Society was not always so accepting.
Their moans spiraled upward, ragged breaths colliding until they broke into gut-wrenching sobs.
Another bell tolled far in the distance.
Not seeing anyone on the lawn, she ran as fast as she could toward the crossing ahead.
The gravel had done its work. Her feet ached at the slightest touch. Every step caused painful awareness of just how long one night could be.
She kept moving in the direction of the grotto.
Almost there…
Daisy had no idea if she was pepping herself up with truth or lies. But it kept her from curling into a ball and giving up.
Moving faster now, she burst through a hedge and sucked in a sharp breath, nearly colliding with a marble statue of a female huntress, bow drawn, stone eyes fixed on some invisible prey.
Her eyes narrowed. Even the decorations here were predators. “Stupid statue.”
“Ah-ha!”
Daisy screamed as hands sprang from the shadows and jerked her back.
Chapter Sixteen
Lost Boy
“Found you!”
Daisy threw her elbow back without thinking and spun with her fists in the air.
The hunter doubled forward and laughed. His haphazard, blond hair stuck out from his golden stag mask in all directions.
“You were much more docile on the dance floor,” he grunted, then slowly unfolded, his face contorted with pain.
She frowned as she recognized him from the ballroom. “Peter?”
His mouth shifted into a smile. “You remember me! Well done.” He pranced out from behind the statue, spinning dramatically, green eyes glinting beneath his golden mask. Bowing with flourish, he asked, “Now, my lady, what game shall we play?”
Was he joking?
His bow tie hung loose around his neck, both ends dangling against his chest like ribbons on a present that had already been opened. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms dusted with fine blond hair. He looked like a man at the tail end of a very good party, not the beginning of a hunt.
Daisy took a step back, and he mirrored her like a shadow.
“Don’t run,” he warned, grinning. “Running’s no fun. Actually, that’s a lie. Running’s the fun part. It’s the catching that’s tedious. Over so quickly, and then the messiness of all that talking that has to follow.” He stopped and waved her off. “Carry on, then, but make a good effort. Scream and cry if you like. I’ll give you a head start so you have plenty of time to make it fun.”
Daisy’s legs tensed, ready to bolt—but instinct stopped her.
Champagne-drunk and grinning like a boy wishing to play tag at recess, he didn’t want to catch her. He wanted to chase her.
So she refused to run.
Peter’s grin faltered. “What are you doing?”
Daisy crossed her arms, ignoring the way her heart hammered against her ribs. “Nothing.”
He blinked, thrown. “That’s not… You’re supposed to run.”
