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Her chest heaves, and her gaze darts to shadows moving on the other side of the glass, then out across the Kinnane grounds. Trees. Hedges. Stone walls. Darkness broken by garden lights and old paths.

My blood goes hot.

“Run,” I take one step into her. “And be ready for what happens next.”

She takes one raw breath, grabs a fistful of material at her thighs, turns, and runs straight into the dark.

My heart is pounding.

There are a hundred reasons not to follow her.

Yet I don’t give a fuck about any of them.

Chapter 17

Sera

The night swallows me when I leave the terrace lights behind.

When my heels jab into the soil, I stop for a second to kick them off, hooking them in one hand.

My bare feet slap the soggy earth as I run. The garden stretches ahead, black and wide, full of shadows and places to hide, while my heart beats so fast it feels lodged in my throat.

I cut left past the box hedges, bunching the dress in my fist so it doesn’t tangle at my thighs.

The formal lines of the garden give way to older trees, moonlight slicing through the canopy in thin, silver strips. I aim for the thickest dark, lungs burning, blood alive in a way it has no right to be.

Eilish’s birthday party is behind me. Ronan had a gun to his head. Fionn Harrington is somewhere in the night, coming after me.

And still, I run like a prey that wants to be caught.

The obsession is sick but knowing that does nothing to slow me. Hate should have made this easier to walk away from.

Instead, it’s only fueled the thrill.

A twig snaps behind me.

Heat floods between my thighs as I sprint deeper into the trees, bare feet tearing over damp leaves, panties already damp.

Another crack echoes.

“Give up, Sera.”

My name in his mouth out here, deep and rough, does maddening things to me. I’m running with my heart in my throat, and every snapped branch behind me pulls another pulse out of my clit.

Despite that, I won’t make this easy for him. And he doesn’t really want me to.

I snarl and change direction, bolting for the old stone wall. It’s chest height and moss-slick, but I hurl my shoes over, plant one foot against the rock, and haul myself up.

A hand clamps around my ankle.

“Damn it... Let go.”

I kick my other leg, clipping his shoulder, but he doesn’t let go. He drags me back just enough to ruin my balance, then vaults the wall and lands on the other side with me.

We face each other in the long grass, his shirt pulled crooked from the chase, chest rising and falling beneath it.

“You sound different when you run from me,” he says.