I took off running again, down the steps, across the courtyard to the door opposite, which went off one of the salons to the terrace.
I tried it.
Locked.
“Sss, sss, SSSSSSSS.”
It was following me.
I was not going to look.
I raced down the terrace to the armory, trying all three sets of double French doors at that end.
Locked.
All of them.
Damn Fitzy and him taking his butler responsibilities so seriously!
I raced down the steps, onto the walkway, around the edge of the southern wing and skidded across the wet turf.
This time, I went down, hard, both hands and knees slipping over the wet lawn as well as the fine gravel of the path there, the pebbles cutting into the skin of my palms and knees.
I heard a low chuckle.
It was a man.
I was alone in the middle of the night with some strange stalking man!
Fuck!
I pushed up and kept running, the fine drizzle winning, soaking through my shirt, my jeans, into my hair.
I rounded the front (this huge fucking house!), sprinted across and bounded up the steps two at a time.
I heard running feet coming my way.
I yanked frantically at the bell pull and pounded on the door.
My heart felt like it exploded, and in my moment of panic, fortunately, my mind recalled what Prue had told me.
Fitzy and Patsy had their own entry into the house.
I bounded down the steps this time, three at a clip, getting a stitch in my side as I raced blindly along the front of the house, around the side, straight toward the shrubs that had been planted to give Fitzy and Patsy some privacy for their outdoor space.
I found the entry, practically jumped down all of the steps, ran across their patio, hit their door and pounded on it.
I did all of this terrified out of my skull.
Because I did it hearing the heavy footsteps following right behind me.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I screamed and whirled, ready for anything.
And there was Christian.
Oh fuck.
