And with him distracted, I take my chance.
Fueled by adrenaline, the need to escape, to live, I suddenly get to my feet and start running for the door, screaming.
I make it halfway across the room.
Then he comes at me from the side somehow, just a blur, his hand wrapped around my throat. He pushes me back, back, like he’s just gliding over the floor until I’m pressed up against the wall, my head smashing against it.
His grip tightens, almost all the way around my neck, and he’s holding me up high, several feet off the floor, my toes dangling, and I can’t breathe, can’t speak.
“Believe it or not, I’m a very violent creature,” he hisses as he leans into me, eyes burning. “I will not hesitate to tear your throat out with my own teeth, despite what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. If you want to test me, you will be tested, and you’ll fail with your life.”
My fingers go to his hand, trying to pry them off me, trying in vain.
“I know what I want,” he continues, breathing hard. “But frankly, you might not be worth it.”
But he doesn’t let go of me, doesn’t let up the pressure. I think he means to kill me right here, just like this, strangling me with one bare hand. He could break my neck with a little more pressure, and he’s staring at me like he wants me to die. I know he’ll enjoy it.
And yet there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to give up.
That wants to fight back, even though I know it’s pointless.
There’s a fight coming from deep within me, from some dark well.
“Just as I thought,” he says to me, a smirk spreading across his lips. “You want to see what I see?”
He pulls me off the wall, walking across the room with his arm straight out, holding me by the throat at the end of it. My fingers are trying to pry his off, my feet are kicking out, and yet he keeps walking and holding me by the neck, like he’s the fucking Terminator.
He flings opens the bathroom door and then brings me inside, letting go of my throat. It’s just for a moment, enough for me to suck in a breath, and then his hand moves up to my jaw, the other hand grabbing hold of my braid.
He positions my face so that I’m facing the mirror, fingers digging into my skin.
I’m staring at the reflection of us in horror.
My cheek is red and purple and yellow, an ugly mess that spreads across my face, to my eye and nose, the rest of me looks pale and haggard and weak.
“Do you see?” he whispers harshly into my ear.
With a grunt he brings me closer to the mirror so I’m all I see.
And I see my eyes.
My pupils taking over the hazel until they’re black.
Golden crescent moons glinting in the both of them, like I’m staring at a moonrise.
I don’t understand.
I’m on drugs.
He’s drugged me.
That would explain everything.
“And you still don’t see,” he says, and I eye him in the mirror. He leans in, keeping my face in place, lips at my ear, gaze holding mine. “Then again, why would you? You’re just a simple girl, all on your own now.”
A knock sounds at the door and he yanks at my braid. I cry out in pain and he wraps the braid around his hand, pulling me out into the room and over to the main door.
He opens it.
A wall of man stands on the other side, at least six-five, also dressed in a tux, though his tie is missing. He’s got light brown hair, a strong jawline, high cheekbones—all the makings of a Nordic warrior.
“How is it going?” the man asks, a light unplaceable accent. He eyes me, his eyes light green and gold. “She conscious yet?”
The Nordic man strides into the room, closing the door behind him.
“You could tell she wasn’t conscious before?” the man holding me asks, not letting go of my braid. I’m still trying to take in the air I lost before.
The Nordic man grins, folding his arms. “Maybe I know what to look for. I didn’t think she was all there earlier. She seems clearer now. It’s her eyes.”
“Exactly, her eyes,” he says. “What do you make of them?”
He laughs. “The great Absolon is asking me what he thinks? Oh, I never thought this day would come.”
Absolon? My stalker’s name is Absolon?
“Look, are you going to be helpful, or just be a waste of space as usual?” Absolon says tiredly, yanking my hair back again until I cry out. “See?” he says to the Nordic guy, gesturing to my face. “The more I hurt her, the more that happens.”
“Perhaps you have the wrong girl, Solon. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Absolon shakes his head. “No. She’s the right girl. She even…” He pauses, looking at me, thinking.
Just then the ceiling above starts to shake with the sound of footsteps.
“Party is starting,” the Nordic guy says. “I wouldn’t count on Ezra to be too hospitable.”
Party?
There’s a party upstairs?
With people?
People that can help me?
I open my mouth and suddenly start screaming my head off, hoping they’ll hear me. “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!”
But before I can scream anymore, Absolon grabs the back of my head, places his hand over my mouth, pressing both together until I’m caught in place, aware now that he could crush my head between his hands like a melon.
“Shhh shhh shhh,” he says to me, eyes glinting, hand smothering me. “You don’t want to let them know you’re here. They aren’t good…people.”
I don’t believe him.
I open my mouth, biting down on his fingers until I taste blood.
He grimaces but he doesn’t let go, keeps his gaze burning into mine.
“I don’t think you want to do that, moonshine. It might turn me on.”
“He’s right,” the Nordic guy says to me. “He gets off on freaky shit.”
Absolon closes his eyes in annoyance, shaking his head. “Wolf, please.” Then he looks at him over his shoulder. “Grab the rope and the gag. It’s time.”
