He isn't running. He isn't even out of breath.
Dr. Alaric Graves holds a black umbrella in one hand, shielding him from the deluge that is drowning me. He wears a pristine charcoal three-piece suit, tailored to perfection, hugging broad shoulders that could carry the weight of all my sins. A silver tie clip catches the moonlight. Not a single drop of mud stains his polished oxfords.
He looks like a king surveying a disobedient subject in his own private garden.
"The key card is biometric, Elodie," he says, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. The gravel crunches under his feet—a sound of inevitable doom. "It only works for a pulse that matches my clearance. Or..."
He tilts his head, his eyes glowing like predatory silver in the dark.
"...for a pulse that Icontrol."
"Stay back!" I scream, shrinking against the metal, the cold iron biting into my bare skin through the wet silk. I’m trapped between the gate and the devil.
He closes the umbrella with a softsnap, letting it drop to the wet grass. He doesn't need it anymore. He wants his hands free.
"You’re shivering," he notes, his voice dropping an octave. It isn’t concern. It is an appraisal. He is checking the condition of his property. "And you’ve ruined that gown. It was pure silk. Imported from Italy."
"I’d rather be naked in hell than wear anything you gave me!" I spit the words at him, trying to summon the fire that used to define me.
A corner of his mouth ticks up. A smirk. A dark, dangerous promise that makes my blood run cold. "Careful, Miss Fray. That sounds like a request."
He moves. It’s unnatural.
One second he is yards away; the next, he is crowding my space, his body a wall of heat against the freezing rain. I try to scratch him, to fight, to aim for his eyes, but he catches my wrists in one hand with effortless, insulting ease.
He pins my hands above my head against the black gate. The position leaves me exposed, vulnerable, my chest heaving against his soaked suit jacket.
"Let me go," I sob, the fight draining out of me as his scent—clinical antiseptic, rain, and expensive, musky scotch—invades my senses. It triggers a Pavlovian response in my brain.Fear. Obedience.
"Let you go?" Alaric leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. The sensation sends a violent shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. His hot breath ghosting over my wet skin is a violation.
"Elodie, look at you," he whispers, his free hand coming up to trace the line of my jaw, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. He’s counting the beats. "You’re a mess. You’re bleeding. You’re hysterical. You are clearly not well."
"I’m not crazy," I gasp, looking up into his eyes. They are the color of a winter storm, devoid of mercy.
"I know," he whispers, and for a second, I see something dark swirl in his gaze. Something hungry. "That makes this so much more fun."
I feel the sharp, sudden prick of a needle against the side of my neck. I didn't even see him pull the syringe. He is a magician of pain.
"What... what did you..." My tongue feels thick. Heavy. As if my mouth is full of cotton.
"A sedative cocktail of my own design," he murmurs against my throat, finally releasing my wrists. "It acts within seconds. Muscle relaxation first. Then the euphoria. Then the sleep."
I try to push him away, to run, but my arms feel like lead weights. My legs turn to water. The ground beneath me seems to dissolve.
The world tilts. The rain turns to silence. The harsh lights of the asylum blur into halos of blinding white. I fall forward, bracing for the mud.
But I never hit the ground.
Strong arms catch me. He scoops me up bridal style, holding me close to his chest. I am paralyzed, trapped in my own body, unable to move a finger but feelingeverything. I feel the rough wool of his coat against my cheek. I feel the steady, slow beat of his heart against my ear.
He isn't even elevated. My escape attempt didn't even raise his heart rate.
"Shh," he soothes, stroking my wet hair away from my face. His touch is clinical, yet sickeningly possessive. "Don't fight it, Elodie. Gravity always wins."
He turns back toward the asylum, carrying me back into the dark. My head lolls against his shoulder, my eyes heavy, fighting to stay open.
"You locked me in," I slur, the words barely forming. "You... monster."
