I hesitate, my fingers mere inches from the handle. The threat in his voice is unmistakable, but there’s something else too—a promise. Out there in the darkness, away from the confines of walls and ceilings, he’d truly be the predator he’s pretending to be. And I would be truly cornered.
I freeze with my hand on the doorknob, Hunter’s threat echoing in my ears. My pulse thunders at my temples as a realization washes over me. I don’t want this to end.
The reasonable part of my brain screams at me to stop, to remember Olivia, to remember all the reasons this is wrong. But beneath that voice is something darker, something I’ve been denying since the moment Hunter pulled me from that cliff edge.
I want him to chase me.
“What’s it going to be, Aurora?” Hunter’s voice is closer now, recovered enough to move toward me. The skull mask makes him look inhuman in the dim hallway light.
I meet his eyes through the mask’s openings and see the challenge there. The hunt isn’t over. It’s barely begun.
My lips curve into a smile as I throw the door open and launch myself into the night.
The cool air hits my flushed skin as I race down the front steps. Behind me, I hear Hunter’s curse of surprise, followed by the thunder of his footsteps. He didn’t expect this. He thought his threat would make me surrender.
But I’m done surrendering.
The grounds stretch before me. Shadowy gardens, winding paths, and hidden corners. Perfect for a hunt. Perfect for us.
“You’re making this so much worse for yourself,” Hunter calls from behind me, his voice carrying across the darkness. There’s a note of appreciation there, of respect for my boldness.
I don’t respond, saving my breath as I cut across the lawn toward the gardens. My heart pounds not with fear but with exhilaration. This is complete madness, but I’ve never felt more alive.
The thrill of being pursued, of being wanted this desperately, burns through my veins like fire. Hunter doesn’t want my sister. He doesn’t want anyone but me. And God help me, I want him to catch me.
Just not too easily.
I dart across the moonlit lawn, my feet finding familiar paths even in the darkness. I spent summers here as a child, memorizing every garden path, every hidden alcove. My father’s estate has been my playground long before it became the setting for this dangerous game.
Hunter’s footsteps thunder behind me, but I have the advantage of knowledge. I cut sharply left, ducking behind theold stone gazebo, then race along the hedge maze’s exterior rather than entering its confusing pathways. A rookie mistake would be getting trapped inside those green walls.
“You can’t outrun me forever,” Hunter calls, his voice closer than I’d like.
I push harder, my lungs burning as I sprint toward the rose garden. There’s an archway there with dense climbing vines. As I dash through it, I deliberately veer away from the eastern path that would lead to the cliffs.
No. Not there. Never there.
The cliff edge where my father jumped, where Hunter first found me—it holds too much meaning, too much pain. Running there would feel like fate closing a circle I’m not ready to complete. Besides, the cliff offers nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Just the final edge of everything.
Instead, I follow the winding path through the willow grove, where drooping branches create curtains of green. The soft ground muffles my footsteps as I weave between the ancient trunks. My childhood hiding spots flash through my mind like signposts. The hollow log by the stream, the stone bench obscured by ferns, the gardener’s shed with its broken lock.
I slow my pace just enough to quiet my breathing, listening for Hunter’s pursuit. For a moment, there’s nothing but night sounds—crickets chirping, leaves rustling. Then a twig snaps to my right, and I freeze.
He’s closer than I thought. And he’s not following the path.
I change direction, heading for the terraced gardens with their multiple levels and stone staircases. My heart pounds against my ribs, partly from exertion but mostly from the thrill of this chase. There’s something exhilarating about being pursued through these gardens that have witnessed generations of secrets.
The moonlight spills across the manicured lawns, illuminating my way but also exposing my position. I need cover, shadows. Somewhere to disappear.
I dart between rows of heritage rosebushes, their thorns catching at my clothes like grasping fingers. My lungs burn with each breath, but I can’t slow down. Hunter’s footsteps have quieted. The predator is switching tactics, and that terrifies me more than his thundering pursuit.
Beyond the terraced gardens lies my best chance at escape: the small woodland that marks the far boundary of the estate. It’s not quite a forest, more a dense collection of trees my father preserved when developing the property. As a child, I called it the Wildwood, building forts between ancient oaks and playing hide-and-seek among ferns with my parents before the fateful day. After that day, I rarely visited until I got older.
If I can reach it, the dense undergrowth and tight spaces between trees might give me an advantage. Hunter’s broader frame would struggle where I could slip through. The darkness would become my ally rather than my enemy.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing nothing but moonlit gardens. He’s still out there, though. I feel his presence like a physical weight against my skin.
The woodland seems impossibly far now, a dark smudge against the night sky. My legs tremble with exertion, a stitch forming in my side that tightens with each breath. Track team captain for three years in high school, cross-country runner in college—none of it prepared me for this.
