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And then the noise stopped. The silence rang out in my ears, and I searched the pile of their bodies to discern what was going on.
Strike a match; throw it now.
The voice in my head had a point, but we still weren’t in the right room. Despite the vision, I prayed for Ivan to stay on the floor, but I didn’t know what to hope for when it came to Reaper.
Did I want him to get up and come for me next?
My heart skittered and screamed at me to run as far and as fast as I could.
But I stood there, watching the movement in horror, knowing the best result would be if they had killed each other, but I’d never be so lucky.
One body unfurled itself to stand over the other, and Ivan turned his head to stare me down.
He pointed at his feet.
“Get your ass here, woman.”
His voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
I lost all feeling throughout my body. I couldn’t answer him, nor could I move another step.
He roared at me again, and my stomach churned.
I groaned and gagged.
He called my name, and I retched.
My hands shook. I took a step. My legs were shaking, too. I took another step. I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to him.
My stomach heaved again, and I bent over and retched. But I’d already emptied all its contents onto the floor earlier.
“You disgusting bitch.” He lurched toward me, grasped my arm and dragged me down the hall, our footsteps echoing in the dark corridor.
Reaper lying on the floor, unmoving.
I watched for signs of breathing—or anything—as we passed by him, but he appeared very dead.
It was my worst nightmare, and I wasn’t even surprised. Ivan had killed my best hope for freedom. I knew Ivan. All my time with him afforded me that much, at least. He was obsessive, and now that he knew I was here, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. The air felt heavier with each step, the anticipation of his punishment coiling tightly around my neck.
My heart pounded in fright, the rhythm quickening as adrenaline surged through my veins, and a cramping in my gut tugged at me. I continued along with him, each step deliberate and controlled despite the fear tightening my chest and the snag in my gut.
When we reached the doorway, the space opening into a room that matched my vision, I gasped. Dust danced in the rioting red light, filtering through the grimy window to my left. The aged and broken wood-paneled floor creaked underfoot from long neglect. The smell of something charred and smoking in the fireplace mingled with the mustiness of long-forgotten memories.
This was the room.
The wallpaper—faded and peeling. The window’s smudged and cracked glass. The fireplace’s ornate yet tarnished metalwork. A thick layer of dust coated everything. I took a deep breath, the air stale and heavy in my lungs. All I had to do was follow my instincts.
A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped further into the room with him, the sense of destiny intermingling with dread. The matches in my pocket seemed to bulge out impossibly conspicuously. Could Ivan see them? No, it was all in my head. He had no idea about my vision. Floorboards groaned beneath my feet, the sound resonating in the silent space.
Ivan’s footsteps were a harsh staccato, his fury as murderous as ever.
Allowing his grasp on my arm to pull painfully, I positioned myself by the fireplace, its embers an ironic comfort.
A sign things were still as they should be.
“Turn around, Tess,” Ivan demanded, his voice a low growl filled with anger and malice.
I could feel the physical intensity of his gaze boring into my back.
