"Go to hell."
"Mmm, no. But I'll tell you what hell is going to feel like." He moved again, this time a single step that somehow crossed half the room. "It's the mark growing deeper. Threading through muscle, wrapping around bone. Your body becoming a garden for his fury. Would you like to know what happened to the last person who ran?"
She grabbed the desk chair and swung it at the window.
"She made it three weeks," Thaine continued as if she hadn't moved. "Impressive, really. By the time I found her, the mark had grown through her entire left side. Vines under the skin, roots in her lungs. She begged me to cut them out." He paused. "I did. They grew back. Every time."
The glass exploded outward in a shower of diamonds. Cool night air rushed in, carrying salt and freedom and—
A hand caught her wrist as she tried to climb through. Not Thaine's, he was still behind her. This hand emerged from the vines outside, pale as bone and strong as ancient roots.
"Careful," Thaine said as she struggled. "Can't have you cutting yourself on glass. He was very particular about the condition he wants you in. 'Unmarked save for what's mine,'” he recited. "Although..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Between us, I think a few cuts would improve the presentation. Blood makes everything more dramatic, don't you think?"
Briar ignored him, pulling until she finally jerked free, scratches blooming across her forearm, and dove through the window. She hit the ground hard but forced herself to her feet. Behind her, the motel room erupted. The wall split, spilling green into the night.
She twisted around to find herself confronted by a parking lot transformed beyond recognition. Trees sprouted between cars, ancient giants that had no business existing outside of the deep woods. Her car had become a shell wrapped in moss and vines, windows choked with leaves. She ran for the office hoping, praying, there was a phone.
The office door stood open and she burst through before skidding to a stop.
The clerk's chair had become a throne of roots, and wrapped within them, barely visible, was a human shape. He was still alive—she could see the rise and fall of his chest—and covered in tiny white flowers that pulsed with each breath.
"Sleeping Beauty," Thaine said from behind her. She spun to find him in the doorway, not even winded. "Don't worry. He'll wake when we're gone. Won't remember a thing except strange dreams. Although the dreams..." He smiled. "Those will be exquisite. I made sure of that. He'll spend the rest of his life flinching at flowers."
From the corner of her eye she spotted the phone. She lunged for it, but the forest had found it first. The receiver was draped in moss, flowers growing from the earpiece.
"No one to call," Thaine continued. "No cavalry coming to rescue you. Although..." He tilted his head, listening to something she couldn't hear. "He says you're welcome to try. He enjoys watching hope die. It's the moment just after realization sets in, that's his favorite. The shoulders drop, the eyes go flat. Utterly beautiful. Come now, enough of this."
He extended his hand and she took half a step back.
No, she had fought too hard to give up.
Through the office window, she could see the highway. Cars passed without slowing. A truck drove by close enough that she could see the driver's face, bored and tired, seeing nothing wrong.
"Useful thing, glamour," Thaine explained, as though reading her mind. "They see a closed motel. Nothing special. You could run out there screaming, covered in blood, begging for help. They'd see a drunk woman at best. Probably wouldn't even slow down. Would you like to try? I'll wait."
The mark burned hotter. She pressed her hand against it, tried to stop the bleeding, but the thorns were moving now, writhing beneath her skin where she could feel them foreign and alive.
"That's just the beginning," Thaine said softly. He'd moved again, now standing by the counter, examining the guest registry. "Every step away from him, they grow deeper. Every moment of defiance, they’ll spread wider. Soon you'll feel them in your chest. They like to wrap around ribs first. Makes breathing... interesting."
Briar backed toward the rear exit.
The door opened before she touched it as vines pushed through, thick as her waist, blocking escape. The walls groaned. Through the cracks, she could see bark forcing its way in.
"You know what else he told me?" Thaine asked, now flipping through the registry with casual interest. "He said you were clever. Said you might actually make this interesting. But here you are, trapped in a box of your own design, bleeding on cheap carpet while the forest comes to collect. How disappointingly predictable."
"I'm not going back."
"Of course you are." He pushed off from the counter, and this time she saw him move, the motion too fast, too fluid, not quite human. He stood just out of arms reach. "The only question is whether you go conscious or not. I vote conscious. Your expression when you see him again..." He shivered with anticipation. "I wouldn't miss that for the world."
Desperate, Briar feinted left and dove right. He caught her easily, one hand closing on her throat. Not choking, just holding. His fingers against her skin were cool and smooth as polished wood.
"Shh," he said as she clawed at his hand. "Listen. Do you hear that?"
She did, despite herself. The motel was dying around them, wood splintering, glass breaking, the forest singing as it claimed another piece of the world.
"You have two choices," Thaine said. "Come quietly, and I will deliver you to him with your dignity intact. Fight, and I will drag you through the underbrush by that pretty hair. Let him see you broken and sobbing. Personally, I hope you fight. He likes broken things. Finds them easier to reshape."
The mark pulsed in time with her racing heart. Through the window, the last of the motel sign flickered and died, swallowed by green.
