Page 109

I back out again and hurry farther down the corridor, pulling my hair back into a messy ponytail and securing it with the band from around my wrist.

I slip into another room, smaller this time, some sort of morning room with glass-fronted cabinets and a long sofa beneath a painting of a woman who looks like his mother.

My breathing fills the room, and I turn back on myself, darting into the corridor again and looking all around me.

I stand still and listen, not hearing a single footstep.

The bastard is probably taking his time on purpose, letting the silence work me over, letting me imagine him at the next turn, in the next doorway.

My heart races harder, and I move again, quicker now, dipping through shadow where the wall lamps cast weak amber pools over every step.

My shoulder brushes thick wallpaper. A runner muffles my steps. I glance behind me and see only corridor, darkness, and my own nerves coming apart under the skin.

I take another corner, nearly slide on the polished floor, catch myself, and laugh once under my breath because it comes out half-wild and half-excited.

The corridor ahead splits in two directions. I hesitate for a beat, choose left, and hurry on, passing another closed door, then another, the whole place unfolding into too many choices.

However, when I charge into the drawing room, every light dies.

Darkness slams into place so completely that I stop dead, breath locked high in my chest.

Rain taps on distant windows. Somewhere deeper in the house, old pipes murmur within the walls. My own pulse pounds so hard I can hear it in my skull.

I wait with one hand half lifted in front of me and the dark pressing close on all sides, every nerve in my body alive, waiting for the first sign of him.

"Fuck," I whisper into blackness.

I inch forward until my shoulder clips a wall. My hip catches the edge of a piece of furniture and glass rattles somewhere to my left.

Using the wall as support, I take my time to skirt the room, fingers dragging over wooden panels and empty air.

My breathing comes faster and my heart hammers against my ribs. I know he's coming for me.

If I can’t run, I’ll stay perfectly quiet. And if I can’t see him, maybe he can’t see me.

However, somewhere in the dark, there’s a click, and I sense him all around me.

After a few shallow breaths, the air changes right in front of me and a hand closes around my throat.

“Found you, little wild thing,” he says, voice deep.

His thumb presses against the pulse I can’t slow.

“You can see me?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“How?”

He lifts my hand, and I tense because I expect him to pin it, twist it, use it to remind me what little power I have left. Instead, he brings my fingers to his face, where they meet warm skin first.

His jaw is hard beneath them, the scrape of stubble rough as he guides them higher, brushing the edge of something smooth and hard across his eyes.

The dark stays absolute, but the shape beneath my touch feels like a narrow frame. Some sort of casing. A strap drawn close against his temples fitting something where his stare should be.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“A thermal visor we use for security.”