Chapter 4 #2
Something fierce rattles through my chest, because this doesn’t feel like an act. It feels too true. The situation too panicked.
The farmer suddenly turns and runs the other direction. It takes a second for us all to react, but when the silhouette slowly pushes his way forward, his footsteps loud and clear through the rustling leaves that have fallen to the dry soil, that’s when everyone scrambles after the farmer.
In the darkness, I lose sight of Eveline and her men, but all I can think of is that I need to get out of here.
A compulsive need fills me with the intuition telling me to keep running, no matter what. I push my body forward, even when my legs are slowing down and my breaths come out in ragged bursts. I need to find my way out. That’s my only thought.
This has to be part of the act. The haunted fair has hired damned good actors.
Despite that, I no longer feel safe under the imposing darkness.
Especially not as I hear a scream splitting the night, sending a blood-curdling sensation down my spine.
I make my way as fast as I can forward, branches gripping hold of me and tearing through my dress.
But I listen to that intuition screaming inside me—the compulsive need.
Until I at last stop to catch my breath. And realize, much to my utter horror, that I’m back where I started running.
I’m at the tractor, the hay bales rustling in the wild breeze.
I stand there for a second, desperately looking around in the hopes of finding someone here.
My eyes scan the darkness when I hear the rustling sound I initially thought came from the haybales.
It grows louder, sounding abnormal. Branches creak like old bones, and my breath is visible in the chilly night air.
“Come on, Eveline. Where are you?” I mutter.
How did I even allow myself to lose her?
The rustling becomes even louder, and I dare not breathe as I listen for a few, slowed seconds for something else to reveal itself.
A figure gradually emerges from the shadows. First, only a pair of glowing eyes, illuminated by the little moonlight, and then his whole body as it becomes visible. Swallowing what feels like molten lava, I take a tentative step backward.
He keeps walking, and when the clouds covering the moon hide him for a short beat, the fear wracks over every inch of available skin.
Then, he’s right in front of me. Towering over me by a foot, he’s dressed in a flannel shirt clinging to his muscular upper chest. The fabric stretches where his shoulders bunch, and I can’t really see much more than that. A hood obscures his face.
My eyesight is directly at his upper chest, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
Something woodsy clings to him, which isn’t odd considering our environment, but underneath that, I can feel the undertones of the cologne he wears. Sandalwood mixed with mint.
My stomach clenches in fear and apprehension, but there’s an underlying excitement hiding in the corner of my soul. Because I recognize this man, even without seeing his face.
“The stranger,” I breathe out.
My mouth goes dry with the realization and confusion flitting over me. The man I saw in the line for the circus. Is he one of the people milling around, trying to find his way out?
But he has the height of the man at the circus. The one wearing the porcelain mask. The man who made me feel something other than anger and grief—my standard emotions for the past few months. Hell, even years.
My eyebrows draw together.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with your friends?” he murmurs, stepping even closer.
“Aren’t you?” I retort. “Either that, or be a scare-actor in the circus. Which is it?”
A chuckle escapes him, but he doesn’t stop coming closer to me. It’s all intimidating. “You catch up quick.”
He doesn’t offer any explanation. “So you’re a scare-actor? Or a fairgoer?”
“Working. Entertainment. It’s all the same, isn’t it?”
I shake my head, not understanding him or his cryptic demeanor. He must be a scare-actor, merely hanging out with his friends before the start of his shift. But why is he here now?
“Have you not been taught it’s dangerous to be out alone in the woods?” he whispers, a dark timbre in his voice that reverberates through me.
I swallow harshly, pushing away the sensation. Because the only thing I should feel right now is fear, and a self-preservation instinct to run away. I don’t have the slightest clue who this mysterious man is, especially not if he’s playing some sort of middle-game, playing both sides.
“Are you perhaps lost, little fangs?”
Through the hood, I can see the smirk splitting his lips. Feel his eyes on my mouth, where I’d forgotten I had fake fangs in.
I instantly close my mouth, scowling at him.
The man takes a step closer to me, and I take one backward. Moonlight glints off his frame, forming a glowing silhouette around him.
“Hmm,” he groans. “What should I do with you?”
That’s when I see he’s holding something. An object that glints in the moonlight. He brings it upward, inspecting it closely, the slight tilt of his head giving him away.