I blink at Absolon, horror rushing through me.
Time for what?
Wolf goes over to the wooden crate and lifts open the lid. Brings out rope and a long piece of fabric. “Sorry to have to do this,” he says to me as he approaches.
“You’ve never apologized before,” Absolon scoffs, lifting his hand away. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental.”
“Never,” Wolf says as he comes at me with the rope. “It’s always hard when it’s a pretty girl.”
I glance at Absolon, who is sucking the blood from where I bit him, blood on his lips, the same that I still taste on mine. Blood that tastes sweet. He nods at me, brow raised delicately. “My blood looks good on you.”
Then Wolf is grabbing me from behind and I’m trying to run and scream and Absolon is slipping the fabric over my mouth, wrapping it again and again, as Wolf holds my hands behind my back, binding my wrists, then my ankles.
I’m tossed onto the mattress, landing on my side, and then Wolf extends the rope into the wooden slat wall of the storage area behind me, anchoring me in place.
I lie there, staring up at these two men in their tuxedos, the footsteps getting louder above, the floor shaking.
“Time for a drink?” Absolon says to Wolf.
Wolf dusts off his hands and grins at him. “Is the Pope Catholic?”
Absolon gives him a withering look and the two of them walk toward the door, Absolon stepping out first.
He also closes the door.
His face is the last thing I see before he turns out the lights.
Chapter Six
A red crescent moon.
I’m a child, standing below it in the middle of a clearing.
The forest in front of me is black in the night, the treetops visible against the star-speckled sky. There’s rustling in the forest, the feeling of something coming out of it, wanting to hurt me
.
Monsters.
I stand, feeling the moon seep into my veins, filling the well inside me with pale gold.
Two figures burst out of the trees, running fast.
I watch them, silent, knowing they’re here to do harm.
But they run past me, on either side, a man and a woman, cloaked and too blurry to see clearly.
I whirl around, watching as the two figures head for the house by the sea.
My house.
Where my parents live.
Suddenly the fear is real.
I’m screaming, running after them, my little legs too slow, and then I’m falling, crawling, watching as the figures disappear into the house and the house goes up in flames.
I scream and I crawl and I keep going.
The moon switches position in the sky, rising in front of me.
Red tears spilling from the crescent.
Raining blood.
And I keep crawling, until I’m right at the flames, until I am the flames.
I am the flames.
Drowning in the moon’s blood.
Sinking into the red.
Down, down, down.
And then…
I’m awake.
The dream fading away like fog.
I’m lying on my side in total darkness, bound at the wrists and ankles, my skin aching against the rough rope, the gag cutting into the corners of my mouth.
I’m alone.
And yet not alone.
Because there’s something…else.
Something crawling over my legs.
Over my back.
In my hair.
Across my face.
I scream, my cries muffled, and try to sit up, spinning around, rolling on the floor, pure horror tearing me apart. I fight against the ropes, still feeling tiny rough things brushing over my legs, skittering over my skin.
The door to the room suddenly opens, a column of flickering light with Absolon’s broad-shouldered silhouette.
He flicks on the lights overhead, my eyes burning from it.
I manage to turn away, just in time to see spiders running away in wafts of black smoke, disappearing into the wooden slats behind me.
I scream again, trying to get away, except I’m still attached to the wall by the rope, and then Absolon is grabbing me by the waist and hauling me up, carrying me until he places me on the wooden chair within reach.
He eyes me with amusement, as if the whole fucking thing is funny, but I can still feel them on me, and I cry out, muffled by the gag, squirming in the chair, my heart pounding.
“Oh, please. Calm down,” he says to me, pressing a shockingly cold hand on my shoulder, but it does nothing to calm me. “Or do you need to be tied to the chair too?”
I growl at him, trying to kick him in the balls.
He captures my calf in his hand, nails digging in, growling right back.
“Fine,” he says gruffly. “Your choice.”
He takes the ropes and makes quick work of it, tying my hands behind the chair, spreading my legs, tying each ankle to the legs of the chair.
Then he steps back, giving me a look of marked disapproval.
“You could make things so much easier on yourself, Lenore,” he says. “You know I’m the one who might save you in the end.”
“Fuck you,” I try to say through the gag.
“What was that?” he asks. Then he leans over and I catch his scent, like roses and tobacco and cedar, a smell that floods every part of me. Something about it makes my heart pump harder, my skin growing hot.
He unties the gag and I gasp for air, moving my jaw, everything sore.
Then I look at him dead in the eyes.
“I said fuck you,” I say, my voice raw and broken.
The corner of his mouth curls. “Such brave words for someone so afraid of spiders.”
I turn my head and look at the back wall, at the wooden slats and the darkness behind it. “I think you have an infestation back there.”
“You should let me worry about that,” he says, and I meet his eyes again. “You should stay focused on worrying about your own life.” He pauses. “Though I must say, it’s a good sign that they like you. It means you’re already changing. Creatures of the night will always seek out creatures of the night. One day you might want to look at the world through their eyes.”
