They were coming for her. It was only a matter of time.
If she stayed on the defensive, she’d never make it to safety. She knew then, she needed to run—not away from evil, but towards salvation.
A path to her right yawned into a courtyard. She stumbled from the shadows, scanning the open space for any sign of danger.
A fountain dominated the center, three bears carved of stone, snaring fish out of the air. Hunters. Water streamed from the basin as their fangs showed frozen in predatory aggression.
Moans of ecstasy bleated nearby. Or was that agony?
A thin pathway opened beyond the fountain. Gravel crunched underfoot as Daisy rushed toward it. Beyond the narrow path was a pasture. A tower of champagne glasses, six feet tall, glinted in the moonlight. The golden liquid called to her thirst, slowing her steps to a near-still pace.
The champagne flutes were arranged with such mathematical precision that it had to be a trap. She swallowed, her parched throat clicking like dry bones.
One sip.
She scanned the surrounding gardens, knowing it was bait to lure them out of hiding. They preyed on desperation, knowing it made them capable of the unthinkable.
She crept closer. Each glass balanced deftly on the thin rim of others below. A pyramid of sweet relief waiting to collapse. The shatter would be startling, she decided, noticing the small stone patio beneath the table.
To the right of the trap, lay a collection of velvet cushions sprawled out in tones of emerald, sapphire, and ruby. An invitation of elegance to cushion another tribute’s defeat.
Not yours.
Daisy drew back, licking her dry lips. Her throat scratched like sandpaper, but it was too risky.
Across the quad stood silver platters piled high with fruit so ripe she could smell them from fifty meters away.
All of it was a trap.
One glass could cost her everything.
She flinched as another bell rang.
She had to keep moving.
Forcing her head down, she rushed on, the soft whisper of her footfalls kicking up pebbles as she scurried through the night.
The occasional scream always preceded a shiver, usually followed by a bell. But nothing chilled her more than the hunters’ booming voices as they claimed victory.
“Get over here,” one growled from the other side of the hedges.
A scuffle ensued, and Daisy stilled, falling back into the nearest shelter. Making herself as still as stone.
“Ouch! You want to play rough, you little slut?”
Daisy closed her eyes at the rip of fabric tearing. A muffled whimper cut off with a grunt. Then the bell tolled.
Daisy covered her ears and crouched low. If there was an escape hatch beneath her, she would have taken it.
The hunter’s animalistic groans punctured the air in a staccato beat as the woman begged him to wait.
Timber…
Timber!
Why wasn’t she using the safeword?
“That’ll teach you.”
