm, though, not to worry. And the lodge isn’t far. It sits just over the ridge.”
His quiet confidence is like a balm to my overwrought senses, and with his help, I reluctantly mount the horse before he swings up to sit behind me. His arms envelop me securely as he takes up the reins and encloses me in the solid wall of his chest and earthy scented heat.
The horse sets off at a sedate trot as my mind starts to spiral again. But as if sensing my building panic, Victor's voice cuts through the fog and keeps me grounded as he asks me questions to steal my attention away.
“Tell me, Catherine, what brings a city girl like you to the rural Hollow on Halloween night?” he asks, his tone conversational and light.
“I was driving to my parents' party,” I murmur, holding tight onto the saddle pommel. “I didn't mean to… land in your pumpkin patch,” I apologize, my brow furrowing as I think back to his mention of Frank Stein.
To think he owns this countryside, the pumpkin patch…
Frank Stein is a household name and he’s known as the reclusive billionaire that owns one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world.
The media always portrays him as this cold guy dressed in designer suits, but to think he owns this estate and the grounds where a talking headless horseman resides… makes sense in a strange sort of way.
For the rest of the dark ride he keeps me talking, asking questions about my job and my favorite autumn traditions of dipping apples in caramel and drinking cider.
But as the horse gallops across the dark valley, Victor's casual tone shifts.
I turn to glance up at him, and find his carved lips are in a hard line.
He scans the tree line up ahead and the orange glow seems to flare even more brightly as his gaze pulses with alertness.
High above the tree canopy, a flock of strange and unnaturally large shadows scatters across the sky and a series of low, guttural howls pierce the night.
“We need to move faster,” Victor mutters, his deep voice vibrating with a sense of urgency as he tightens his grip on the black reins and around me.
“Halloween night brings out more than just a man with a pumpkin head. The borders are thin tonight and the other residents of the Hollow are waking up.”
In the distance, a grand, old, rustic hunting lodge appears through the trees, sitting atop a hill. His arms tighten around my waist as he pulls me flat against his chest while the stallion breaks into a hard gallop.
I gasp, my heart leaping into my throat when the horse suddenly veers into a sharp curve. My hands clutch at the saddle horn just as Victor’s thick vines lash around my waist, anchoring me to him.
“Hold on tight, Catherine,” Victor whispers, his mouth parting as hot and fiery embers inside his pumpkin head flare. “Humans aren't expected in the haunted Hollow, especially not tonight, and they will hunt you if they sense you.”