I can’t make heads or tails of this man. I close my eyes, trying to cut off his hypnotic gaze, but I still smell him, and it makes my blood run hot.
“What do you mean, I’m changing?” I ask him, keeping my eyes shut. “Changing how?”
I don’t know why I’m even asking. To indulge him? What’s the point? What’s the point of any of this?
He doesn’t answer. Silence fills the space.
Except it’s not silence at all.
I swear I can hear things scurrying behind the wall, hear the blood pumping in my veins, the electrical buzz of the overhead lights, footsteps in some place far away, cars on a street. The more I concentrate on the sounds, the louder they get, until they start taking over my brain.
“There you go,” he says after a moment. “Deep breaths, Lenore. Focus on me, not on the noise, or it will drive you mad.”
I open my eyes to find him peering at me with that permanent frown.
“See,” he says. “It will fade.”
And he’s right. The noise is fading, and the longer I stare into his unblinking gaze, sheltered by his elegant brows, the more my world fades too.
What drugs does he have me on?
“Tell me more about your parents,” he says to me.
My parents. Why does he keep bringing up my parents?
He stares at me for a moment, then crosses the room with elegant strides, dragging over the velvet armchair until it’s right across from me. He sits down in it, leaning forward on his elbows, stainless steel watch gleaming. He’s not a in tux today, but he’s still wearing what looks to be a very expensive suit, judging by the sharp lines and the fine gleam of the grey material. No tie, just a white shirt with a couple of buttons undone. There’s something about his throat that I’m finding strangely alluring, like I can almost sense the blood rushing underneath.
“Where am I?” I ask him.
“I’m asking the questions,” he says calmly. “You’re the one tied to the chair. And I’d like to talk about your parents.”
“Why? Are you doing this because of them?” My voice is rising. “Because you want a ransom? They’ll pay your ransom. They have the money.”
“I also have money, moonshine,” he says. “More money than I know what to do with. It isn’t about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
The corner of his full mouth twitches. “It’s about you, of course.”
“Okay. Fine. Why me? Why am I here? Why do you want me to talk about my parents if it’s not about them?”
“Because it’s about where you came from, Lenore. I know you have no idea, but you might have answers even if you don’t know it yet.” He leans forward and reaches out and sticks a long, svelte finger underneath my chin, his fingernail pointed, and I swear it’s getting shaper by the second.
I don’t move an inch, afraid he’ll puncture my skin if I do.
“I’m a patient man,” he says carefully, words like silk, “but it was something I learned. It isn’t my nature. My true nature is something you don’t ever want to see, though you will if you keep testing me.” He pauses, pushing his fingernail up until I feel a sharp pinch as he breaks the skin. I wince, unable to look away from his pupils, which are getting larger and larger, almost swallowing me whole. “You’re not scared enough. I can fix that.”
He removes his finger and I stare in horror at the droplets of blood running down it.
He admires it for a moment, nostrils flaring delicately, then brings his finger in front of my eyes.
“Do you see this?” he says, brow cocked. “This is what they want from you, one way or another.”
<
br /> “My blood?” I ask, mesmerized. And to think the sight of my own blood used to turn my stomach. Now it’s both beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
“Your true nature,” he informs me. “The one that you know is true, deep inside. That’s what they want.”
I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about.
“Who are they?”
He stares at me in silence. I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the light or what, but I swear his pupils are turning red.
“And so, what do you want?” I add, managing to look away from the blood.
He brings his finger toward him, rotating it, watching the red trickle down the back of his pale hand. He studies it like he’s staring at a rare painting in a museum, trying to gauge the artist’s meaning.
Then he slowly extends his long tongue and licks the blood off, his eyes locked on mine as he does so, pupils turning the blue to black.
Prey.
You’re his prey.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” I cry out, my whole body instinctively flinching, straining against the ropes.
Another abbreviated smile. “So they all say.”
Then his eyes flutter closed and he breathes in deeply through his nose, his muscles stiffening.
I watch him, my heart tripping with fear, the rest of me succumbing to torrid fascination. If he wanted me to be afraid, well, I am afraid. Because I don’t think I’m coming out of this alive. And yet the mystery of why he wants me, of what he’s going to do with me next, has me curious as a cat. A cat with only one life.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck, and then he opens his eyes, staring at me even deeper than he was before. My nerves go on high alert again, that feeling of being watched, stalked, seconds before the pounce.
“You’ve tasted my blood,” he says softly. “I’ve tasted yours. I suppose we’re even for now.”
“What is your sick fascination with blood?” I nearly spit the words.
His forehead creases, mouth making an elegant O in surprise, remnants of my blood sitting on his soft lips. “Oh, Lenore,” he says imploringly. “Surely you’ve figured it all out by now.” He licks his lips. “I heard you’re a smart girl. Very smart. Have to say I’ve been a bit disappointed by you in that department. Not even any guesses?”
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