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My stomach twists as I move cautiously toward where I tried to sleep last night without much luck. After spending countless hours crying and staring out the window at the vast wilderness that offers no means of escape, I would have thought my mind and body would have needed the rest. But I lay in the silky sheets wide awake, tossing and turning, trying desperately to shut off the never-ending list of questions that keeps running through my head.
One more insistent than the others.
What does The Beast want from me?
The message he’s left me may hold the answer. Part of me wants to read it, while the other wants to lock myself away in the bathroom, cowering in the corner, the only place I have to hide even though The Beast could easily get to me there—or anywhere.
My hand trembles as I reach for it.
A meticulous scrawl spreads across the thick paper embossed with the Barker family seal.
Come down for breakfast.
Four words that don’t feel like a request, but they mean one of my prayers has been answered.
Hope flutters in my chest as I whirl toward the door.
It’s unlocked.
I lost track of how many times I tried that handle over the last twenty-four hours, how often I’ve twisted and tugged and rattled it in vain.
It seems stupid to believe the words on that paper, to let myself hope that I might get the hell out of this room and maybe start to understand what’s happening.
Maybe even find a way to run.
The memory of The Beast chasing me through the woods, of the pain of each scratch and scrape, of tumbling through the bushes and the brambles, of the rocks slicing my foot…all of it comes racing back.
That man won’t let me flee, and even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.
Father will be back in the country soon, and once he’s within reach of the Barkers, the only thing that will prevent them from taking their revenge is me.
I can’t leave even if I physically could.
Which means I have to join The Beast for breakfast.
I take a tentative step toward the door, gritting my teeth through the pain that shoots through my foot. Moving cautiously, trying not to put too much pressure on it, I move toward the solid slab of wood that has kept me locked in here.
The hand I raise won’t stop quivering as I grasp the door handle and turn it, holding my breath. It moves, and the mechanism clicks, releasing it.
Shit, he really did leave it unlocked.
I pull it open carefully, slowly, listening for signs of him, but the house remains deathly silent. The eerie stillness envelops me as I limp out into the hallway, my feet sinking into the plush blood-red runner laid out down the center of the wood floors.
Everything in the hallway screams at me to turn back around. Though beautiful and lavish, a dark, almost sinister vibe surrounds the decorations, as if the Barkers chose them specifically for their presence and the statements they make.
A vase on the table I pass on the right depicts an ancient Greek hunt. Spears driven into the sides of a wild bovine of some sort, blood trickling from the animal.
Mounted heads above me on either side—deer and elk—stare down at me with glossy, fake eyes that seem to follow each step I take.
The feeling of being watched settles over me, making every hair on my body stand on end as I hobble in the only direction I can until I find a staircase.
Massive, hand-carved railings and steps split in two directions. One set leads up to a third floor, where a single landing holds a closed set of doors. The second descends to the foyer and the front entry, where I stood on the other side less than thirty-six hours ago with what amounted to a really shitty plan on how to handle this man.
What the fuck was I thinking?
No one handles The Beast of Barker Mountain.
I was stupid to even try.
