Chapter One #2
I’d spent six years hiding, moving from city to city, country to country. Now I was back where it all started. Back to the college town that had stolen my friends and my future. I’d rented a cabin less than fifteen miles away from my old sorority house.
I was done being a victim.
Done being a ghost.
Now I was making myself bait.
The car groaned as I made my way up the hill, watching for more suicidal deer. An hour had passed, and I’d barely made it a few miles. Chimney smoke drifted in the distance. Another cabin, but not the one I had rented.
As I neared the top of the hill, my tiny Honda decided she’d had enough of my shit. The car jerked in a way that I knew wasn’t right. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel as the lights on my dashboard flickered. “C’mon, Bessie, you owe me. I saved you from that junkyard. Don’t let me down now.”
My pep talk had little effect, because one moment I was crawling up the hill, my tires whining against the slick snow, and the next, I was sliding backwards.
The steering wheel jerked in my hands as the car spun, my headlights flashing over the snow-clad trees.
I half-expected that deer to step out with a smug “I tried to warn you” face.
But there was no deer.
Just the sound of my own screaming as the car slammed nose first into the trees. The impact jolted me forward, knocking the air from my lungs. My body tilted sideways as Bessie skidded down a narrow ravine, slid out onto a frozen lake and stopped.
Just fucking great. Because what this night called for was a drowning.
The air smelt like antifreeze and gas, and I prayed that I wasn’t about to go up in a pile of flames, though that might be quicker than freezing to death.
My breath came out in rapid bursts, each exhale turning into mist in the frigid air.
Pain burned through my arm where a jagged shard of my windshield was buried in my biceps.
I still gripped the steering wheel, as if that was going to stop me from plunging God knew how deep into the water behind me.
The ice groaned, low and ominous, as if it was deciding whether to let me live. My seatbelt cut into my shoulder as I shifted, the buckle stubborn beneath my shaking fingers. Every movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through my arm, but I kept pressing until the latch finally clicked free.
Warmth trickled down my face, and I didn’t need a mirror to know there was more than one cut. Served me right for thinking I could outrun a storm that had every intention of making me beg for my life.
Cold air cut through the vents of my car, stealing my breath from me. If I didn’t get out of here, I was going to die. The driver’s side door creaked open, my legs clumsy as I swung one boot out, the snow swallowing it to my ankle. The ache in my arm dulled for a moment at the shock of the cold.
I could see the headline now. SORORITY SURVIVOR FOUND FROZEN—WASN’T AS INDESTRUCTIBLE AS EVERYONE THOUGHT.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Surviving a serial killer only to be taken out by poor life choices and cold weather? Well, not today, Satan.
I stumbled out, regretting every choice that had brought me up this damn hill in the first place. My backpack was somewhere in my now-destroyed car. It contained pretty much my entire life—wallet, phone, glasses, sleeping pills, contact case.
And my gun.
There was no way I was leaving without it. I wasn’t trained in martial arts or how to shoot a bow and arrow, so the only way I was going to take down the real killer was with that gun.
The back door of Bessie hung open, and I could see my backpack wedged in the footwell. I leaned in, my arm screaming in protest as I stretched. The glass shard in my biceps shifted, sending waves of agony all the way down to my fingers.
Rule number one when you get stabbed with something: don’t pull it out. It’s probably the only thing keeping you from bleeding to death. I’d seen enough true crime shows to know this.
Rule number two: try not to get stabbed twice.
I snatched my bag and slung it over my good shoulder. “I’ll be back, Bessie,” I murmured, my eyes trained on the smoke I’d seen coming from a cabin before my crash landing.
The snow was deeper than I’d realized. The higher I went up the hill, the deeper my feet sank. The wind cut through me like a million knives stabbing through my jacket. Blood from the cuts on my face had started to freeze, creating tiny icicles on my cheeks. I bet I looked fucking lovely.
It was impossible to see through the blowing snow. By the time I got fifty steps up the hill, I was winded, and my vision had started to blur at the edges.
“Come on, Seraphine,” I panted to myself. “You’ve survived worse than this.” My brain was reaching for something, but I couldn’t figure out what. It was like I was moving through honey, and I had to stop every few feet to catch my breath and remember which direction I was supposed to be going in.
“This is fine,” I mumbled. “It’s just hypothermia. Teeny-tiny bit of blood loss. Nothing I can’t handle.”
The cabin came into view. Relief washed over me at the warm light glowing from the windows. Smoke still curled up from the chimney, so someone was definitely home.
My hand shook violently as I raised it to knock on the door, and I realized I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Hell, I couldn’t feel any part of my body at this point. The shard of glass in my arm was forgotten. Pain? What pain?
I knocked, the sound faint through the howling wind, and waited for someone to hear me. A heartbeat went by, another, and a creeping thought came over me—what if whatever waited inside was worse than freezing to death? I sank down to my hands and knees, unable to stand up any longer.
Warmth came over me as the door opened, and I stared up.
“No,” I whispered.
Dark hair. Sharp jawline. And running across his left cheek, a jagged scar that I’d described to a jury six years ago.
Valen Creed.
“No.” I pushed myself back away from the door.
Valen stood in the doorway, looking very much alive, solid, and real. His eyes widened as they swept over me. Recognition, surprise and then something darker flashed across his face.
I scooted backwards as he towered over me. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. It’s a hypothermic hallucination.”
“Seraphine Ashford.” His voice was deep, laced with anger.
I shook my head as I inched further away from the door. Dying in the blizzard it was.
The world tilted as I rolled down the stairs, the shard of glass pushing deeper into my arm. My vision tunneled and my eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as pain ran through my entire body.
This was it. This was how I died. I’d like to say it had been fun while it lasted, but that was a damn lie.
I wanted to crawl away, to let the snow blanket itself over me, but my limbs were useless.
Strong arms wrapped around me, making me scream, but I was too weak to fight. My entire body was numb from the cold as Valen carried me inside. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the man I’d helped convict was now saving my life.
At least I thought he was.
“Don’t,” I croaked as he carried me inside. “Let me die out here in peace. Please.”
Valen’s jaw tightened as he kicked the door shut behind us. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he growled. “But you don’t get to take the easy way out, not after what you cost me.”
His eyes met mine, and there was something predatory in them that had my blood running cold.
“Five years, Seraphine. Five years of my life you stole.” He carried me deeper into the cabin, away from the door. Away from a simple death by snow. “We’re going to have a very long conversation about that.”
The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me was a series of locks clicking into place.
I’d just traded one nightmare for another.
And this one was going to be much more personal.