It’s an axe.
And suddenly, I realize that this is the man the farmer was so terrified of. Was it real, or an act?
I fucking hope it was an act.
Gulping, I take another step backward when I see him approaching me. His sandalwood scent mixed with the earthy tinges of the forest envelops me in a cocoon until that’s all I can feel and focus on.
He’s trapping me against a tree, my back hitting the bark with a low, soft thud.
His leather-gloved hand comes up to my chin, lifting it. He strokes my bottom lip gently, pulling it down and watching it bounce with a certain desire emanating through him.
He lifts the axe again, and in the moonlight I can see it dripping with some liquid. It’s gooey and has a real tinge of metal.
This haunted fair better have put down a huge budget on this…
I sense the threat coming from him, and even if this is all an act, there’s still the fact that I’m all alone with him.
“My friends will be here any second.” I lift my hand in defiance. “I wouldn’t be this close if I were you.”
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he’s so close I can feel it through my own body. Pressing his body into me, he’s forcing me in place against the trunk, not allowing me the leeway to get away.
“I don’t think your friends will find you,” he muses. “Do you want to know why?”
“Fuck you.”
He presses his body closer to me, holding me in place, and makes a tsking sound. “Because these woods are mine tonight. I? m the master, and these trees are screaming my name.”
The axe rests casually over his shoulder, as if it’s only another accessory, the blade pointed at me. He shifts it slightly, coming even closer to me.
“This isn’t fun. Go bother someone else.”
His lips tilt into a dangerous smirk, one that ignites something uncontrollable that I cannot ignore.
He bends down, his mouth drawing closer to my ear. It sends shivers dancing through me. an involuntary shudder
“Fun? You think this is fun? ?h, min dods?ngel.”
The axe comes closer to my head, and my heart picks up its pace, eyes flitting nervously to the very real weapon.
“Just leave me alone,” I mutter.
An audible sigh escapes him, acting as if I’m the one being unreasonable.
“No, baby. I’ve been waiting for you.”
A frown mars my eyebrows as I take him in, his boots sinking into the forest floor with a crunch as he keeps staring at me. Hesitation thrums through every nerve in me, wishing I could somehow get out of this impossible situation.
“It’s not funny anymore.” Even as I utter the words, I hear how small and whiny my voice sounds. Breathy, with a hint of an underlying tension.
I’m no longer in the cocoon of the enchantment the circus threw me into, a spell making me spiral right into this man’s violent orb. Yet, there’s still something so enthralling about him, drawing me in even more. His scent, aura, the way he traps me against the tree against my will…
Fuck.
I cross my arms over my chest, as if that would stop the thundering beat of my heart or the slicing bugs fluttering around in my stomach.
“You think I’m some scare-actor?” He breathes, a mocking tone to his voice, while his features soften into tenderness, his body relaxing.
Yes?
“You were the one being cryptic about it all when I asked,” I scoff.
His body presses against mine, heat radiating through the thin space between us, making my skin flush.
The look he gives me is fierce and intense, lingering with an obsession, like it’s rooted in something far too deep and twisted for me to ever comprehend.
I’m pinned against the rough bark of the tree, the axe perched on his shoulder, its blade hiding in the shadow.
I’m scared it will accidentally, or intentionally, slice me open if he moves even a fraction.
His voice drips into something inherently dangerous yet intimate. “No, little fangs. I’m the one they warned you about. Should have listened to ole’ man Johnsson, bless him.” He laughs at his own words, as though sharing a joke, expecting me to laugh with him.
A horrified expression takes over me, but I can’t decide if I want to run away from him or lean into whatever madness is happening. The fluttering of my pulse in my neck gives me away, and there’s a curiosity lingering under the surface. A desire to see what this will all lead to.
He leans closer, and I can feel something hard wedged between us. Heat blooms in my cheeks, a traitorous rush of desire mingling with an obvious fear.
Shame gushes through me, and I attempt to sidestep him. Right as I do, a stinging sensation blossoms over the side of my neck. I flinch, wincingand the sharp note of pain.
In the silence that follows, I hear his sharp intake of breath. Startled, as though the axe nicked him instead of me.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” There’s a hint of anger hiding in his voice. “Are you trying to get yourself hurt?”